As Mildred returned with cigarlike rolls of flat bread containing stew, a mature woman come over with a tray of wooden mugs.
“We didn’t order a second round,” Ryan said suspiciously.
As she placed the drinks on the table, he noticed the woman had eyes as blue as topaz, startling in their intensity of color.
“Here you are, sir. Sorry it took so long,” she said loudly, then added in a whisper, “Bart is my husband.”
“Something wrong?” Krysty asked in concern.
“Hell, yes,” she replied quickly, taking the empty mugs and putting them on her tray. It was just a circle of plastic, but seemed to serve well enough. “In this ville asking certain questions get you sent to the temple to feed the Scorpion God. What you were talking about is top round in that mag. Ain’t nobody here going to talk about that person you mentioned. Unless they’re a feeb.”
Well, that certainly covered those two at the motel. “Thanks for the tip,” Ryan said. “Anything else?”
“Oops, sorry,” the woman said for no apparent reason. Then pulling out a rag, she pretended to mop a spill on the dry table. When she took it away there now was a damp circle on the wood with a tail sticking out like the comet. Or a compass heading.
Krysty glanced up at that and emerald green eyes met those of ultrablue. “Understood,” the redhead said, pressing a handful of spare rounds into the pocket of the woman’s apron. “We’ll stay low.”
“Don’t go upstairs, they’re waiting for you. That wag caused a stir here like kicking a hornet’s nest. Everybody wants it to try to escape,” the woman said, turning to leave. “Sorry again. Anything else you need, just ask.”
As the woman returned to the bar, Krysty wiped her hands across the mark obliterating if from the table. “South by southwest,” she said taking a sip of her water, then reacted when she realized the mug was filled with shine. Mother Gaia, it was strong! They could use this to run the wag if necessary.
“Okay, got what we wanted,” Ryan said, standing and hitching his belt. “Let’s go.”
The companions left the gaudy house and hurried up the street, pausing at the sight of the lighted barn, Dean standing in the doorway with a drawn blaster in his hand. Ryan slid the Steyr off his shoulder and worked the bolt. “Hey, Able,” he called out, using their established code, asking if there was an ambush.
“No problems here, Charlie,” the boy answered, giving the prearranged countersign.
The friends entered the barn and found the wag parked exactly where they left it, the nukelamp blazing away. High in the sky, lightning briefly flickered across the black storm clouds drifting among the thick patina of twinkling stars.
“Here you go,” Mildred said, passing over the wrapped stew.
Without a word, Dean tore into it like a wolf and didn’t speak for a few moments.
“Damn, that’s good,” he said at last, coming up to breathe. “Hot pipe, I was starving. What took you long enough? It’s been over two hours, and I was starting to worry.”
“Doc should have told you we were getting food,” Ryan demanded sharply, glancing around. “Where is he, anyway? Taking a nap in the wag?”
Lowering his soggy sandwich, the boy blinked in surprise. “But he’s with you,” Dean said slowly. “I haven’t seen Doc since you left.”
Chapter Twelve
Stepping outside the barn, the companions listened to the ville around them, straining for the faintest cry from the missing man. But the silence was thick, no shouts or sounds of a struggle disturbing the night.
“The peace of a grave,” Ryan spit, unholstering his blaster. “Somebody is playing us for fools. Mildred, J.B., stay here. Krysty, with me. We’ll check the motel, see if Sparrow and Jed are still tied up. Jak, sweep the area for any traces.”
As the man and the woman dashed out of the structure into the dark street, Jak grabbed a nukelamp from the back of the wag. Returning to the street, he started at the front door and began sweeping the blaze of light along the cobblestones.