“He says he’ll talk to you. Sounded like he wanted to, in fact.” “When and where?” “His place. Come on out and I’ll take you over there.” The drive to Ramey’s house wasn’t as far as that to Luther Del Ponte’s. Ray took one of the three or four sandy village streets that crossed the highway; it passed a couple of old buildings made of cut sandstone and at some vague point left town and entered the desert. They followed its long, meandering curve around the base of a small butte that looked as if ...it were once part of the larger Dark Mesa. “I have to admit I’m kind of surprised, Gabe. Figured if he’d talk to you at all, he’d do it on Indian time. You know, ‘One of these days.’ But he said to bring you out. Said he’d be home all day today and I could bring you out any time.” “Any idea why he’d do that?” Thoughtfully, the tribal policeman ran the side of his thumb along his pockmarked jaw. “There’s got to be money in it for him somewhere. I mean, he’s a Many Coats, and the only reason a Many Coats does anything is for money.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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