Last Days by Brian Evenson;Peter Straub Page B

understand," claimed Ramse. "I'm supposed to take the tape back."
    "But I haven't conducted any interviews yet."
    "That's what the tape's for."
    "Right," said Kline. "To tape the interviews."
    "No," said Ramse. "To tape the questions."
    "To tape the questions?"
    Ramse nodded. "These people," he said. "They're all ten or above. You're a one. You can't see them in person."
    "But I see Borchert."
    "Borchert's the exception," said Ramse. "You see him when someone above a ten has to be seen. If you were a three or a four some might condescend to see you, but they won't see a one. Not even a self-cauterizer."
    "Jesus," said Kline. "That's ridiculous."
    "I've been instructed by Borchert not to listen to the questions," said Ramse. "I'm only an eight. I don't need to know everything. I'm to take the tape back to Borchert once you've finished recording. Would you like me to wait in the hall or would you prefer I come back later?"

    He sat staring at the tape recorder. It was ridiculous, he knew. Perhaps Ramse was right, it was only a question of proper behavior, no ones among the tens, but why in that case even bring him in at all? Why not solve their murder on their own?
    He went and opened the door. Ramse was there, waiting, leaning against the wall. Kline closed the door again.
    What were his options? One: he could refuse to send the tape back. Borchert would hardly allow that. He would be punished in some way, he was certain. And it would only prolong the amount of time he would have to spend in the compound. Two: he could send back a blank tape. Same problem: it bought him a little time, but time for what? Three: he could send back a series of questions.That had the advantage of moving things forward, or at least of moving them in some direction.
    He sighed. He went to the table and pressed the record button.
    "One: State your name and your relation to the deceased.
    "Two: Where were you on the night Aline was murdered?
    "Three: Do you know of anyone who might want Aline dead for any reason?
    "Four: Did you see the body? If so, please describe in detail what you saw.
    "Five: Are you absolutely certain Aline's death wasn't a suicide?
    "Six: Did you kill Aline?"
    It was ridiculous, but at least it was a start. They would tell him nothing, he was almost sure. He turned the tape off.

    Ramse showed up at eight o'clock sharp, wearing a tuxedo that had been modified to better reveal his amputations, no shoes, no socks. He had, slung over one arm, a plastic dry cleaner's bag containing another tuxedo, which he handed to Kline.
    "Try this on," he said.
    Kline did. It was a little loose but generally fit quite well, the right sleeve cut back slightly to reveal his stump.
    They walked across the gravel lot in front of the house, following the road toward the gate, turning down a footpath after about a hundred meters. At the end was a gravel circle, a bar to the left, a neon one-legged woman on the sign. A well-lit lodge structure was to the right, which was where they went.
    A one-handed man was standing at the open door, smiling. Kline could hear music blaring from the door behind him.
    "Hello, Ramse," the man said affably. "This the guy?"
    "This is him, John," said Ramse. "In the flesh."
    They both laughed at that for some reason. The man held out his remaining hand, his right. "Put it there," he said, which Kline tried, left-handed and very awkwardly, to do.
    "Self-cauterizer, huh?" asked John. "People have been talking. There's a buzz going."
    "Don't embarrass him, John," said Ramse. Ushering Kline before him, he made his way in.
    The room was filled with several dozen men in tuxedos, all amputees. Streamers descended without pattern from the ceiling, brushing against men's shoulders, dipping into their drinks. Ramse took him to the bar and Kline got a drink and stood next to Ramse nursing it, giving Ramse sips from time to time. The men were mostly ones or twos as far as Kline could tell in the dim light, though there were fours and