Death at the Black Bull by Frank Hayes

last time he had been in his bed in the middle of the afternoon. He looked around the room, largely unchanged in his lifetime. The muslin curtains floated out, catching a slight afternoon breeze. As he fell asleep, an image of the cemetery came to him. The hole in the ground where they had put Buddy Hinton.
    *   *   *
    He awoke hours later to the sound of Cesar’s voice calling him to supper. His sleep had been so deep, he realized he was in the exact position he lay in when he had first closed his eyes. Glancing toward the window, he no longer saw bright sunlight but the softer glow of lateral rays. He yelled down to Cesar, put on some clean clothes, then descended the stairs.
    â€œWhat did you cook, chilis and beans?”
    â€œI cook lotsa different things,” Cesar said, smiling.
    â€œYeah, but somehow even your Italian comes out Mexican.”
    â€œI never saw you push a plate away. Anyhow, tonight it’s lasagna with fresh Italian bread courtesy of Rosie. Dave dropped it off on his way down to Redbud this morning. And if that ain’t good enough, I got a bottle of Chianti to go along with it. Tomorrow night, courtesy of Jimmy’s mom, it’s going to be fried chicken, corn bread, and I thought I’d do sweet corn.”
    â€œAh, the living is good,” Virgil said.
    â€œYeah. I was thinking, maybe you oughta lose fights on a regular basis from now on.”
    â€œI didn’t lose the fight. I never got a chance to be in it.”
    *   *   *
    Over the next week Virgil relaxed to the point of boredom. The staples in his head had been removed and everything was coming along nicely. One morning, when he looked in the mirror he felt he’d gotten to the point where he wouldn’t scare small children. The mixed colors of yellow and blue were gone and his head was looking less and less like the skin of a peach, although it was far from needing a comb. Sam had told him one more week ought to do it, but the notion of sitting in a chair on the front porch watching the arc of the sun or trying to find something interesting on TV to fill some of his time was nothing he looked forward to. So the next morning at breakfast he made an announcement.
    â€œI’m out of here for the next couple of days. I’m taking a little drive.” He set his coffee cup on the saucer, waiting for Cesar’s reply.
    â€œWhere to?”
    â€œI’m going to visit Clara.”
    â€œThat’s more than a little drive. It’s four hours at least to El Paso.”
    â€œI know. That’s why I think I’ll stay over.”
    Cesar knew there was no way he could talk Virgil out of the trip, and he actually had been kind of surprised that he’d been able to keep him in the corral as long as he had.
    â€œMaybe you should check with Doc Sam, see what he has to say first.”
    â€œAlready have.”
    â€œWell, leave a message on the answering machine when you get there.”
    â€œSure, Mom.” He stood, drained his cup, and walked out the door.

14

    H e paused by the Black Bull on his way out of town. He thought about stopping. Then the moment passed. He shrugged off the notion, but down deep he knew that any reason to stop would have less to do with Buddy and more to do with the woman.
    The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. Outside of the slightly changing landscape there was nothing of interest to slow him down. In less than four hours, he was on the outskirts of El Paso. It had been a while, but he found his way to Clara’s house without difficulty.
    Clara was his father’s oldest sister by almost fifteen years. He figured she must have been well into her eighties by now, but she had sounded unchanged when he had spoken with her. It had been more than a while since he had made his last trip, and he was feeling a little guilty when her house came into sight. It was a small adobe ranch in the old style, with massive logs