She arrived at about 8:00 Thursday night, andwhen she got to the apartment, I threw the door open to greet her. Ihad been preparing all day for her arrival. Early in the morning, I hadstarted cooking a Bolognese, carefully saut?ing the onions, carrots andcelery so they didn't brown, and browning the meat just the littlestbit so it lost its raw color. I then cooked it all with wine and thenmilk to keep the meat tender and juicy. After I added the tomatoes -okay, I admit it, from a can - I let it simmer slowly in the deep, LeCrueset cast iron pot I had bought just the day before at some absurdlyexpensive shop nearby. Four hours at a minimum, I thought. Then I madethe dough for the pasta. I considered kneading it by hand, but, whatthe hell, I had only recently bought the gleaming Kitchen Aide foodprocessor, so I took the short cut, finally wrapping the dough in waxpaper and putting it in the fridge for later.Then I went out to get my hair and nails done, and to pick up theingredients. Want some coffee? bacon and beans will be ready in a couple of minutes.”“Who are you? what are you doing here?”“Well, Ed, it is Ed, right? Ed Bartlett? You ran with Bob Pritchert’s gang over to Virginia City, didn’t you?”“So what? You know me, who the hell are you?”“My name is Joshua Anderson, Colonel Joshua Anderson. Retired, of course. After the war, the government had too many Colonels running around. They kept the ones they liked and kicked the rest of us loose. But now that we know each other. I need to let you know something vitally important to your future.”“Spill it, asshole what could an old fart like you have to say that would be of any interest to me?”“Oh, the impatience and crudity of youth.” Anderson raised his left hand. From the bushes and surrounding rocks in a semicircle surrounding Ed. Fourteen men stepped out. All of them were armed. Some with Winchester rifles. Two with shotguns. All had pistols on their hips.“Ed, we will be returning to Wilkins. And you will be.
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