TOM IMURA WAS DRESSED IN FADED BLUE JEANS AND A GREEN TRAVEL-stained safari shirt with a lot of pockets. He wore old boots, an ancient Pittsburgh Pirates ball cap, and a smile that was every bit as friendly and inviting as a pit viper’s. As he strolled slowly toward the front of the house, Charlie and the Hammer took small sideways steps to be clear of any obstructions. Both men wore knives on their belts. The Hammer had his black-pipe club, and Benny knew for certain that Charlie had a four-barreled derringer in his boot top.
“So,” said Tom amiably, “what are we doing today?”
The question sounded as ordinary as Nix asking if Benny wanted to go swimming or Chong suggesting they entertain the trout down at the stream.
“Just having a chat, Tom,” said the Hammer. “Ain’t nothing.”
“Happy to hear it, Marion.”
Benny gasped. No one ever called the Hammer by his birth name. There was a story Morgie liked to tell about how when the Hammer turned fourteen, he killed his father with a screwdriver for giving him that name. And yet the Hammer didn’t say a single word about it to Tom.
“You doing okay, Benny?” Tom asked.
Benny didn’t trust his voice, so he gave a short jerk of a nod.
“Rob?” Tom asked with an uptick of his chin.
The artist said, “Just a friendly chat. The boys were just passing the time of day.”
Tom stopped a yard away from Charlie. He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and looked up at the hard, blue dome of the sky.
“And it’s a hot one, ain’t it?” said Tom, squinting at a buzzard floating like a black kite, high in the sky. Without looking down he said, “I see they put the Lost Girl on a Zombie Card. How about that?”
“She ain’t none of your business, Tom,” said Charlie with quiet menace.
Tom nodded as if agreeing, but he said, “I seem to remember you telling folks that the Lost Girl was just a myth. Or was it that she was dead ten years ago and more?”
Charlie said nothing.
Tom finally lowered his eyes and turned toward Charlie. If there was anything to read in Tom’s face, Benny wasn’t able to see it.
“And then I see you getting all worked up over her picture on a kid’s trading card. What am I supposed to think about that?”
“Think what you like, Tom,” said Charlie.
“Yeah,” added the Hammer with a laugh. “It’s a free country.”
The bounty hunters laughed, and Tom laughed with them, sharing a joke that clearly no one found funny. Benny shifted uncomfortably and threw an inquiring look at Sacchetto, who returned the look with a shake of his head.
“Charlie, you and Marion wouldn’t be looking for the Lost Girl again, would you?”
“Can’t look for someone who’s dead,” said the Hammer.
“Seems to me that we do that all the time,” said Tom.
The Hammer colored, annoyed with himself for a foolish comment.
“The last time you were looking for her was after what happened up in the mountains. But you told me that it was all an accident. It made me wonder then, as it does now, if the Lost Girl might have seen something she shouldn’t have. Or some place she shouldn’t have …”
“There was nothing to see.” Charlie growled. “Like I told you a dozen times.”
Tom shrugged. “And yet you get all worked up over her card. Why is that? Are you afraid that now she’s on a card, everyone will know that she really exists? That maybe someone will go looking for her? Maybe … bring her back to town? Ask her about life out there in the Rot and Ruin? Maybe ask her about her sister? Ask her about Gameland?”
Benny frowned. What was Gameland?
“Gameland burned down,” said Charlie. “As you well know.”
“Me? What do I know? As you said, Gameland burned down. Nothing left but cold ashes and a few bones. No way to tell who the bones belonged to.”