The Best Rootin' Tootin' Shootin' Gunslinger in the Whole Damned Galaxy (11 page)

      
“That was very generous of you, Mr. Flint,” said the blue man when the door slid shut.

      
“What was?"

      
“Giving him a chain that was given to you by a woman you loved."

      
Flint toyed with his present for a moment. “I never loved her,” he said at last. “Besides, it was a long time ago.” He paused again. “Hell, if anyone loved her, it was Tojo."

      
“Still, it was a decent thing to do."

      
“
What
was a decent thing to do?” asked Flint distractedly.

      
“Giving him the chain, as I just explained,” said the blue man patiently.

      
“Yeah. Well, I always try to do at least one humane thing a year."

      
The blue man stared at him curiously. “Why do you continually pretend to be colder and less caring than you are?” he asked at last.

      
“What makes you think I'm pretending?” asked Flint.

      
“Because over the years I have watched you continually try to appear callous and uncaring, and yet your actions ultimately prove that you are not."

      
“It's your imagination."

      
“It is not, and I think I deserve an answer."

      
Flint walked over to the blue man's refrigerator and pulled out another beer. He opened it, stared at it for a moment, and sighed wearily. “There's a room on the third floor of a tenement building in Trenton, New Jersey, that's been waiting for me to come back since I was twelve years old,” he said slowly. “It hasn't been painted in half a century, and I don't think it's
ever
been heated. At night, you can shine a flashlight on the floor and watch the cockroaches fight the termites. I've spent my whole goddamned life getting as far away from that room as I can, and something deep down in my gut tells me that the day I stop running and start caring is the day I'll find out that someone has moved my bags back into it.” He looked directly into his partner's narrow orange eyes. “Does that answer your question?"

      
“You're a very unusual man, Mr. Flint."

      
“So are you, Mr. Ahasuerus. Isn't that why we became partners in the first place?"

      
“I suppose so,” sighed the blue man.

      
Flint took a long swallow of his beer. “This is really pretty awful stuff,” he commented.

      
“Then don't drink it."

      
Flint smiled. “It's not quite
that
awful."

      
“By the way, I haven't made my ledger entries yet. How much did you spend to get Billybuck and the Jimorian out of jail?"

      
“Three thousand credits for the Jimorian,” said Flint. “If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have charged them to take him off their hands."

      
“And Billybuck?"

      
“You don't want to know."

      
“I must have a figure."

      
“Twenty-two thousand."

      
“That much?” asked the blue man, surprised.

      
“They'd hit him with a murder rap. I had to grease a lot of palms.” He finished his beer. “Don't worry about it. We'll make it all back on the next world."

      
“You have a plan,” suggested Mr. Ahasuerus dryly.

      
“You'd better believe it,” said Flint. “We've got a real live killer on our hands. They arrested him for murder the last time he appeared in the ring, and ran us off the planet."

      
“I don't see how—"

      
“We're putting a notorious killer on display!” interrupted Flint. “We're giving a whole world a chance to put up their champion against the Dancer! We're going to run ads on every videocast, we're going to boost the prize to five million credits and we're going to triple the admission to the specialty tent."

      
The blue man looked his surprise. “I rather assumed Billybuck would go back to his original act, now that we've had this unfortunate occurrence."

      
“Not a chance."

      
“But we can't make a profit from that poor being's unfortunate death!"

      
Flint laughed. “Two weeks from now you're going to be so grateful to that poor Tilarban asshole for having the good sense to die in the ring that you're going to be shipping flowers to his grave."

      
“And if another sentient being should die from heart failure during the next performance?” demanded Mr. Ahasuerus, so upset that he inadvertently spilled most of his remaining coffee onto the saucer.

      
“Relax,” said Flint. “We're not that lucky."

      
Mr. Ahasuerus stared at his partner for a long moment, then sighed and turned his attention back to his coffee.

      
“Can I open my present now?” asked Flint.

      
“I had quite forgotten about it,” said the blue man. “Yes, by all means."

      
Flint ripped the wrapping paper off and found himself holding a paperback book in his hands. “What the hell is this?” he demanded.

      
“I had Mr. Romany ship it to me just before he left Earth."

      
“
Your Body and How to Care for It
,” read Flint. He looked up at his partner. “This is some kind of a joke, right?"

      
“Absolutely not,” said Mr. Ahasuerus seriously. “I have every hope that this book will help persuade you to cut down on your drinking and give up cigarettes altogether."

      
“I'll cherish it forever,” said Flint mockingly.

      
“I would be satisfied if you merely read it."

      
“As soon as I work my way through Monk's stack of pornography,” said Flint.

      
There was another knock at the door.

      
“It's probably Tojo, back to find out how a whistle works,” commented Flint.

      
Mr. Ahasuerus opened the door and Billybuck Dancer entered the office, a disconcerted expression on his handsome face.

      
“I hope I ain't bothering you or nothing,” began the Dancer, tipping his hat.

      
“Not at all, Billybuck,” said Mr. Ahasuerus pleasantly. “What can we do for you?"

      
“I just want to make sure I still got a job here."

      
“Why shouldn't you?” asked the blue man, puzzled.

      
“Well, you know—that guy dying in the ring and all,” said the Dancer.

      
“I was with you all morning,” said Flint. “How come you just started getting worried now?"

      
“I just bumped into the new guy."

      
“The Jimorian?” asked Flint.

      
“No, the other one."

      
“What other one?” demanded Flint.

      
“The one who's dressed up like a gunfighter,” said the Dancer. “Looks an awful lot like Doc Holliday."

      
“Where did you see him?"

      
“On the third level. I was just getting off the elevator, and he was coming down the hall. Real thin fella. All in gray, too, just like the Doc used to wear."

      
He paused. “So I figured maybe you hired another trick-shot artist to take my place."

      
“We didn't."

      
“Good. 'Cause it wasn't my fault, Thaddeus. You saw it—he just keeled over and died."

      
“I know."

      
The Dancer looked puzzled. “Then who was that guy in the corridor?"

      
“Probably just Diggs playing a joke,” said Flint. “I'll talk to him about it."

      
“Okay,” said the Dancer, visibly relieved. “I knew you wouldn't fire me for something that wasn't my fault.” He touched his Stetson with his fingertips and walked back out the door.

      
“I had no idea Jimorians were so adaptive!” exclaimed Mr. Ahasuerus excitedly.

      
“You also had no idea they could read minds,” said Flint.

      
“They can't. Billybuck obviously told him about Doc Holliday while they were in jail."

      
“Uh-huh,” grunted Flint. “And when do you suppose Tojo told him about Alma?"

      
“That's right,” mused the blue man. “I had forgotten all about that."

      
Flint got to his feet. “I'd better have my little chat with him right now, and find out what else he can do that you don't know about."

      
“I'll go with you."

      
Flint shook his head. “This isn't a field trip for a general science class,” he said. “Has it occurred to you yet that a guy who can read minds and appear to be anyone he chooses just might constitute a potential danger?"

      
“All the more reason why we should both go,” persisted Mr. Ahasuerus.

      
“Have it your way,” said Flint with a shrug. He walked to the door. “Let's go."

      
“Haven't you forgotten something?” said the blue man.

      
“Give me a for instance."

      
“Your present,” said Mr. Ahasuerus, picking it up from the chair and handing it to him.

      
“Now, how could that have slipped my mind?” said Flint apologetically. He stepped aside to allow the blue man to pass through the doorway first, quickly flipped the book onto a couch, and walked out into the corridor.

 

 

Chapter 7

 

      
Flint and his partner checked the Jimorian's room, and when they found it empty, they began methodically going through the ship's public rooms. They finally found him in the otherwise-deserted mess hall, sitting at a table with Diggs.

      
“Hi, Mr. Flint,” he said, looking up. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ahasuerus. Won't you join us?"

      
“Yeah, do,” said Diggs with the hungry look of a predator. “I was just explaining the finer points of blackjack to our friend here."

      
“Thanks,” said Flint, walking over and pulling up a chair.

      
“How about Mr. Ahasuerus?” asked the Jimorian.

      
“He'll be along,” said Flint. “He's got to load up with a gallon or two of coffee first."

      
“Billybuck says it tastes best cooked over a campfire,” offered the Jimorian.

      
“The Dancer never drank anything stronger than milk or Coke in his life," replied Flint. He turned to Diggs. “You got a deck with you, Rigger?"

      
“Always,” replied Diggs, producing one from a vest pocket.

      
Flint examined it, then tossed it onto the table. “How about an honest deck?"

      
Diggs shrugged, then fished around in his pants pocket for a moment and produced another one. Flint examined it, then nodded and slid it across the table to the Jimorian.

      
“Okay. You say you can do card tricks. Do one."

      
The Jimorian began shuffling the deck. “Does this mean you're taking me along?"

      
“It means I'm considering it."

      
The Jimorian gave the deck one last shuffle, then had Flint pick a card. He did so, replaced it in the deck, and waited while the alien mixed the cards again. Finally he spread them out in front of him and pulled one out.

      
“Is this it?"

      
Flint looked at the card. “Not even close."

      
“Well,” said the Jimorian easily, “it'll take some practice."

      
“Maybe you've got another trick or two you can do,” said Flint, as Mr. Ahasuerus, carrying three cups of coffee on a plastic tray, joined them. All conversation came to a halt while the blue man poured cream and sugar in one cup, cream in the second, and sugar in the third, and began carefully stirring each in turn.

      
“Maybe we ought to put
him
on exhibit,” said Diggs, jerking a thumb in the blue man's direction.

      
“It is hardly my fault if you have no appreciation of your national beverage,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus austerely.

      
“I always thought my national beverage was Schlitz, or maybe Budweiser," said Diggs.

      
“Getting back to the subject,” said Flint, “what other tricks can you do?"