Fat Tuesday(77)

He had been efficiently transferring canned foods from the brown paper sack to the crude shelving. Now he paused, placed one of the cans on the lower shelf, positioned it precisely, then slowly turned toward her.

"I think it's only fair that you know this. A few weeks ago, I held my pistol in my hand and considered blowing my brains out. The only reason I didn't is because I'm going to kill the men responsible for my friend's death. After that, I couldn't care less what happens to me."

"I think you're wrong, Mr. Basile. When it comes right down to a choice between living and dying, you'll choose to live."

"Have it your way," he said indifferently and went back to his task.

"What about your family?"

"Don't have one."

"No wife?"

"Not anymore."

"I see."

"No, you don't." He balled up the empty paper sack."I didn't tell you all that to stimulate conversation. I only told you so you would spare me and yourself any scare tactics you're planning to use. They won't work. I already know what a big bad boy your husband is.

Nothing he does will stop me from avenging Kev Stuart's death."

He tossed the sack into the corner, then walked out and returned to the boat to unload more gear. The heater was putting out a sufficient amount of warmth. Remy slipped off Dredd's plaid wool, motheaten jacket and finished making the bed. Spotting a quilt folded up in a box beneath it, she pulled out the box and removed the quilt. She sniffed it experimentally and decided that it was basically clean but could use shaking out.

She got as far as the open doorway, where she met Basile coming in, carrying a duffel bag."Where are you going?"

"To shake out the quilt."

He slung the duffel bag off his shoulder onto the pier."I'll shake it out."

He held it over the edge of the pier and shook it hard. When he was satisfied that no varmints or bugs had nested in it, he brought it back to her."It's free of vermin."

"Thank you."

When she turned away, she heard him curse beneath his breath."Put the quilt down."

'"Why, what's wrong?"

"Just do it."

Without waiting for her to comply, he took the quilt from her, tossed it onto the bed, and, in the same motion, turned her around so that her back was to him. He tugged the tail of her flannel shirt from the waistband of the pants Dredd had loaned her and, before she could protest, raised it to her shoulders, leaving her back bare.

"What are you doing?"

"The back of your shirt is spotted with blood. Some of the sores have opened up. Dredd'll have my ass if they get infected. Sit down." He pulled out one of the chrome dining chairs and, pressing her shoulder, tried to push her into the seat. She resisted."What's the matter?"

"I've been kidnapped by a man who's just stated his intention to kill several people. If I'm a little jumpy, that could be why."

He swore."I'm not going to hurt you. Okay? You can stop flinching every time I come near you. Now sit down and turn around."

She did but perched on the very edge of the seat.

Dredd had packed everything he needed in a canvas bag, which he brought to the table. Then he rolledw the back of her shirt up tightly around her neck so it would be out of his way. Remy held it in place in front by folding her arms across her chest. He dabbed the bleeding spots with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic.

"Sting?"

"No," she lied. It stung like crazy, but she endured it stoically.

He worked methodically and in silence, first cleansing the wounds before applying Dredd's medicinal salve to each one. His movements were untrained and unsure, he didn't have Dredd's finesse or healing touch, nor did he keep up a stream of soothing chatter. The silence was more uncomfortable than the stinging.

"How often do you come here?"

"Not so often that anybody will look for me here. In case you were thinking that a friend might drop by."

"I wasn't."

"Whatever."

"Do you generally come alone?"

"Sometimes with my brother."

"It's an awfully small cabin for two men."

"We toss to see who gets the bed."

"The loser sleeps on the sofa?"

"Hmm." He snapped shut the lid on the tin of salve to signal that he was finished."The sores must've opened up when you made the bed Better take it easy for the rest of the day."

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"Will I be tossing you for the bed?"

When he didn't answer right away, she turned her head. Her arms were still folded across her chest, but the back of her shirt remained tucked up around her neck. As she looked at him over her bare shoulder, she realized too late that her questions must have sounded to him like a provocative proposition.

"How would the wager go, Mrs. Duvall? Tails I lose and get the couch?

Heads I win and get the bed, and you?" He made a scornful sound."I guess I should be flattered, since you sell it to Duvall for much more.

But just the same, no thanks."

"Mrs. Duvall?"

Del Ray Jones thrust his face within inches of his client's."Did I stutter?"