The Dead Man: Ring of Knives

'Lionel.'

'Since when has he had anything to do with the Agency?'

Lancy keeps two hands on the wheel. His eyes follow the car in front of us. When the Merc's brakelights flash, his cheeks blush a deep red.

'He's been good to her,' Lancy says finally. 'After you left, he took care of her. Made sure she was provided for. Her and Lionel.'

'I see.' I swallow that. I look at the logo on the window, the flame-within-a-flame. Beneath it, Lux et Calor. Light and Heat. 'And how is Mrs. Kepler doing these days?'

Lancy chews his mustache. 'Diane is well.'

'Glad to hear it,' I say. 'Glad to hear it.'

# # # # # #

The rest of the drive is silent. Around midnight we pull into Bridgewater, and when the Merc turns off a side street, Lancy doesn't follow. I don't ask why, and I don't have to.

'We're staying here, at the Lakota,' he says.

We pull into the drive. It's a big place with a copper roof. 'Well that sounds fine,' I say.

He looks at me resentfully. 'Costs a lot to put us up here,' he says. 'They thought you'd need a little something after the job.'

'They were right about that.'

An Indian kid in a top hat and glasses comes out and reaches for the door. Lancy waves him off. 'Here,' he says, tossing him the keys, 'our bags are in the trunk.'

While the kid unloads, Lancy and I go inside. The lobby is gloomy with rugs that look Persian and plants that look dead. Along one wall there's a stone fireplace, and standing next to it, a stuffed bear snarls at nothing in particular. The air is thick with smoke. The place smells like a tannery and Lancy says so.

'That would be Tommy's fault, I'm afraid.'

Through the haze of woodsmoke I see a man behind the check-in desk. He's a hatchet-faced runt with bifocals and slicked-back hair. 'Tommy,' he says again. 'He's getting your bags now, I believe. Full blooded Mandan, you know. Heard of them? The first settlers in this area thought the Mandans were the lost tribe of Israel, because their skin was lighter than the Lakotas, isn't that something? Only it isn't really lighter, their skin. Nor are they particularly clever. Sloping brows, et cetera. Tommy's no exception. This afternoon I told him to light a fire and so he did, only I neglected to tell him to open the flue, so he didn't. Simple, the lot of them, but brave enough. Tommy's own father shot that grizzly standing by the fireplace, isn't that something? Confidentially, I stuffed him myself.'

'And where'd you put him after you stuffed him?' I ask.

'The fireplace, where you see him now.'

'I'm talking about Tommy's father.'

The clerk's smile falters. He takes in the oil rag I'm holding to my cheek. 'You seem to be bleeding, sir.'

'So I do, isn't that something?'

Lancy steps in before things can get any happier. He flashes the badge with the All-Seeing Eye, lays down some cash. He gets two keys and a receipt.

'And some quinine, some bandages for my friend,' he says. 'And remember, there's two others coming, so keep an eye out for them too.'

'Will they have identification?'

'You'll know them by their sloping skulls,' I say. Then Lancy hustles me over to the stairway.

'You're going to want to lay off,' he says. I don't answer. He takes off his glasses, wipes his eyes. 'I don't know, Frank,' he says. 'I just don't know. You realize I'm going to have to make a report out, don't you? What am I supposed to put on it? What am I supposed to say?'

'Put down that thing about the Mandans being Jewish, Kepler will like that.'

'Listen.' Lancy isn't fooling now. He presses two fingers into my chest. 'Listen. Do you want this, Frank? Do you want to be back with the Agency?'

I look at the carpet, but it's the color of old blood. I look at the wallpaper but it's blue fleur-de-lis. I close my eyes.

'Do you, Frank?'

'Yes.'

'You're sure?'

'Yes.'

'Because it's been a long time. And I know it hasn't been any picnic for you, the war, the in-between years, the sanitarium, all that.'

'It wasn't a – .'

'Whatever you call it. Call it whatever you call it. You're back now, it doesn't matter. And we're glad to have you on board again. All of us. People still remember you, the new recruits hear stories, they want to be like you. Morris and Hinks, believe it or not. You could do a lot of good. Especially for those who worked like hell to get you this job. Me, for one. I put myself on the line, Frank.'

'I know you did.'

'All right then.'

'I'm sorry about Cranovicz.'

'That's all right.'

'I broke his jaw, is all.'

Lancy nods unhappily. 'Well, that'll shut him up for now. He'll catch it one way or the other. Forget about him. Clean up. Rest. It looks like you've got the honeymoon suite.'

He gives me the key. I look at it. One end is shaped like a valentine.

'Who's idea was this?'

Lancy shrugs. 'Just worked out that way. There's a greenhouse next door, maybe you'll have fresh-cut flowers, a heart-shaped bed.' He opens the door to his room. 'Least it'll be clean,' he says, 'it'll make up for El Paso. Good night, Frank.' And he shuts the door behind him.

The honeymoon suite. Someone at the Agency has a sense of humor. I cross slowly down to the end of the hall, and there I stop. The last door has ivy painted around the edges, and says Les Newlyweds in gold lettering. I stand there a while, looking at it, not wanting to enter but having nowhere else to go. My hand drifts up to my ripped cheek, comes away wet.

All of a sudden a case of the shakes catches me by surprise, and I grab the doorknob for support. I take long, slow gulps of air. Rest, I think, I need rest.

But when I open the door, it's not rest that comes to me. I've only taken two steps into the darkness when I smell it, a whiff of something dark and cloying and sweet.

Maybe you'll have fresh cut flowers, Lancy had said. And I do.

Lilacs.

I stand there in the darkness, breathing in the scent. Suddenly my gorge rises. I step back, slam the door shut, leaving a red smear below Les Newlyweds.

Halfway down the stairs I run into Tommy the Mandan. He's got my suitcase in one hand and a stack of bandages in another.

'Your bags, sir.'

'Set it down.'

'Down?'

'Down.' I pull off his top hat, drop a pocketful of coins into it, hand it back to him. 'Tommy, where can a working man find some refreshment on a Friday night, a town like this?'

'Refreshment?'

I make a hand gesture.

'Oh,' he says, his glasses flashing. 'Refreshment.'

And the hunt is on.

# # # # # #

The town's small and the hour's late, but the boy knows his way around. Within the hour I'm walking back up