Kline nodded and did as he was told, looking in at Ramse who was pale and silent, lips tight. The hood was warm under his palm.
"Now you, Ramse," said Gous. "Right beside friend Kline."
"You're planning to kill me?" said Ramse.
"Why would I want to kill you?" asked Gous. "I have no desire to kill you. But yes, if you don't get out now, I'll have to kill you."
"You'll kill me anyway," said Ramse.
Gous sighed. "Ramse, don't you know me better than that?" "Apparently I don't know you at all."
Gous gestured impatiently with the gun. "Ramse," he said, "please."
Ramse sighed and clambered out.
"Turn around and raise your hands," Gous said, and when Ramse did so he stepped quickly forward and struck him in the head with the butt-end of the pistol.
Ramse crumpled quickly. Gous prodded him with his foot, then came back to the car.
"You'll have to drive," said Gous. "Get in."
Kline did, and Gous clambered in beside him, looking suddenly worn and tired.
"Think you can manage?" he asked.
"I can manage," said Kline.
He reached across and turned the key, then awkwardly levered the car into drive, started slowly forward.
"Try not to hit Ramse," said Gous.
"All right," said Kline, and turned the wheel a little more sharply.
Gous pointed and Kline spun the car awkwardly around, almost driving it into the ditch. He got it straightened out, let himself go faster.
They drove in silence for the better part of an hour, Kline letting his gaze flit occasionally over to Gous, who hardly moved.
"What's this all about, Gous?" Kline finally asked.
"Please," said Gous. "Call me Paul."
IV
How much weirder, thought Kline, is it possible for my life to get? And then he pushed the thought down and tried to ignore it, afraid of what the answer might be.
They stopped for gas and Kline thought briefly about making a break for it, but Gous stayed right beside him, gun hidden in the pocket of his jacket, as he pumped the gas and then took the money Gous gave him inside to pay. He was still in his robe, but it was dirtier now, and bloodstained. The attendant looked them over carefully as he took the money. He couldn't stop himself, before they were even completely out the door, from reaching for the telephone.
"Ah hell," said Gous, rolling his eyes and turning around long enough to shoot him.
"You'd think he'd have at least some discretion," said Gous on the way back out. "You'd think he'd at least wait until we'd gotten in the car."
"Did you kill him?" asked Kline.
"Probably," said Gous.
"What if he was only calling his girlfriend?" asked Kline as they climbed in and started to drive.
Gous gave him a disgusted look. "Why would you say that to me? Are you trying to make me feel bad?"
"I'm sorry," said Kline, surprised.
"What's done is done," said Gous.
"What exactly is it that's being done, Gous?" asked Kline.
"Paul," said Gous, absently. "Call me Paul."
They drove for some time in silence.
"How'd you become involved with the Pauls?" asked Kline finally.
"The usual way," said Gous.
Kline said nothing.
"I was a one," Gous said. "I'd cut off the proper hand, joined the brotherhood. Then I was approached. What Paul had to say seemed to me correct. It struck a chord."
"But you're no longer a one," said Kline.
"No," said Gous. "They needed someone on the inside. After a while it became clear I'd have to have additional amputations or else become suspect." He turned toward Kline. "I'm still a Paul," he said. "Only more so."
Gous had him pull off the freeway and into a small town, kept giving him instructions on where to turn.
"Of course I've rendered them a few invaluable services," said Gous.
"Is that right?"
Kline didn't say anything, just kept driving. After a while things looked vaguely familiar. Soon after, Gous had him pull to a stop beneath a streetlamp and they got out, walking half a block to the lobby of the Pauls' compound. The doorman raised his missing hand in greeting.
"Well met, Paul," said Gous.
"Well met, Paul," said the Paul. "Hello, friend Kline."
"Cheers," said Kline.
"Just here to report," said Gous.
"Of course," said the Paul. He excused himself, went behind a desk, lifted a telephone receiver, spoke into it. A moment later he was back, unlocking the heavy door at the back of the lobby.
"Paul's expecting you," he said, holding the door wide. "Go right in."
They met the chief Paul in a room very much like the one that had been used for Kline's convalescence, the bed replaced by a sort of Victorian fainting couch, a few additional wing-backed chairs thrown in as well, the sort of room a group of nineteenth-century gentlemen would retire to after dinner to smoke their cigars. The Paul was at the piano when they came in, playing a stylized version of a song Kline knew but couldn't place. The Paul watched him, kept playing. Kline settled into one of the wing-backed chairs and listened. It was, he suddenly realized, Hank Williams' "Hey, Good Looking," reworked to sound like a German cabaret number.
When the Paul was done, Gous thumped his hand against his thigh, applauding. What is the sound of one hand clapping? Kline couldn't help but think. The Paul stood and gave a little bow, then came over near them, stretching out rather effetely on the fainting couch.
"Ah," he said, smiling. "Here we are again. What bliss."
Gous nodded and smiled. Kline didn't do anything.
"You are, friend Kline, I must say, a charmed man," said the Paul. "It appears you can't be killed. Though the same unfortunately cannot be said for almost anyone who comes in contact with you."
"I suppose not," said Kline.
"I see that Paul," he said, nodding at Gous, "has had to come in from the cold, so to speak. And yet I suspect, Mr. Kline, that even had he not been readily available, you would have managed to extricate yourself."
He got up and crossed to Gous, moving behind him to stand behind his wing-chair. He placed his hand and stump on Gous' head and closed his eyes. Gous too, Kline saw, had closed his eyes.
"Our father who art in all things," said the Paul sonorously, and Kline realized with surprise that this was a sort of blessing. "We ask thee, in gratitude and humility, to look kindly upon this thy servant Paul, to arrange the trees and flowers, the rocks and fields, the buildings and bodies that constitute the expression of your being here upon this earth so as to cradle him and shelter him and shield him from harm." The Paul's eyes squinted, his brow tightening. "He has gone into the mouth of affliction for thee; he has given thee not only one hand but the better part of another, more than thou doest require. Now take him into thy bosom, dear Lord, and hereafter protect him. Amen."
He lifted his hand and stump away and opened his eyes. Gous opened his eyes and looked around, as if slightly disoriented, then smiled. The Paul came back toward the fainting couch, stood in front of Kline.
"And now," he said, "Your turn, friend Kline."
"Absolutely not," said Kline.
"Why ever not, friend Kline? What could you possibly be afraid of? That you might actually feel the holy spirit?"
"None of this has anything to do with me," said Kline.
"But it could have something to do with you, friend Kline," said the Paul, regarding him steadily. "And if not, what do you have to lose? It's only a man putting his hands on your head and nothing happening at all. But what if it does have something to do with you? Wouldn't you care to know what you're missing?"