Free Whirlwind by Charles L. Grant Page A

Ciola did, took a long swallow, and set it down. His fingers stayed around the neck. "Am I worried?"
    "No."
    "Good." The man stood and hitched up his pants. "I hate being worried. It always pisses me off."
    He left without a word to anyone else.
    The bartender turned up the baseball game.
    Ciola wiped the bottle's mouth with his palm and drank the rest without coming up for air.
    When the waitress returned for the empty, he grabbed her wrist, just strongly enough to keep her bent over the table. "Chica," he said softly, "what are you doing tonight?"
    "Getting a life” she answered, yanking her arm free. 'Try it sometime."
    He laughed. Not a sound, but he tilted his head back and laughed. Wonderful! She was wonder-ful!
    He wiped a tear from his eye and shook his head. Since she didn't want him, he would leave her the biggest tip she had ever had in her miser-able life.
    And to make it better, he wouldn't even kill her.
    Scully massaged the back of her neck. It was hard to keep her eyes open, and she didn't bother to hide a yawn.
    "The desert night air," Mulder said. "It's almost too peaceful here."
    "I know." She dropped her hand into her lap. "The point is, Mulder, we haven't enough data yet to show us why they were killed, much less explain the connections in any reasonable fashion. And I don't think we're going to find them out here. Not tonight, anyway." She smiled wanly. "I think I'm a little too punchy."
    "We both are." He stretched one arm at a time over his head, clasped his hands, and pushed his palms toward the sky. "I just wish I could see the connections between a handful of cows, a kid by the river, and a couple in the desert." He brought his arms down, one hand again moving to his nape.
    "Mulder, relax, we just got here, remember? Besides, you have to remember that the thinner air out here slows down the intellectual process, the result of less oxygen flowing to the brain."
    He grinned and looked at her sideways. "Is that a doctor thing?"
    "No, that’s a Scully thing." She grinned and pushed off the bench and held out her hand. When he grabbed it, she pulled him up, turned him around, pushing him lightly toward the motel. "The doctor thing is, get some sleep, like Red said, or you'll be useless in the morning."
    He nodded as he waved a weary good night over his shoulder, sidestepping a garden wall just before he tripped over it. Another wave— I'm

    okay, I know what I'm doing —before he disap-peared into the passageway, and she couldn't help wondering what it was like for him—seeing things other people sometimes couldn't; engaging in a pursuit with oftentimes terrifying intensity; looking so young and deceptively guileless that there had been many times when he was severely underestimated.
    She wasn't surprised when, passing his room on her way to bed, she saw light slipping around the edges of the drapes.
    Exhausted or not, he would be up most of the night, turning over what he knew, and setting up what he didn't know so he would know the right questions to ask, beyond the how and who and why.
    She wished him luck.
    Right now, she was having difficulty remem-bering her own name.
    She fingered her key out of her pocket, moved on to the next room . . . and stopped as she inserted the key in the lock.
    You're tired, Dana, that's all.
    She looked anyway.
    The Inn gates were closed, the lanterns out. Only a faint glow from a nearby streetlamp reached over the wal.
    A man stood at the gate, arms loose at his sides.
    She couldn't see his face or his clothes; just his outline.
    Tired, she reminded herself, and pushed into
    the room, flicked on the wall switch, and, as she closed the door, checked the gate again.
    He was still there.
    Watching.
    Mulder didn't have to be outside to know it was hot and getting hotter, even though it was just past ten.
    Even with sunglasses, the sun's glare was almost too much, and to stare at the passing scenery too long made it jump and shimmer, showing him things he knew weren't