But Joe chuckled and shook his head. “I’m a lot of things, kid, but I’m not a bounty hunter. Never felt the calling. That’s more Tom Imura’s gig than mine.”

He clicked his tongue. “Grimm, down and easy.”

The dog’s attitude instantly changed, this time reverting back to lazy dog. He sat and pretended to look as innocent as a puppy.

“I guessed who you are because I’ve lived out in the Ruin since everything went to hell, kid, and I spent a fair amount of time in central California. Everyone round those parts knows the story of the Lost Girl. Tom Imura spent some time looking for you. Guess he found you.”

“How did you know Tom?” Lilah asked suspiciously.

“We’ve known each other off and on for eight, ten years. We had some friends in common, once upon a time. And back before First Night I even knew his uncle, Sam. We worked together for a bit. Tom takes after him. Same kind of cool smarts, same kind of integrity. After the zoms rose, I was back and forth between the Nine Towns for a while. This was early on, when they were just getting settled, but I got bored and moved on. Haven’t been back there in years now.”

“Was Tom a friend of yours?”

Then Joe narrowed his eyes. “You keep putting Tom in the past tense. Why? Has something happened to him?”

Lilah said nothing, but she could feel her eyes filling with tears.

“What happened to Tom?” asked Joe. Then understanding and pain flickered in his eyes. “Ah . . . jeez. How’d it happen? Walkers finally get him?”

“No,” she said. “He was murdered.”

Lilah told him about Tom’s fight with the Matthias clan. About the destruction of Gameland, and about the murder of Tom Imura by the madman Preacher Jack. When she was done, Joe got up and walked over to a small table and leaned on it, his shoulders slumping. Grimm caught the sudden shift in mood and whined a little.

“You know,” said Joe thickly, “after all the death I’ve seen—before and after First Night—after all the times I’ve pulled a trigger, after all the comrades I’ve buried, and all the people I’ve seen go down in blood and pain, you’d think that another death wouldn’t mean a thing to me. You’d think that I’d have too many calluses.” He shook his head. “But . . . Tom Imura. Damn.”

When he turned back to her, Joe looked ten years older. His face was drawn, his eyes dark with loss.

“Long time ago,” he said, “Tom talked about uniting the Nine Towns. He wanted to create a group like my rangers. He wanted to bring in some people he trusted, people who didn’t run with Charlie’s bunch. Guys like Solomon Jones, Hector Mexico, and Sally Two-Knives. That ever happen?”