He opened his desk drawer and removed a chrome-plated, double-edged dagger with a gold guard on
the blade and a snow-white handle that had been inset with two red swastikas.
It was the most beautiful knife Terry had ever seen. He held it in his palms and started to slip the blade from the white leather sheath but first lifted his eyes to Carl's to seek permission.
"Go ahead," Carl said, and fired his pipe, cupping the match flame as though there were wind in the room.
Terry turned the blade over in his palm. He could see his face in the oily reflection and feel the coolness of the steel like a kiss against his skin.
"Later you and I will bust some clay pigeons out over the river. How's that?" Carl said.
"Yes, sir," Terry answered.
Carl puffed on his pipe and gazed reflectively into the smoke, his brow furrowing slightly.
"You notice anything different about Wyatt?" he asked.
"Wyatt's a mite moody sometimes." That was the right answer, he thought. He was giving Carl what he wanted without saying anything Wyatt could use against him. His statement even sounded sympathetic. Way to go, he told himself.
"I'd like to think he's just off his feed. But we can't have loose cannon on board our ship, Terry."
"Yes, sir, I know what you mean," Terry said.
"You're a fine young man," Carl said, and held out his hand. Carl's grip was meaty, encompassing, the skin warmer than it should be.
"Carl, my rent's due on my place above the Clark," Terry said.
"Yes?"
"I wonder if I could move out here. Work for room and board."
"I don't see any reason you shouldn't get the first vacancy," Carl replied.
Chapter 30
It rained just before dawn, then the sun rose inside the mist on the hills and through my window I could see the pale green shapes of cottonwoods swelling in the wind and a lone black bear running past Lucas's tent, as though the pinkness of the morning had caught it in a dishonest act.
Doc came into my bedroom and set down a cup of coffee for me on the nightstand and pulled up a chair next to my bed.
"That ATF agent, Rackley, the one who was hassling you?" he said.
"What about him?"
"He called while you were still asleep. He left this number," Doc said.
"He must be an early riser," I said.
"Why you been sleeping with L.Q.'s gun on your nightstand the last couple of nights?"
"I sent a letter to Wyatt Dixon and told him a few things about Witherspoon, including the fact he had AIDS."
Doc nodded reflectively. "Where'd you come by all this information?" he asked.
"Temple got ahold of Witherspoon's welfare and juvie records. I made up the stuff about AIDS."
Doc got up from his chair and propped his hands on the windowsill and stared out at the morning.
"I thought I had an iron bolt through both temples," he said.