They presented him an old pair of generously cut khaki trousers and some serviceable briefs. "We have a little of just about everything hanging in the basement," Ladyfair said. "You'd think we were a community theater. We do everything but produce Shakespeare."
"I'm surprised you haven't. The Bard had his bawdy side."
"You just come back now when you're up to it. You seem like a better quality than that rabble, and a smart business is always looking to improve the clientele. Seeing as that disgrace took place right on my front lawn, I'll offer you a freebie when you're feeling more recovered."
"I appreciate you taking me into your house."
"Oh, it's not my house. We're a limited liability partnership, young man. Quite a few make that mistake, though. I suppose I'm the old lead mare of the house, though I'm still very much involved on the cash generation side of things. There are some that have learned to appreciate a woman without teeth."
She winked.
Bordello co-ops. What will they thing of next? Valentine thought.
"Then I'm grateful to the whole partnership. Novel idea."
"Not really. I'm surprised. Your necktie party insisted you were a fan of professional gentlemen's entertainment. Said you used to visit a place called the Blue Dome. They said it was only fitting that you get hung up on the doorstep of a whorehouse, so to speak."
Valentine shrugged. "I don't suppose you could give me their names," Valentine said.
"You'll remember we haven't even asked yours."
"David will do," Valentine said.
"Well, David, if you want names, nobody gives a real name here. You should really hurry on. Mr. C, our banker and lawyer, is removing the rope from the tree, but if they come back . . ."
"Were they Southern Command?"
"They were in civilian attire but had fabric belts with those clever little buckles our heroes in uniform wear. One of them was drinking and kept talking about General Martinez and about how things are going to change for the better once he gets in, so I suspect at least some of them were."
A prettyish young "entertainer" came into the kitchen with the placard that had been hung about his neck. "You want this as evidence?" she asked with a strong Texas accent.
It was an ordinary wood bar tray, much ringed and weathered though carefully cleaned, with black letters burned into it:
David Valentine,
Condamned Fugitive
Law and Order Is
Coming Back to the UFR
Whoever had done it hadn't bothered to pencil out the letters before setting to work with the wood burner. "Back to the UFR" was rather crowded together.
"David Valentine," Ladyfair said. "It sounds rather dashing and romantic, as though you should be riding around in a cloak, holding up carriages with a pistol and donating the booty to the peasantry."
Valentine probed his teeth, checking for loose gum line or a broken crown.
"I am fond of novels when idling in bed or tub."
Valentine wanted to keep the sign just for the interesting spelling of "condemned." Might make an interesting memento on his office door. Maybe they'd summed up his life better than whoever would write his eventual obituary-if he died where people noticed such things. Condamned.
"I've troubled you enough," Valentine said. "I suppose you've lost a night's business because of this. If you'll let me know what the clothes and bandages cost, I'll come by tomorrow to repay you what I can."
"Nonsense. Here's a card. If you do find those rowdies, give us a jingle. We'll give them a little law and order when we testify in court. Dumb sons of bitches didn't wear those masks when they were in our parlor waiting on you. I'd like to be able to point them out in court."
"Cheap too," the young Texan said. "Kept complaining about not being able to run a tab for their whiskey."
Valentine inspected his reflection in a little mirror next to the kitchen doorjamb. He'd probably have some horizontal scarring on the right side of his face to balance out the long vertical bullet furrow long since faded on his left. The asphalt had been sharp.