“Like you could have left me alone with the soldier in the alley behind the whorehouse.”
“What’s this about a whorehouse?” Hazel wanted to know.
“It’s a Spanish word meaning cathedral,” Erikson said blandly. His eyes were still upon me. “Based on the million you were counting on for your end of the retrieval, your check is going to come up about nine hundred ninety-eight thousand short. The cash is Uncle Sammie’s, but I’ve had you on the department’s thirty-two-dollar per diem since the outset. Hazel’s fifty thousand advance to me will be handled separately.”
“Tell the department I hope they can spare it,” I said. “They didn’t risk a goddamn—”
“You can mail us our checks at the Rancho Dolorosa, Ely, Nevada,” Hazel cut in. “And why don’t you come out for a visit while you’re recuperating?”
Erikson nodded slowly. “I might do that. I just might.”
“Anytime,” Hazel said. She gave Erikson her big, Hazel smile. “Come on, horseman. Before you get into an argument with the government.”
“I’m not so sure about the ranch,” I demurred. “The White Pine county sheriff might still be taking an interest in me.”
“No, he won’t,” Erikson said. “Uncle Sammie may come up short on the cash, but his umbrella has no holes in it.”
“Now, isn’t that nice to know?” Hazel said to me sweetly. She tugged at my arm. “Come on. A girl has to have some privacy while she’s getting her lumps.”
Karl Erikson and I exchanged half-salutes, and Hazel and I walked back down the hospital corridor to the elevator.
