“Seems like the way schoolgirls would fight,” Arlen said. “Here we are, both hanging on to somebody’s pretty locks.”
McGrath was breathing hard through his nose. The blade of the knife was firm against the worn, sunburned skin of his throat.
“What do you say, Wade?” Arlen said. “You let go of your lady, I’ll let go of mine.”
Wade’s face showed no change in expression, but he released Rebecca’s hair. She stepped back quickly, went around the side of the bar.
“Let him go, Arlen,” she said.
“I guess I will,” Arlen said. “I was thinking I might dance with him a little longer, but maybe not.”
He gave another twist of McGrath’s hair and leaned his face down.
“I let you go, you can reach for that pistol,” he said. “I don’t want that to happen. So you’re going to stand where you are and let the kid take the gun off your belt. You’re not going to move an inch while it happens.”
McGrath made no response. Arlen said, “Paul.”
Paul came forward, moving as reluctantly as if he’d been asked to handle a snake, and reached down and got the gun out of the holster.
“Hang on to it and go stand by the door,” Arlen said. “We’ll give Mr. McGrath his toys in just a minute.”
He waited until Paul was at the door and then he dropped the knife from Tate McGrath’s throat and shoved him away, taking a step back as he did. McGrath straightened and looked at him, and for a moment Arlen was sure he was going to try, even with Arlen holding the knife and Paul holding the gun. Tate McGrath was the sort of alley cat who fought dogs of his own volition. By holding his own knife to his throat, Arlen had just bought a lifetime of hatred.
“Wouldn’t be wise,” he said as McGrath took a circling step toward him.
“Tate,” Wade snapped, and McGrath came to a stop. “I’ve seen more than enough wrestling for one night. Mr. Wagner seems to have a mighty confused idea of what it means to mind his own business, but that’s all right. We’ll give him a chance to figure it out. I’m pretty sure he’ll take to it quickly.”
Wade was looking at Arlen, but Arlen wouldn’t take his eyes off McGrath.
“I’m a mighty fast learner,” he said. “Now are you boys ready to head out for the night, or do I need to hang on to this knife much longer?”
“We’re on our way,” Wade said. “You can give him his knife.”
Arlen shook his head. “Not until you’re in the car.”
Wade shrugged. He turned to Rebecca and extended his hand, touched her cheek gently. She grimaced.
“You remember our chat,” he said, and then he turned and walked toward the door. When he reached Paul he slowed and stared down into the boy’s face, then laid a hand on his shoulder. “Watch who you travel with, son,” he said. “Bad company can be disastrous.”
Arlen had been keeping his attention on Tate McGrath, but now, as Arlen watched Wade talk to Paul, the backwoodsman fell from his mind entirely.
Paul’s eyes had just filled with smoke.
It twisted in the sockets, two gray whirlpools set high on his face. Arlen felt something clench in his throat and he took a step forward and raised the knife.
Paul turned the smoke-eyes to face him, and Wade gave the boy a pat on the shoulder and then released his grip and looked back at Arlen. The instant his hand left Paul’s shoulder, the smoke vanished.
Arlen stopped where he was, halfway across the room, knife in hand.
Wade said, “What are you doing?”
“Step back from him,” Arlen said. His voice was unsteady.
Wade gave him an unpleasant look but stepped away. Paul’s brown eyes regarded Arlen with curiosity.
“Let’s go, Tate,” Wade said, and then he stepped through the door. McGrath followed, and Arlen kept staring at Paul. There was no smoke now, but there had been. He was certain that there had been. Why had it disappeared so quickly?
“Give me the gun,” Arlen said. Both Paul and Rebecca were watching him with a measure of confusion. Paul passed the gun over, and then Arlen went out to Tate McGrath’s truck. Tate was behind the wheel, Wade in the passenger seat. Arlen tossed the knife and the gun down in the bed, and then he banged his hand off the side of the truck and stepped back.
“Y’all have a nice evening now,” he called.
“You’ll see us again,” Solomon Wade said. “And there will come a time when you will regret tonight’s decision.”
“I’ve never been one for regrets,” Arlen said, and then he turned and walked back to the Cypress House. The whole way, there was a tightness through his back and he was ready for the sound of the truck door opening, Tate McGrath stepping back out and going for the gun. The only sound that came, though, was the truck rattling off down the road.