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"I think we'll spend tonight on the porch," Valentine said.
"See you in country, tag," Earl bellowed.
"Hey, Earl!" someone inside called. "Come over here and roll one. Calm down."
"Everready should have hooked us up with guerillas," Duvalier said.
"They're up in the mountains east of Nashville, for the most part," Valentine said.
"It's a place to get across this river," Ahn-Kha said. "Perhaps there are no Kur this near. Even a Reaper would have trouble with the crowd inside."
The crowd inside chose that moment to spill out the door. The two turkey hunters and Earl came out of the bar, pistols drawn. Duvalier made a move for her shotgun.
"Hold it," a voice barked from the repaired section wall. "I've got two barrels of buckshot on you."
Valentine stood up, hands up and away from his weapons. "Now hold on. I don't want-"
"You got a warrant on you, tag," Earl said, a flashlight clipped to his pistol shining into Valentine's eyes. "You and this lady here."
"Mister and Missus David Rowan," the turkey hunter read, despite his sunglasses. "He's even got that scar. It's two-year-old paper out of New Orleans, but a warrant's a warrant."
Other bounty hunters came out of the bar, forming a rough semicircle around the porch. They didn't pull their weapons.
"Fifteen thousand dollars Orleans each, it says," sunglasses continued. "Five thousand per bonus for live delivery. Payable at any Coastal Marine station. There's one in Biloxi!"
Valentine did a quick count. There were sixteen men around, if he counted the one covering them from inside.
"That's real good money," one of the leather-clad bikers said.
"Forty thousand dollars is," Valentine agreed. "If you're in New Orleans. How many of you have been there?"
None of the men said anything.
"Okay, you've got us. Let's say you take us to Biloxi, and collect your two thousand five hundred each, barring any bribes you might have to pay."
"Shuddup and face down, tag," Earl said. "We ain't all collecting this."
"Says who? Let him talk, Earl," one in the semicircle said, his hand resting on his gun belt.
Valentine continued. "Let's say you get us down there without soldiers hoping for a promotion taking us away from you. Biloxi'll pay you alright, in New Orleans dollars. They print that stuff like toilet tissue. It can only be spent in New Orleans, unless you want to trade it into a hard currency exchange at a third of the value. Boat fare Biloxi to New Orleans was four hundred dollars when I was down there. A bad bottle of Orleans gin was sixty dollars. A room's over three hundred, if you don't mind cockroaches. How far's that two thousand five getting you now?"
"It's not getting shared sixteen ways," Earl said. "Now-"
A gunshot from just behind the doorway interrupted him.
Greta stood in the door, her shotgun pointed to the sky. Valentine's ears rang from the shot, and he wondered what it had done to Earl's hearing.
"Earl, you owe me one shell and these people an apology. Nobody serves papers at my Shack. Nobody."
"They ain't warrant-men," Earl said.
"He's right, Greta," one of the spectators said.
"I knew that when I gave them my hospitality."
Greta lowered the gun and placed it against the back of his ear. The turkey hunters got out of the way of the potential blast. "Earl, holster your piece and say your good-byes. You're off my peninsula permanently."
Earl put away his gun. "I'll pay up and go." He stared at Valentine. "But you three can't retire here." He raised his voice. "Any man wants to call himself a warrant-man, kill the Grog-he ain't subject to hospitality. Later we'll track down these two and share the reward. Meet me at the old county sign."
