Virgil shrugged.

“Anyway,” Morrissey said, “he showed up here a few years ago with the remains of a gang that the Pinkertons chased into exhaustion.”

“They’ll do that,” I said.

“Sometimes,” Morrissey said. “He had a few of his boys with him and some money they probably stole from a railroad, and they bought a saloon at the north end of town. Never broke no law here. And they run a first-class operation. Booze is good, games are honest, girls are clean. They police themselves. No trouble. We’ve never even had to go up there since they been in town.”

“Model citizens,” I said.

“And then, ’bout a year ago, here come Brother Percival.”

“Percival,” Virgil murmured.

“What he calls himself,” Morrissey said. “Brother Percival.”

“Preacher?” I said.

“Yep,” Morrissey said. “Come to town with a tent show, preaching against sin like he was the first man to discover it. Nobody paid him much attention for a time. But he kept collecting people to his whatever it is, and then he built himself a church, brought in a damned organ from Kansas City. And him and some of the people come with him when he arrived, they decide to make a target of the biggest and best saloon in town.”

“Pike’s,” Virgil said.

“What’s Brother Percival want?” I said.

“Damned if I know. Maybe he is acting on behalf of the Kingdom of Heaven. Maybe he wants to take over Texas.”

“And Pike?” I said.

Morrissey smiled a little.

“He wants to take over Texas,” Morrissey said.

“Potential there for conflict,” Virgil said.

Morrissey nodded.

“You want the job?” he said.

“Sure,” Virgil said.

12

“COMMENSURATE?” Virgil said outside Morrissey’s office.