I slopped some more whiskey down. The pain wouldn’t go away. “Dial ‘nother number,” I told Burchwood. He looked at Symmes, who nodded. He dialed and the number rang. It rang a long time before it answered.
“Fredl,” I said. “S’Mac.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Home.”
When I awoke I was in my own bed between fresh clean sheets and daylight was creeping through a crack in the drawn drapes. Fredl sat in a chair next to the bed smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee. I moved experimentally and my thigh responded by sending out a wave of pain. My stomach felt as if someone had slammed a bat into it.
“You’re awake,” Fredl said.
“But am I alive?”
She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “Very much so. It took Dr. Klett an hour to pick the shot out of your thigh. He said you got only the fringe of the pattern. Also your stomach is going to be sore for a week or so and you bled a lot. And, finally, what in God’s name have you been up to?”
“Too much,” I said. “Where are Symmes and Burchwood?”
“Those two!” she sniffed.
“You jealous?”
“No, they just seemed so tired and pathetic—and lost, I suppose.”
“They’ve been through a lot, but they’re O.K. I’d hate to see anything happen to them.”
“One’s asleep in the den. The other’s on the couch in your living room.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost noon.”
“What time did I call you?”
“About three this morning. You passed out right after that, they said. Then the doctor arrived and started to use his tweezers. He said that you lost quite a lot of blood—that you’ll be weak for a few days.”
I ran a hand over my face. “Who shaved me?”
“I did—and gave you a bath. Since when have you been a sergeant?”
“Since yesterday morning—or afternoon. A long time ago.”
“A long story?”
“Long enough. I’ll tell you about it while I get dressed.”
“For what? Your funeral?”
“No. To go out. Into the world. To take care of things. Earn a living. Run a saloon.”
Fredl rose from the chair and walked across the room to the dresser, where she opened a drawer and took out a shirt. She turned, holding the shirt against her breasts, and looked at me strangely.
“It’s not there anymore.”
“What’s not there?”
“Your place. They blew it up the day before yesterday.”
I threw the covers back and tried to swing my legs over the side. They refused to obey and I grew weak and a little giddy. I finally learned what that word meant. I closed my eyes and sank back into the bed and the pillow. It was all coming apart too soon. A nice comfortable, quiet, easy world was breaking up and McCorkle wasn’t tough enough for any other world.
“Who blew it up?” I said carefully, keeping my eyes closed.
“I don’t think they’ve found out yet. But it was early in the mornmg.
“What time early in the morning?”
“Around three.”
“How did they blow it up? With a firecracker?”
“Dynamite. They seemed to have all the time in the world. They placed it in several areas where it would do the most damage. Herr Wentzel said that he thinks it was because of the man who was killed there the other day. Someone blamed you and Padillo for it, Wentzel said. He said he’s looking for you both.”
“You talk to him?”
“No. It was in the papers.”
“They should tell him to try the river,” I said.
“For what?”
“For Padillo. That’s where he is: dead in the Rhine.”
I opened my eyes and Fredl still stood there, the shirt held tightly against her. She put it down carefully on the bed and came around it and sat down next to me. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. It was all in her eyes and the way her hands moved and the way her teeth caught her lower lip and held it.
