“Nah, shooting begins tomorrow, and the first three scenes will be shot on this set,” the bartender replied.

“Where does the crew and cast live?”

“They’re all staying in town at La Fonda, on the Plaza.”

Billy wandered around the saloon, peering at the decorations. He found a hat rack with a gun belt and a six-shooter hanging from it. Keeping his back to the bartender, he took the Colt .45 out of its holster and checked the cylinder: loaded, but with blanks. He replaced the gun and went and watched the poker game for a couple of minutes; the extras were playing for real, it seemed.

The bus driver announced that he was about to leave and that no one could stay on the set. As the tourers filed out, Billy saw a script on a table near the door. He was last out, and he slipped it under his jacket, then got back on the bus. They were driven back to the parking lot, and as he got off the bus, Billy noted a truck arriving with a closed rear, and emblazoned with the legend COSTER’S ANIMAL WRANGLERS—Furry Creatures and Reptiles.

“Those folks supply coyotes and snakes and such,” the driver said as Billy got off the bus.

Billy got into his rental car and drove back past the airport and to Tesuque, thinking all the way.

48

Billy got to Gala’s house at dusk and was greeted by Stone Barrington at the front door. Stone led him to a guest room, and helped him with his bags, one of them quite large. “What’s in here?” Stone asked.

“Stuff,” Billy replied.

“Oh. Get settled, then find us in the kitchen, and we’ll have a drink there before dinner.”

Billy put his shaving kit on the sink and stuffed his large case into a closet, then he sat down for a few minutes and flipped through the script he had stolen at the ranch. There was a shooting schedule and a call sheet for the next day, too; probably belonged to one of the poker players. He tossed the script onto the desk, then went to find the kitchen.

“Before I offer you a drink,” Stone said, “I want to show you something.” He led Billy outside through the kitchen door, switching on an outdoor light along the way, then he flipped open the hose box. “Have a look at that.”

Billy looked at the snake. “My God,” he said. He reached into the box, took the dead snake by the neck and hauled it out, holding it up under the light. “I’m five-eleven, and this thing is six and a half feet,” he said. “His head is the size of my fist, what’s left of it, and look at those rattles!”

Stone told him how he had found the snake in the house. “Is it native to these parts? What do you think?”

“Could be,” Billy said. “Do you want the skin?”