‘That’s Gallagher,’ said Prophett. ‘Gerald Gallagher from Hobart, Indiana, owns a club called Langtry’s across the street. Naked girls. Not ladies, girls. Gallagher doesn’t hire them if they’re over twelve. In Gallagher’s book, any woman over twelve is menopausal. In the United States, he’d be stoned to death in the public square.’
‘How come he walks so funny?’ Hatcher asked.
‘His jeep hit a land mine. The floorboard almost put him in orbit,’ said Prophett. ‘His feet never woke up.’
‘I assume you were in Nam,’ Hatcher said to Prophett. Prophett stared back into his glass. ‘Hell, I was with Gallagher the day he blew up. I left a leg in that jeep.’
He held out his right leg and tapped on it with a knuckle. It made a metallic sound, ping, like hitting an empty water pipe.
Prophett, Hatcher said to himself, that name is vaguely familiar.
Earp came back into the bar and went up through the beads into the Hole in the Wall. He sat down beside the Honorable, who was watching two men play eight ball.
‘That’s Hatcher down there talking to Johnny,’ he said.
‘Ah, you followed my advice, then.’
‘Sy didn’t steer him here, he turned upon his own.’
‘As I predicted.’
‘Don’t get smug on me. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea, playing along with this guy.’
‘I knew he would end up here sooner or later,’ the Honorable said, proud that his intuition had paid off. Earp took a long cheroot from his vest pocket and lit it, twisting it slowly between his fingers so it would burn evenly.
‘He’s flashing around a picture of Wol Pot. Also Cody. And he works for Sloan.’
The Honorable made a temple of his fingers and rested his mouth against its peak.
‘He told Sweets he was here on vacation, but Sy connected with him after he had breakfast with Sloan,’ Earp went on. ‘He’s not here by accident.’
‘Chance perhaps. They both are here, they both —,
‘Let’s be serious. He’s tracking, and I say if he’s here this quickly, he’s too close.’
‘Don’t let your paranoia cloud good judgment.’
‘I say he’s on to something.’
‘A fair call. Maybe you can find out what.’
‘I say Thai Horse takes him out.’
‘Kill him?’
‘Don’t you understand, this is a very dangerous man. I know him by reputation. He was a sanctioned assassin in Nam. They sent him out with a list. When he scratched off the last name, he came in and got another list. He’s not some dumb gumshoe from San Francisco.’
‘All the more reason to be cautious. I gave you my suggestion. Get next to him. Befriend him. Find out what he’s doing here. You can’t go around just recklessly knocking people off, Mr Earp. Regardless of what we call it, this is not the O.K. Corral.’
Earp glanced down at the bar. Hatcher and Prophett were chatting. The whispering man seemed to show no interest in what was going on behind the beads.
‘I will also remind you that Porter was killed here.’
‘So?’
‘So even if you decide to do something rash, don’t do it in Bangkok. Lure him out in the countryside somewhere. Two in a row would attract a lot of attention from the Americans.’
‘Great idea,’ Earp said flatly. ‘I’ll just invite him on a picnic.’
‘You must be resourceful. You sound like you’re panicking. You still have the advantage, Wyatt. We know more about him than he knows about us. Now you must find out why he’s here.’
‘I don’t think you could torture that out of him.’
‘You know what they say about getting more with candy than sour cream.’
‘This man moves very fast. This is his kind of game.’
‘If he is connected to Sloan and you kill him, they’ll send somebody else.’
‘Not if it’s done right.’
The Honorable leaned back and smiled. ‘That’s all I’m suggesting, dear friend,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘Whatever you do, do it properly. As you pointed out, it is a dangerous game and he’s very good at it.’
‘Very good doesn’t cut it. He’s an expert.’
As Earp spoke a boxy man in tennis shorts and a white T-shirt got up from the poker table and approached a portly gentleman in white. He drew up a chair and sat down facing the white-haired gentleman, who put aside his book and took a sip from the wineglass as the dark-haired man leaned forward and spoke to him in whispered tones. The older man nodded sagely as the other spoke and pointed to the card game behind the glass-beaded curtain.
Earp turned on his barstool, facing the main room, took out his .357 with the special barrel and laid it casually on the corner of the bar. Hatcher watched the ritual with more than mild interest.
‘That’s Eddie Riker, the ice cream parlor, remember? talking to the Honorable,’ Prophett rambled on to Hatcher, nodding toward the older man. ‘The Honorable is the official banker of Tombstone.’ His nose began to run and he sniffed, then began scratching his side. ‘Kind of sets his interest on what the loan’s for, a little less for eating money until payday than, say, to cover a turn of the cards at the poker game up there in the Hole in the Wall.’
‘And the guy with the cannon is the Brink’s man?’
Prophett laughed. “Brink’s man,” that’s slick. The Brink’s man is Wyatt T. Earp, known to us as W.T. He kind of covers the money box, case somebody should take a notion to heist it. Him and that piece he calls his Buntline Special.’
‘Looks like he can handle the job.’
‘The Thai police leave us alone, they let old W.T. keep things quiet.’
‘That’s a helluva weapon,’ said Hatcher, nodding toward the Magnum. ‘You could walk to Milwaukee on the barrel.’
Prophett started to laugh again. Up above, the Honorable opened the strongbox: and took out what appeared to be a loan note. He scribbled on it and slid it to Riker, who scribbled on it, and then the Honorable counted out five purples and slid them across the table. Riker nodded his thanks and went back to the game.
‘Riker is have a bad day,’ said Prophett.
Wilkie ambled back up the bar.
‘How we doing here?’ he asked.
‘I’ll have a beer,’ Hatcher said. ‘Wouldn’t mind turning a few cards, either.’
Wilkie stared at him for a moment and then said, ‘They’re kind of funny about who plays in the game. But if you hang around long enough and they get to know you, they’ll invite you.’
‘Kind of a closed corporation,’ Hatcher suggested.
‘Kind of.’ Wilkie went back down the bar and started talking to a customer.
‘Was Sweets who started Tombstone,’ Prophett said, and his words began to run together. ‘Sweets and Wyatt. Sweets was an English professor at Tuskegee Institute, got his master’s with honors from Atlanta University, what’d they do? They drafted him. A teacher, a teacher, man, and they dumped him in Nam and the teacher became Sergeant ‘Wilkie and he looked around at what was happening and he never went home. Opened the Longhorn, then Eddie Riker started up Pike’s Peak —‘
Wilkie’s eyes cut toward Prophett. He was smiling at his bar trade, but Hatcher could tell he was listening to Prophett ramble on about Tombstone and the Longhorn. Suddenly he turned and went to the end of the bar and said something to Corkscrew. The black man got up without looking down the bar and went behind the beads.
‘— and Corkscrew and Potter opened Yosemite Sam’s. Wonderboy opened the Stagecoach,’ Prophett mumbled on, staring down at the bar. ‘Max, he couldn’t stand anyplace dark, closed up, he went down south to do some farming. And Kilhanney, poor fuckin’ Kil — that goddamn Taisung.