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The filthiest man Valentine had ever seen stepped away from the bench. Hairy shoulders, black with dirt, protruded from mud-stained overalls that seemed clean by comparison. Two bright eyes stared out of a crud-dark face.
Dumbstruck by the man's hygiene pathology, Valentine could only stand and attempt to forget he had a nose.
"I always enjoy the reaction," Hoffman Price said, putting down the pipe. Valentine tried to fixate on the faint odor of the tobacco, but failed. Price smiled. His teeth were a little yellow, but clean and fairly even. Valentine tried breathing through his mouth. "Greta used to call me 'breathtaking.' "
Valentine counted blood-gorged ticks dangling from the region about Price's armpits and ears and stopped after six. "Everready sent me. From the Yazoo."
"How is that old backshooter?"
"Same as always," Valentine said, not sure if he'd be able to make it across the river, let alone across two states, with this stench.
"Haven't seen him in . . . it's three year now. You looking for someone?"
The Grog hooted outside, and Valentine heard Duvalier say, "No, thanks. I like them cooked."
"Just a guide," Valentine said.
"Uh-huh. To where?"
"Just across the Ohio River. A place called Laurelton. I'll show you on a map."
"That's quite a trip, son."
"That's why I need a guide. Myself and two companions."
"That little gal out there up for mileage like that?"
"I've been to the Rockies and back with her," Valentine said, which wasn't quite true by about two hundred miles but sounded good.
"I'm on my summer holiday. Hope you've got a wheelbarrow full of incentive."
Valentine dug out the Reaper teeth. "Everready said he was calling in your debts." He held out his hand with the teeth in his palm.
"I'll be damned," Price said. He took them. Valentine resisted the urge to smell his hand to see if the odor had transferred.
"Pretty," Duvalier said, and the Grog hooted.
Price cocked an ear to the sounds outside. "Nice young gal you got. Some of the titty trash that gets brought into the Shack, they scream at her. But I have to say no, son. Too far, too long since I've been over the Ordnance ground."
"Ordnance?" Valentine asked.
"Big stretch of ground between the Ohio River and the Great Lakes," Price said. "They make the Kentucky Kurians look like amateurs. Decent bounties, but I like to spend autumn and winter down here."
"But those teeth," Valentine said.
"I'd do anything for old Everready. But you aren't him. That particular debt isn't transferable."
"Money, then. I have some gold."
"Hard to spend when you're getting gnawed on by a legworm. I'll put on the ol' thinking cap, son, and try and come up with someone crazy enough for a round cross Kentucky. But no names come to mind."
The Grog came back in, leading Duvalier by the hand. She deftly opened a tackle box and showed her collections of costume jewelry, interestingly shaped pieces of driftwood, and some old United States coins. The two men stood in silence at the strange, interspecies feminine cooing.
"I see Bee's making herself agreeable," Price said. "Nice to see someone being kind to her."
"Dzhbee," Bee agreed, looking up at Price.
"He doesn't want to do it, Red," Valentine said, wondering if Grogs operated on a different olfactory level.
