fives as well and one person that Kline thought might be a seven or eight--the room was dark and in motion so it was hard to tell how many toes the man was actually missing. Then suddenly Gous was beside him, rubbing his shoulder with his stump.
"How nice of you to come," he said to Kline, smiling. He was dressed differently than the others. He was wearing a tuxedo, but one sleeve of it had been wrapped in plastic, and a line had been drawn in permanent marker between his middle and fourth finger, angling across his palm to terminate at the palm's edge just before the wrist. "Ramse didn't know if you'd come," he said, "but I was sure you would." He turned to Ramse . "Stretter didn't come, the bastard."
"I'm sure he meant to," said Ramse. "Something must have come up."
"No," said Gous. "He never meant to. I came for him three times, but now that he's a five, he's too good for me."
"Surely he can't mean it personally," said Ramse. "It's just some sort of mistake."
But Gous was already turning away, shaking his head. Kline watched Ramse go after him. He took a sip of his drink, looked around, then began to walk slowly around the room. There were no women, he quickly realized, nothing but men, everyone in their thirties and forties, nobody either very young or very old.
The back of the room wasn't a solid wall at all but a divider, a series of linked panels that, he saw, looking more closely, slid along a metal track in the floor. The two central panels each had a handle and a latch holding them together.
"Would you like to have a look?" asked a voice behind him.
"Where are all the women?" asked Kline, turning. Behind him was John.
"Aren't any here," said John, smiling. "There are a few over in the bar, but otherwise none. This is a brotherhood, after all."
Kline nodded, looked about him.
"So, you want a preview?" asked John.
Kline shrugged.
"I don't think anyone would mind," John said. "They've all seen it before anyway."
He put his drink down on the floor, used his hand to turn one of the latches. The panel disengaged and slid open an inch. He rolled it along the track until there was enough space for Kline to slide through.
"Go on," he said, stooping for his drink. "I'll wait out here."
Kline slid through, careful not to spill his drink. On the other side, the remainder of the hall was dark and bare and sober except for a rolling metal table draped in white cloth. A smaller square table, also draped in cloth, sat beside it. A large domed light was over them. It was the only light in the room, the dome functioning like a spotlight.
He smelled the smoke before he saw the man step out of the darkness and move toward him. The man was wearing scrubs, had his cloth surgical mask pulled down around his neck so he could smoke a cigarette. When he lifted the cigarette to his lips, Kline could see he was missing a finger.
"Is it time?" he asked. And then, seeing the drink in Kline's hand, "Are you bringing that for me?"
Kline handed him the drink, and without a word left.
"Well," said John. "What do you think? First-rate setup, no?"
"Where's Ramse?" asked Kline.
"Ramse?" said John. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe over there?"
Kline started across the hall, moving from cluster to cluster until he found Ramse speaking to a man in a chair whose legs had been cut off at the knee.
"I need to talk to you," he said.
"All right," said Ramse, excusing himself from the legless man. "What's the trouble?"
"Jesus," said Kline. "What kind of party is this?"
"It's Gous' party," said Ramse. "His three. Where's your drink? Do you need another drink?"
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Isn't it obvious?" said Ramse. He looked at Kline, eyes wide, then shook his head. "I forget you don't know us very well," he said. "It's an amputation party."
"An amputation party."
"Like a coming out," said Ramse. "Gous is giving up two fingers. He's gathered his friends around him for the occasion. He's going from a one to a three."
"Jesus,"
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