report to an angel or something?â
âHavenât got any angels that I know of, or anything else like that. Some ladies look like angels, without the wings. Most of âem donât act like angels though, God bless âem.â He stuck the twig back in his mouth and chewed meditatively. âOh, I suppose I oughta take you over to the boardinghouse, so you donât have to go to the trouble to grow a cottage, right off, or beg a room in one of the big houses. Not that you couldnât just stay outdoors, if you were of a mind to, thereâs no skeeters. Itâs pretty good, clement weather around here if you stay close to town. Well, sir, right this way.â He straightened up, stretched, and started off down the street, hands back in his pockets.
I fell into step beside him, and we walked east along Main Street. âSo you have weather here.â
âSure do. Even seasons, in a mild way. But if you want wild weather, you travel for it. Some do. Whatâd yaâll do, for a living? In the Before, I mean.â
âI was a half-Âassed private investigator. Las Vegas.â
âI used to have dealings with private eyes in the Before. I was a horse-Ârace tout. Well, I did a lot of stuff. Bookie. Card sharp. Not that I ever cheated nobody. I was just good at cards. Knew when to hold âem, when to fold âem. You want to play some poker? We got standard fifty-Âtwo-Âcard decks here.â
âMaybe later. Whereâs that boardinghouse?â
âThatâs where weâre headed.â
I felt pretty comfortable with him. He was a gambler and Iâd just come from Vegas. âYou been here awhile?â I asked.
âYeah. The suit tell you? We never seem to develop fashions here. Some try, now and thenââÂhe grinnedâÂâbut itâs unfashionable to have a fashion. Yes sir, I was shot dead by Big Jim Krest in Forth Worth, in 1940, so Iâve been here, uh . . . how long is it?â
âBit more than seventy years.â
âSeventy years!â He whistled. âWell Iâll be a ding dong daddy from Tallahassee. I done lost track.â
âHowâd we end up here, in this . . . town? I mean why here, particularly, Bertram? Why us, why here?â
He grinned ruefully. âIâm no expert on that airy fairy stuff, hoss. I just look for a chance to have a good time. I take me a walk, I smell the air, have a drink, play some cards. Try my luck with the ladies. Glad to be still around at all in some way. I donât know that much about how the town got here. Or how I got hereâÂwhy me, why here. I have wondered. Itâs true this ainât like where I was living, pre-Âdeath. I was a towny.â
âMe too. Seems a strange fit.â
âBut would you really want aâÂwhereâd you say, Las Vegas? Iâve heard about that Vegas. Would you really want a Las Vegas afterlife?â
âHell no. I was no saint but I wasnât that bad.â
âAnyway, what I hear is, where you show up in this world is something you choose . You just didnât know you were choosing it. And you choose it because somehow you know you need it.â
I looked around skeptically, and suddenly realized that I liked it here. The gently scintillating sun was rising up over the bluffs between the town and the sea, and I felt its subtle warmth on the back of my neck; saw it was stretching my shadow out over the cobblestones. It definitely seemed like a real place, not just some afterlife dream. The cobblestones were dirty, cracked in places. The cottages lining the road had a certain shabbiness about them. Not decayed, just worn, like they werenât getting enough maintenance. Some of them were flanked by thick trees dangling with Spanish moss; it looked incongruous with the Old New England housing.
â . . . Gettaclue. Gettaclue. Here I am. Here I am. Here I am