WE FIND AN abandoned liquor truck on the way. Bill selects a bottle of good Hellion whiskey and we head to the bar. The Corvair runs a little rough on the way back. Something is out of alignment and we’re leaking oil. Still, it gets us back to Bill’s before coughing its last.
He leads the way in and uncorks the whiskey while I go around lighting candles. When I sit down, Bill has laid out several shots in a row.
“What all we drinking to?”
“First, making it back to hearth and home in one piece.”
We down a shot.
“Second, to a good day’s work, even if you smell like the innards of a trout.”
We have another.
“Third, to a fine angel and friend.”
Down it goes.
“Last, to seeing the backside of you for a while. Vaya con Dios.”
I raise my glass, hoping he’s not going to keep pouring.
“Same to you, Bill.”
We drink.
He leans his elbow on the bar.
“Is there anything left for us to do down here? Any demons to smite? Bears to wrestle?”
I cork the whiskey.
“Can’t think of a thing, except wondering what you’re doing next.”
He thinks for a minute.
“I might wander south in a bit. That is, unless you think you’ll be sending some Wormwoods down here soon.”
I flex my arm a few times, hoping to feel something. There’s nothing at all.
“It will be a while, I think. They’ve run off in a dozen different directions. I have to find out where and then get to them.”
“Tell you what. I’ll wait a little while, then. Maybe set up camp at whatever’s left of the house in the park. If no one wanders up in the next week or so, I’ll take it as a sign to be moving on.”
I scratch my arm.
“Sounds like a plan.”
He straightens his mustache.
“That bite still bothering you?”
“Just itches a little.”
“Be sure to get it looked at. Don’t go playing a hard-ass.”
I nod.
He holds up the bottle.