“And what are you going to be doing?”
“Your brother asks a fair question, Tom,” said Strunk. He had his thumbs hooked into a Western-style gun belt, and it made him look like a gunslinger that Benny had seen in a book about the old West. Benny realized that Strunk was willing to use force, or at least imply that he would, to keep Tom from taking the law into his own hands. Benny wanted to knock Strunk’s teeth out. How could the man want to give Tom a hard time when Charlie Matthias was walking around free? When he opened his mouth to say something, he caught Tom’s eye, and his brother gave him a small shake of the head.
Reluctantly Benny lapsed into silence.
To Strunk, Tom said, “I’m going to go over and take a look at Rob’s place. I can do that alone or you can come with me. Rob was tortured, and I’m betting it was done there. Who knows what we’ll find?”
“And then what?”
“Then tomorrow morning, at first light, Benny and I are going out into the Ruin to try and find that girl.”
Mayor Kirsch snorted. “Every bounty hunter and way-station monk for five hundred miles has looked for the Lost Girl, and nobody’s found her yet.”
“I found her,” said Tom. “Twice. And I can find her again.”
The other men gaped at him. From their expressions it was clear they didn’t want to believe him, but Benny knew that Tom never bragged. He had his faults, but lying wasn’t one of them.
“Why would anybody care?” asked one of the deputies.
“Gameland,” said Tom.
“That burned down.”
Strunk sighed. “Tom thinks they rebuilt it and that they’re dragging kids off to play in some kind of zombie games. He thinks the Lost Girl knows where it is.”
The men looked at one another and shifted uncomfortably. Benny noticed that not one of them asked Tom to verify this, and no one asked where Gameland might be. They said nothing. Tom made a disgusted noise.
Strunk nodded. “Okay, Tom. Let’s do it your way. Let’s go over to poor Rob’s house and see what we can see.”
“I want to go too,” said Benny.
“You need to sleep.”
“We already covered that. Maybe—maybe—I’ll sleep when I’m forty, but I just killed a zombie who used to be someone I know. If I close my eyes, he’s going to be right there. I’d rather stay awake.”
It wasn’t said as a joke, and no one took it that way. All three men nodded their understanding.
“Okay, Ben,” Tom said.
Before they left, Tom went inside, dressed in cowboy boots and jeans, strapped on a pistol belt, clipped his double-edged commando dagger inside his right boot, and slung his katana across his back.
“What the hell, Tom? The fight’s over,” said Mayor Kirsch.
Tom didn’t dignify that with an answer.
They walked down the middle of the street—Tom on one side, Strunk on the other, with Benny in the middle. Tom had given him back the wooden sword.
“How about a real one?”
“How about no? You’d cut my head off, or your own. And besides, you already know you can do enough damage with this.”
“How about a gun?” Benny asked hopefully.
“How about you stay home?”