town, of which there are more than a few.”
“Lucky me. Most people don’t get hated for one life. I’m hated for two. If I get a part-time gig as a meter maid, I can probably make it three.”
I find Mason’s lighter in my pocket but nothing to smoke.
“Do you have any cigarettes? I left mine back home.”
Home. That’s a bad habit. Stop thinking that way.
“Sorry. My last smoke went down the shitter when you knocked it out of my mouth.”
“Liar.”
He half smiles and pulls a pack from another pocket. Bill’s been in enough saloons to know that a well-timed cigarette can calm an argument quicker than an ax handle.
“Was there anything else in the note?”
Bill takes a while tapping the Malediction out for me. At first I think it’s just how a man who spent decades rolling his own smokes handles premade cigarettes. Then it hits me that he’s stalling.
“No. I don’t suppose there was anything else that mattered in there.”
I check both ends of the alley for movement. Nothing.
More secrets. Just what I need. Is he changing sides? Bill isn’t the happiest saloonkeeper in the universe. Taking orders and abuse from drunk Hellions isn’t what he’s built for. Maybe someone made him a better offer. Is there anywhere in this fucking town I don’t have to look over my shoulder? Do I have to fill the Bamboo House with peepers now?
I turn and start away.
“I shouldn’t keep you from your bar, Bill. Thanks for the information.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I’m thinking about getting drunk and seeing if I can pick a fight at the arena. I still want some carnage tonight.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
I stop and look back at him.
“You can do that? Just walk around?”
He holds out Lucifer’s mark.
“This keeps me out of all kinds of trouble. These pig fuckers might stab each other over a nickel’s worth of beer, but they aren’t about to break the Devil’s toys.”
“Come on, then.”
“Give me a minute. I got saddled with a dim Hellion for help. Boy’d be a good thief if he ever actually took anything instead of losing it. He’s too dumb to steal and too clumsy for the legions, so they made him a barman, which, sadly, in my experience is just about right.”
I light the cigarette and watch Bill go inside. Johnny Cash singing “Ain’t No Grave” drifts out when he opens the door.
I hate not trusting him. It’s been nice being able to be human with him for a few minutes at a time. It’s one of the few things that’s kept me sane. If he leads me into another ambush, I’ll know what side he’s really on. If I’m on my own, that’s just the way it is. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Bill comes back to the side of the bar a minute later and cocks his head for me to follow him.
