Kline took a step forward. The guard brought the light up and into his eyes. Kline took another step and heard a rustling and a click and the guard quickly flashed the light back on himself to reveal a sort of metal prosthetic slipped over his stump, a gun barrel at the end of it.
"I thought prosthetics were frowned upon," said Kline.
"We don't like to use them," said the guard. "But when we have to, we do."
"Say I climb the fence somewhere."
"You're welcome to try. My guess is we'd catch you eventually."
Kline nodded, turned to leave.
"Very nice to see you, Mr. Kline," said the guard. "If you have any more questions, don't hesitate to ask."
He found Gous and Ramse in the bar, already drunk, Ramse in particular, who was drinking whiskey through a straw. Gous kept saying he had to go easy, that it thinned the blood, and then taking another drink. They cheered when they caught sight of Kline, clapped him on the back with their stumps.
"Drink?" asked Ramse.
Kline nodded. Ramse called the bartender over. "A drink for my friend here," he said.
"The self-cauterizer."
"Word gets around," said Ramse.
"Say," said Gous, his voice slurred and too slow. "When do the women come out?"
"Ten," said the bartender. "I told you already. Ten."
"Drink?" Ramse asked Kline.
"He's already getting me a drink," said Kline.
"Hell," said Ramse. "I wanted to get you a drink."
"You did," said Kline.
"What?" asked Ramse. "What?"
"Never mind," said Kline.
"Just so you know," said Ramse. "I'm buying the next one."
Kline smiled.
"So," said Gous, hunched over his drink. "How's the investigation?"
"It's not."
"No?" said Gous. "Thash too bad."
"Do you want to hear about it?" asked Kline.
"About what?" asked Ramse.
"The investigation," said Kline. The bartender put the drink on the counter. Kline took it up in his left hand and drank from it.
"Oh, no," said Ramse. "You can't tell Gous anything."
"Why not?" asked Gous. "Why not?"
"Gous is a one," said Ramse. "We can't bring a one in."
"I was a one," said Kline. "They brought me in."
"I'm not a one," said Gous, lifting up his hand. "Not any more."
"Still," said Ramse. "You're not much. You're what you are and we love you for it, but you're not much."
"It's all right, Ramse," said Kline. "Trust me."
"I just don't think-"
"Ramse," said Kline. "Trust me and listen."
Ramse opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"Aline is dead," Kline said.
"Aline is dead?" said Ramse, his voice rising.
"Is that possible?" said Gous. "How is that possible?"
"Or not," said Kline. "Maybe not."
"Well," said Gous. "Which is it?"
"What did you say about Aline?" asked the bartender.
"Nothing," said Kline.
"Oh, God," said Ramse, shaking his head. "Dear God."
"Aline is either dead or not dead," said Gous to the bartender.
"Be quiet, Gous," said Kline.
"Well, which is he?" asked the bartender. "Dead or not dead? There's a big difference, you know."
"That," said Gous, stabbing the air with his stump. "Is what I intend to find out."
"You don't think there's a big difference?" asked Ramse.
"Ramse," said Kline. "Look at me. Why am I here? What am I investigating?"
"What?" said Ramse. "Smuggling."
"Smuggling?"
Gous, Kline noticed, was watching them more intently.
"Somebody smuggled out pictures."
"What sorts of pictures?"
"Sex pictures," said Ramse. "Of people missing limbs. Somebody stealing them and selling them without the proceeds benefiting the community."
"That," said Kline, "in your opinion, is why I am here?"
Ramse nodded.
"No," said Kline. "I'm here because of Aline."
"Who's either dead or not dead."
"Exactly," said Kline.
"There's a big difference," said Gous. "That's what we intend to find out."
"What?" said Ramse.
"That," said Gous.
"What?" said Ramse, looking around. "What's going on?"
"Exactly," said Kline. "That's what I want to know."
VIII
There are two possibilities, he thought, as he was escorted on his way to visit Borchert the next morning, a hungover Ramse on one side of him, a hungover Gous on the other side. He was coming at Borchert's request. Possibility one: Aline is dead. Possibility two: Aline is alive. Perhaps Ramse was right, perhaps he really did know something and the reason he, Kline, was here was because of smuggling or theft. But if it was smuggling, why hadn't he been told? Why had Borchert told him he was investigating a murder? Certainly, considering what Kline's specialty had been before, it seemed more logical that they would recruit him to investigate a smuggling operation.
Perhaps Borchert himself had a vested interest, had reasons to stop the smuggling from being investigated.
But even so, why declare Aline dead? Why suggest there is a murder to be investigated? Why not simply suggest something a little more benign?
And here he was, standing alone in front of Borchert, with Gous and Ramse abandoned at the gate, the one-armed, one-legged man looking grimly at him from his chair.
"I thought we had an agreement," Borchert was saying.
"What agreement?"
"I asked you not to speak about the case with those who didn't need to know. Instead, you've been spreading rumors."
"Look," said Kline. "I don't know what I'm doing here. What exactly am I investigating?"
"Aline's death."
"I don't believe Aline is dead."
"No," said Borchert. "You've made that quite clear."
"What about the smuggling?"
"The smuggling," said Borchert. "A cover story. Something we agreed to tell people like Ramse."
"And Andreissen?"
"We talked about that," said Borchert. "I give my solemn word that if you simply have one or two more amputations, Andreissen will change his story. Why didn't you speak to any of the others? Perhaps one of them would tell you the truth."
"You're lying."
Borchert sighed. "Well," he said. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but you're a stubborn bastard and have your own particular way of conducting business. You'd be better off if you were willing to take some things on faith, but Thou woulds't doubt, as Jesus said, and for the doubting there's nothing but what you can touch." He turned his head, gestured with his chin to the counter behind. "There's a gun there," he said. "In the drawer. No bullets in it, but the guard outside Aline's door doesn't need to know that. If you need to go see for yourself, go see for yourself. I wouldn't advise it, but neither will I prevent you."
Kline took the pistol and left. He could see, as soon as he opened the door to the hall, the guard in front of what he had been told by Andreissen was Aline's door. Was it the door Borchert expected him to go to as well? he wondered. Or was he being told to visit the room where Borchert had led him before, the faked crime scene?
"Is this the door to Aline's room?" Kline asked the guard.
The guard did not reply. Kline realized the man's lone eye was directed downward, fixed on his hand, and then Kline remembered the gun. He lifted his hand, pointed the pistol at the man's head.
"Please open the door," he said.
The guard shook his head.
"I'll kill you," said Kline.
"Then kill me."
Kline hit the guard hard in the face with his stump, then hit him across his jaw with the butt of the pistol. The guard took two awkward steps, wavering into the door, and Kline struck him with the pistol butt again, just behind the ear. The man went down in a heap.