Enough of Gehrig’s men apparently didn’t have anything to do except follow the companions, and Ryan knew they weren’t going to be trusted.
The one-eyed man walked back to the truck and took out one of the equipment packs they’d prepared and slid it over his shoulders, then he fisted a second one. He kept the Steyr at hand, the safety off.
“What’s going on?” Krysty asked in a quiet voice that didn’t carry.
“Man’s going to buy me a beer,” Ryan said.
“What are you going to do?”
“Me? I’m going to let him.”
“Ryan, this boy needs some attention. He’s burning up with fever.”
Nodding, Ryan said, “I’m going to see to that, too.” He started up the steps after the raider captain.
Gehrig led the way inside the building.
Ryan already knew from the smell and the lively music coming from inside that the Bent Rose was a gaudy. He didn’t worry about Krysty being offended by what was inside, and if there’d been rules against women coming in, Gehrig would have said something.
The interior was fanciful, decorated with daringly colored chiffons and silks and other fabrics Ryan couldn’t identify. A stage, raised above the hardwood floor by three feet, was flanked by two bars at three o’clock and nine o’clock. Men in clean white shirts worked behind the bars pushing drinks at scantily clad women.
On the stage a dancer performed a languorous striptease act in front of the midafternoon crowd, which hooted enthusiastically. She was tall, blond and statuesque in a way that defied gravity, with breasts as big as melons.
“Upon my soul,” Doc said reverently, taking the woman in at a glance with difficulty, “if dear old Isaac Newton could only see this vision before us, I daresay he’d have to do some refiguring.”
“Close your mouth, Doc,” Krysty said dryly. “You’re going to strangle on a fly.”
“This is my place,” Gehrig said proudly. “One of them, anyway.” He led the party to a booth in the corner that was conspicuously empty.
“Your seat,” Ryan said.
“Always.” The raider captain’s men spread out around the room, effectively sealing off all exits. The crowd readily gave way to them.
Ryan swept the accommodations with a glance, keeping his face impassive. “Got the distinct feeling you’re wanting to keep me underfoot.”
Gehrig waved to a booth across from him as he sat. “I’m a blunt man, mate, and I’ve got the feeling you’re pretty much the same. I believe your story about the Deathlands and how you come to be here, but I’ve got a lot here to protect.”
Ryan nodded. “I’ve come to see over the years that the more a man takes for himself from others, the more he worries that some others are going to come along and take from him. Doesn’t make for an easy mind.”
” ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,’ ” Gehrig quoted.
“That is Shakespeare,” Doc said.
The raider captain looked at the old man. “You know of the Bard?”
Doc brushed dirt from the lapels of his frock coat. “Indeed I do. Tell me, then, have all his works survived?”
“I don’t know about all of them,” Gehrig said. “But a lot of the street people keep his stuff alive down at the Globe.”
“The Globe? Surely it cannot be the same theater where so many of the master’s works were first trod upon the boards.”
Gehrig shook his head. “No. This is just a small place, mostly kept alive by the locals.”
“True art,” Doc said, “will always out.” He glanced at Ryan. “Friend Cawdor, if I may?”
Ryan nodded. He wasn’t Doc’s keeper, and it was good to see the old man excited about something again.
Doc didn’t waste any time clearing out. The afternoon crowd surrounding the center stage summoned up a lively round of applause as the dancer finished her set and a lean brunette covered with body tattoos took her place.
A woman came over from the nearest bar carrying a tray full of drinks. She slipped them onto the table and walked away.
“Sit,” Gehrig said.
“I need a room for us,” Ryan stated.
Gehrig lit a cigar, then leaned back and pushed a plume of smoke through his lips. “There’s rooms upstairs, and there should be some empty.”