Neil McMahon - Dead Silver

Then he saw Madbird and me. He casually withdrew the foot he'd put on the ground and stayed where he was, draping his arm over the seatback like that had been his intention all along.

So we walked on over to him.

"Glad you came by, Ward," I said. "Renee's been bringing me up to date about all the improvements you made around here, and now I get to tell you personally how much I admire them."

He looked at me with studied insolence, fingers drumming on the seatback.

"I know you?" he said.

I almost smiled. That was another thing I was noticing more and more-people who seemed to learn their lines from TV.

"Aw, come on, Ward," I said. "Don't you remember punking studs for me a couple years back, framing that Ramada Inn out on the strip? You were there at least two days-maybe even three."

He made a little sound of derision. Then he turned to Renee and whistled, like he was summoning a dog.

"Hey," he called to her harshly. "What's going on? I didn't tell you you could change anything."

I ached to jerk him out of his seat. When I was growing up, that would have been considered the appropriate, even obligatory response. But things had changed. Now it would be seen as assault, no matter the provocation, and while Ward was usually on the wrong side of the cops, I had no doubt that he'd go running to them if he could fuck me over. There was also another level of caution. Punk though he might be, guys like him were packing all kinds of shit these days-not just guns, but truncheons, pepper spray, swords, fucking crossbows.

Outweighing all that was the heartsick, cold-sweat memory of a night last September when I'd gotten crosswise with a man in a way that had started out almost frivolous, but ended very differently. Something in me had declared, never again. It wasn't a conscious decision, but a certainty that had announced itself.

"You've had plenty of chances to clear your stuff out of here," I said to Ward. "If you left something else, too bad. Now disappear, and forget you ever knew this address."

He gave me his hard stare again.

"I got a legal claim to this place," he said. "You're trespassing, dude. So do me a favor, and you forget this address."

Still, I found myself wondering whether the assault charge would stick if I just sort of helped him move his car out of the way so Renee could leave.

Then Madbird came sauntering past me, a movement that seemed casual until, with sudden speed, he slammed the driver-side door shut so hard that the huge vehicle rocked. Ward's eyes bulged as round as quarters.

"We got a couple hundred pounds of rat shit over there," Madbird said, jerking his head toward the pile of trash from the study. "What I hear, it belongs to you. How about you take it home with you right now?"

That turned Ward's expression to flat-out alarm. His fingers darted to the ignition key and the car lunged backwards, cylinders rattling and smoke pouring out of the mangled exhaust pipe.

"You'll be hearing from my lawyer, bitch," he yelled at Renee. He peeled on out, tires spraying the residue of gravel left by the winter's sanding trucks.

Renee stared after him, looking like she was slightly in shock. I put my arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze.

"If he comes by again, call me," I said.

"If he comes by again, he's gonna find out I ain't kidding about that rat shit," Madbird said. Then he gripped his throat and cleared it with a dramatic hacking sound.

"Weren't you on your way someplace?" he said to Renee.

That broke her little trance. She smiled and started walking toward her car again.

"I'll hurry, I know it's desperate," she said.

When she was gone, Madbird gave me a sly glance.

"She's a sweetie," he said. "You ought to check that out."

I snorted, emitting a little explosion of powdered plaster.

"She's way too high on the food chain for me," I said. "Anyway, she's engaged."

"Yeah, well, she could get unengaged. I seen that happen before."

We waded back into the carriage house. The dust had settled somewhat, but it didn't take us long to get it moving again.

A sizable heap of busted-up plaster and two beers later, Renee called to us from the doorway again, saying that some friends of hers had dropped by and they'd like to look around.

When we stepped outside this time, the sun had broken through a pocket in the clouds. The bright shock to my dust-filmed eyes made them tear up, blurring my glimpse of the two people with Renee. All I could tell was that she was standing beside another woman, with a man a little ways behind them, and that something about Renee seemed different. When I knuckled my vision clear, I realized that she was wearing a buff-colored leather shearling coat that she hadn't had on before. It was brand-new, with tags still hanging off a button.

She introduced the couple as Evvie and Lon Jessup, old family friends who lived a few miles south of Helena. Evvie was forty-plus, somewhat plain but elaborately groomed. Her hair was tinted a brittle red-orange that almost glittered. Lon was a sturdy, bearded guy several years older, who looked like he'd be at home working the land.

"Look what they gave me," Renee said, smoothing the coat's front with her hands. "Isn't it beautiful?" It was, indeed-at least a couple hundred bucks' worth of beautiful. And yet, there was something almost helpless about the way she spoke, like she was more embarrassed than pleased.

If Evvie sensed the same thing, it didn't show. She had a slow smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, and when her smile deepened, so did the crinkles.

"Little Renee hasn't lived here in so long, we weren't sure she'd have anything warm enough to wear," she said.

Renee rolled her eyes. "'Little Renee.' You can tell we go back a long way."

"So many happy memories here," Evvie said with a sigh. "Such a beautiful house." Then she extended a hand to indicate the pile of rat trash. "But this mess. You poor dear." She gave Madbird and me a glance that seemed faintly accusing, as if we'd caused it.

"Evvie's in real estate," Renee said. "She's interested in handling the sale. Is it okay if we go into the study?"

So, there was a little more to this visit than a friendly call. Maybe more to the expensive gift, too-intended to make Renee feel obligated.

"It's not dangerous, just dirty," I said. "I'd take off that new coat, if I was you."

"We don't have to go inside, hon," Evvie told her. "I just need a peek." She stepped to the doorway of the carriage house and gazed in.

Lon Jessup had stayed in the background, not speaking except to say hi, but now he walked over to join his wife.

"You're brave men for taking this on," he said to Madbird and me as he passed. "We appreciate you helping Renee out." He leaned in the doorway beside Evvie, with his thumbs hooked in his belt. He was probably familiar with construction; most ranchers were, along with a wide range of other skills.

"Why are you cutting into the walls?" Evvie said. "I thought you were just fixing the damage."

Renee glanced uneasily at Madbird and me. I groped for an answer that would disguise our real purpose.

Madbird, ever quick on his feet, said, "Rats could of got inside them, too. We're making sure there ain't something left in there that'll stink."

Evvie didn't respond. Instead, a few seconds later, she swung around to face us.

"So how long's it going to take you?" she demanded, suddenly peremptory.

This put her first question into a context that I'd learned to recognize over the years, as had Madbird; his lips curved in a faint smile. The maneuver was one that was used by speculators, designers, and other players who were peripheral to the main construction on a project. It was intended to put tradesmen on the defensive and drive down their prices-suggesting that they were dogging it, doing unnecessary work, and/or overcharging-while at the same time demonstrating that the questioner knew all about such shenanigans and would fiercely defend the clients' best interests.