other tall, pale, still. 'In a few minutes?'
'Okay.' Tony went back to wiping glasses, his face unreadable.
Eve's clear eyes regarded me steadily as I sat. 'How were the milking machines?' I asked her.
'They might do,' she said. 'Harvey thinks it will work.'
'I'm glad.' I sipped some bourbon, reminded myself about the beer at the Creekside, put the bourbon down. 'Eve, I've told Lydia everything that's happened, and everything else she needs to know. She understands what's important to you, and she'll try as hard as I'm trying to keep your private life private.'
Eve turned her eyes to Lydia, said nothing.
'I also understand,' Lydia said, 'that you don't want me here. I don't blame you. I'll try to make it as easy as
I can.' She met Eve's eyes with her own polished obsidian ones.
'I find it difficult,' Eve said slowly, 'to understand how you'—she indicated both of us—'can do what you do.'
'You mean dig out things people buried on purpose, and want to keep buried?' Lydia asked.
'That's exactly right.'
'Well,' Lydia said, 'but someone's doing that to you, right? Or you're afraid they will. Having us on your side just evens the odds.'
'Are you always sure you're on the right side?'
'No,' Lydia said simply. 'Sometimes I make mistakes.'
Eve looked at me. 'And you?'
'All the time,' I said. 'Morning, noon, and night. That's why I need Lydia. She's right at least sometimes. Can you two excuse me a minute? I have to talk to Tony.'
As I stood, I caught a look passing between Lydia and Eve that seemed to augur well for their getting along, though I had the feeling it didn't do much for me.
I walked to the bar, leaned on it while Tony finished mixing someone's scotch and soda. 'What's up?' I asked.
'C'mon outside,' he said, wiping his hands on a towel, not looking at me.
We left the warmth of the bar for the damp night chill. This was Tony's call, so I followed him, stopped when he did, waited.
He had trouble starting. We hadn't gone far from the door, and he stood with his back to the building, hands in his pockets, neon glowing over one square shoulder, the pitted tin sign in the air behind him. 'I gotta tell you,' he said. 'I gotta tell you what happened. What I did.'
'Okay,' I said.
'Last night—' he began, then suddenly stopped as his eyes flicked from mine to something behind me. Fear flashed across his face. I tried to turn, to see what it was, but Tony slammed into me like a wrecking ball. I crashed onto the gravel. Maybe I heard tires squeal, maybe I heard shouts; the only thing I was sure I heard was the whine of bullets cutting the cold air.
I twisted over, yanked my gun from my pocket, emptied it at the tail lights tearing out of the lot. I couldn't tell if I hit anything, but I didn't stop them.
Now there were shouts, running feet, shadows. I turned, saw light from the open door cutting a sharp rectangle on the ground. Tony lay just beyond it, two spreading pools of red merging on his chest.
I ripped off my jacket, tore my shirt off and wadded it up. I leaned hard against the places where Tony's blood welled. A forest of legs surrounded me, too many, too close; and then Lydia's voice: 'All right, people! Move back, give them room. Come on, move!' The legs receded. Tony moaned, opened his eyes.
'All right, old buddy,' I said, pressing on his chest. My heart was thudding against my own. 'Don't move. Don't talk. It'll be all right.' In the cold air the blood seeping under my hands was sticky and hot. I called, 'Lydia!'
'Right there,' she said.
'Get me something to use for a bandage. Call the nearest rescue squad.'
'They're in Schoharie,' said a calm voice beside me. Eve crouched on the gravel, took Tony's hand. He focused his gaze, with difficulty, on her face.
'Shit!' I said. 'It'll take them fifteen minutes to get up here.'
'What the hell happened?' A face bent over me; a voice echoed other voices on the edges of my attention.
'Back off!' I spat. The face retreated and the voices became background noise again.
Lydia reappeared clutching a roll of gauze and a pile of clean towels. 'They're calling the ambulance,' she told me, kneeling.
Tony's eyes closed. His breath scraped through lips tight with pain.
'No time,' I said. 'I'll take him. Lean here. Hard.'
I reached for a folded towel, but Eve took it from me, said calmly, 'I'll do this. Get the car.'
She began peeling my shirt back from Tony's bloody chest, laying clean cloth, directing Lydia's help with short, quiet words.
