"I am," said the Burning Man. "I am, indeed. Well, I know of you and your outfit, of course. I know of your boss. I'm very pleased to have your business. What manner of firearm are you in the market for?"

I thought about it. "Something I can use in a tight spot, but with enough pop to leave an impression. A forty-five or a three-fifty-seven should fit."

The Burning Man smiled and Vampirella stifled a laugh. I stared hard at her but she didn't seem to mind.

"Weapons are a little different in this place from what you're used to, Miss Riley. They're not truly real, of course, in any physical sense, and so characteristics such as caliber and muzzle velocity are of little consequence here."

I looked at him like I look at Mr. Clean and waited for him to tell me something. It was a little disconcerting, because he wasn't much more than a smoking skeleton at this point.

He nodded. "Yes, you see, in the Between, a firearm's capabilities are more related to the…event responsible for its instantiation in this place." He stood up and opened the cage behind him. The fire was gone and he was clad in healthy flesh and well-tailored summer wool again. "In other words, Miss Riley, the size of the weapon doesn't matter here. It's what is done with it that counts."

"Well, like I told you, I need a handgun with some muscle."

"Indeed." The Burning Man nodded thoughtfully. "The best weapons are typically those used in mass murders and spree killings. Such weapons are regrettably rare, of course, and highly prized." He turned from the product he was considering and looked at me. "Do you mind if I ask about the nature of the job the weapon is intended for? You understand there is no law here and any information you provide is strictly confidential. My interest is motivated solely by my desire to provide the best possible service."

I looked at him and then at Vampirella. I shrugged. Fred already knew I'd be coming for him. Even if word got out, that would cost me less than going up against him with a gun that couldn't do the job.

"There's a vampire I need to shoot," I said. I smiled at Vampirella and winked. She still didn't seem to mind.

"I see. Well, vampires don't have a lot going for them-no offense intended, Sophia, my dear-but they are remarkably difficult to kill in the Between." He considered, curling the fingers of his right hand and pressing his thumb to his lips. He started to burn again. He turned back to the cage and lifted a rectangular box of dark wood from a crate. He brought it out of the cage and placed it on the desk, smoothing it with his burning hands.

"I have a weapon, Miss Riley-well, an artifact, really-that would be ideal for your purposes." He turned the box around and opened it. "It's known as the Dead Man's Gun."

It was a Colt Peacemaker. I'd seen enough Westerns to recognize the type. It had a polished walnut grip and the black steel barrel was half again as long as Honey.

"This gat's probably a hundred and thirty years old. And it's a six-shooter. It looks nice enough, but I had more modern technology in mind."

"It belonged to Wyatt Earp, Miss Riley. Its power lies not only in the number of men it killed, but also in the legend that is woven into it. As I said, the Dead Man's Gun is an artifact."

"Well, it's an artifact that holds six rounds and will probably choke on half of them."

"Again, Miss Riley, physical characteristics are irrelevant here. You will never have to worry about the Dead Man's Gun running out of ammunition. You will never have to worry about jams or misfires, I assure you."

I reached for the Peacemaker and then looked at the Burning Man for permission. He nodded and kept burning. I lifted the gun out of the case.

In the ordinary world, a gun is just a gun. The only thrill you get out of fondling one is a little boy's power fantasy. This wasn't the ordinary world. The Dead Man's Gun had juice. It tingled along my hand and up my arm, spreading out through my body. It whispered to me with the calm, comforting voice of a killer.

The Peacemaker was a rocket launcher in a compact five-pound package. Well, it wasn't that compact. It was about eighteen inches long from the tip of the barrel to the back of the grip. Not exactly built for a woman, but it felt comfortable in my hand.

"Says here its name is Ned," I said, studying the gun. The name was engraved in the walnut grip.

"Ned Buntline," said the Burning Man. He was nodding and smiling with the enthusiasm of a boy talking baseball cards. "He commissioned these long-barreled Colts and presented them to several peace officers in Dodge City in 1876. It was Earp's favorite firearm."

"Single action?" I asked. I released the cylinder and looked. It was loaded with five cartridges, the hammer resting on an empty chamber.

"Yes, the action is the only element of the firing mechanism that is functional in this place. I think it is part of its personality."

"So I have to cock it before it will fire."

The Burning Man nodded. "You can also thumb-fire and fan the weapon, if speed is more important to you than accuracy. You'll find that the action is very smooth and the gun enjoys such treatment."

"But it doesn't need reloading?"

"That is correct, Miss Riley."

"How much?"

The Burning Man spread his burning hands and sighed. "As I said, the Dead Man's Gun is a unique and valuable artifact. It is very difficult to put a price on it."

"But you're going to, just the same."

"Indeed, Miss Riley. My price is an exclusive arrangement with your outfit. If, in the future, your people need weapons in the Between, you will do business with me. Do you have the authority to make such an arrangement?"

I nodded. "Assuming my boss doesn't have an existing agreement with a supplier, sure."

"He does not. It is my business to know these things, you understand. Very well, Miss Riley, do we have a deal?"

"Yeah, we have a deal. I'll need some kind of rig for this thing." The Burning Man nodded and went back into the cage, returning with a black leather gunbelt. He handed it to me and I took it. The initials WBSE were tooled into the leather in silver.

"I must place one condition on this sale, Miss Riley. You understand that different rules must, of necessity, apply to property in the Between. On the event of your death, ownership of the Dead Man's Gun reverts to me, so that I might pass it on to another worthy warrior. This is its nature."

Well, what's one more spirit that wants me dead? I was assembling quite a collection. "Not on the event of my death," I said. "On the event of my passing into the Beyond, permanently, the gun goes back to you. It's mine as long as I have business in the Between."

The Burning Man stared at me. His skull burned and an eye popped. I didn't blink. Finally he nodded and smiled. "You are a shrewd negotiator, Miss Riley. I believe that weapon will make you a formidable opponent indeed. Very well, then, we have reached an agreement." He extended a blackened claw to me and I shook it. The bone was cold and charred.

I stood up and buckled the gunbelt around my waist. I thought it would be way too big for me, but the last hole on the belt was a perfect fit. I slid the Peacemaker into the holster, then nodded at the Burning Man, winked at Vampirella and left.

Honey was waiting for me when I got back to the condo. She looked at the Peacemaker swinging on my hip, back at me and then back at the pistol.

"I didn't know you were going to buy a cannon," she said.

"Wyatt Earp's gun."

"The cowboy in the movies?"

"He was a lawman, not a cowboy. In the movies, at least."

"Well, did you know his gun was cursed?" Honey was staring at the Peacemaker, frowning.

"They call it the Dead Man's Gun. I guessed it probably was. Anyway, I call it Ned." I turned sideways and showed her the engraving on the grip.