“Since I put it up,” said Giles Sans Pitié firmly. “And I won’t have some rival headhunter doing his poaching there and picking it clean.” He paused. “Where can I find him?”

“Right here.”

Giles Sans Pitié looked around the room. A silver-haired gambler on a winning streak, decked out in bright new clothes made from some glittering metallic fabric, stood at the far end of the bar; a young woman with melancholy eyes sat alone at a table in the corner; and scattered around the large, dimly lit tavern were some two dozen other men and women, in pairs and groups, some conversing in low tones, others sitting in silence.

“I don’t see him,” announced the bounty hunter.

“It’s early yet,” replied Gentry. “He’ll be along.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I’ve got the only booze and the only sportin’ ladies in Moritat. Where do you think he’s gonna go?”

“There are a lot of worlds out there.”

“True,” admitted Gentry. “But people get tired of worlds after a while. Ask me—I know.”

“Then what are you doing on the Frontier?”

“People get tired of people, too. There’s a lot less of ‘em out here—and I got me my fancy ladies to cheer me up if ever I get to feelin’ lonely.” He paused. “‘Course, if you want to hear the story of my life, you’re gonna have to buy a couple of bottles of my best drinkin’ stuff. Then you and me, we’ll mosey on out to one of the back rooms and I’ll start with chapter one.”

The bounty hunter reached out for the bottle. “I think I can live without it,” he said.

“You’ll be missing out on one helluva good story,” said Gentry. “I done a lot of interesting things. Seen sights even a killer like you ain’t likely ever to see.”

“Some other time.”

“Your loss,” said Gentry with a shrug. “You gonna want a glass with that?”

“Not necessary,” said Giles Sans Pitié, lifting the bottle and taking a long swallow. When he was through, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How long before he gets here?”

“You got time for a quick one, if that’s what you mean,” said Gentry. “Just give me a minute to check and see which of my frail flowers ain’t working this minute.” Suddenly he turned to the doorway. “Whoops! Here he is now. Guess you’ll have to go loveless a little longer.” He waved his hand. “How’re you doin’, Songbird?”