door opened and Libby Malloy stepped inside. She leaned her shoulder blades against it and said, “You’ll be thirty-five before you’ll be eligible for captain.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’d be thirty-five before I got it anyway.” He flipped his head around and looked at her. “The important thing is that I won’t be here to get it.”
“Leave the army and you’ll die,” Libby said. “You need the army, the same as I do.” She came over to Crook’s desk and sat down on it. “How long do you think I could live in a town with the boy? How long could you, with people pointing and saying you buried Oldyear, the freighter, up to his neck in sand?”
“Shut up!”
She came off the desk and touched him. “Tim, it happened. Nothing can change that.”
“Libby, leave me alone, will you?”
She shook her head. “It’s a dirty world, Tim, where people can’t live their lives the way they want. Someone’s always making rules.”
Sickles came in, a thin smile on his face. He said, “My wife wanted to say goodbye, but I’ll say it for her.” His glance flicked to Libby Malloy, brushing the softly swelled figure. “Some women were made for it.” His smile broadened.
“You want another crack in the mouth?” O’Hagen asked.
“Some other time. You carried this deal off better than I thought you would. But I’ll do a little retrenching and we’ll go another round.”
O’Hagen laughed dryly. “You know, I think I’d just as soon blow your brains out if I knew where to aim.”
Sickles’ smile broadened, but did not extend to his eyes, which remained hard and shining. “That’s about the way it’ll be, O’Hagen; we’ll shoot each other, and I’ll be looking forward to the day.”
“That’s one way to get me off your back.”
“The white Apache,” Sickles said softly. “O’Hagen, I’ve heard about Oldyear, but I never believed it until now. It suddenly makes sense, why you hate Apaches so much. You played Apache for seven years and you remember how it was. The slow fires, the skin being ripped off inch by inch. Maybe you’re still remembering Oldyear buried to the neck in an ant hill—”
O’Hagen grabbed him, whirling him against the desk. Libby Malloy crowded in with surprising strength and held O’Hagen off. “SHUT UP, YOU HEAR? SHUT UP!” The wildness left O’Hagen’s eyes and he turned away from Sickles, shaking uncontrollably.
“I was right,” Sickles said. “Your conscience is bothering you.”
“Just get out!”
“Why not?” Sickles said. “You’ve seen your omen.”
He went outside and O’Hagen listened to the sound of his retreating steps. Then he turned to Calvin’s cigar box and took one, snapping off the end with his teeth.
“Don’t think about what he said,” Libby softly advised. “Tim, he doesn’t understand; no one does but you and me. We know how much you have to pay just to stay alive.”
“Leave me alone for a while, will you, Libby?”
“All right, Tim.” She moved to the door and then he turned to her. She stopped.
“Libby, I need help!”
“We both do, Tim. But who is there to help us?” She regarded him for a moment, then was gone.
General Crook came back alone. He glanced at O’Hagen, then stood by the window overlooking the parade. “The Sickleses have left the post, without escort, of course. Mr. Sickles is disenchanted with the military and I can’t blame him.”
“You haven’t seen the last of him, sir.”
“I believe that. I don’t think I like Mr. Sickles,” Crook said with customary bluntness, “and I trust him even less. He lies too easy and turns things around so the good side points to him. Personally I believe you’ve made a fool of yourself over the woman Sickles married, but that is neither here nor there. I want you to get Mr. Sickles for me. Get him or clear him completely. And while you’re at it, do some work on your idea that there is a connection between Sickles and Contreras. Get him too and bring him into the post.”
“That won’t be easy, sir.”
“Did I say it would? Those are the cards, Mr. O’Hagen. Now play me a winning hand.”
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