Deadly Quicksilver Lies

by Glen Cook

  “Because he isn’t scared. Look, now he’s got an idea who has him. He’s starting to tense up. They didn’t tell him anything when they gave him the job. They just put money in his pocket and told him to help with a snatch.”

  “I do believe you’re right.” I tried out a ferocious smile, like the guys from the violent ward would wear if they were sent out to play.

  Morley was right. The little guy had heard of Morley Dotes even if he hadn’t heard of me. He squeaked. Maybe Winger was right about reputation’s tool value.

  “I do believe he has a notion to deal,” Morley observed.

  “So,” I said. “You want to be lucky number seven, the one who got away, or just another stiff?”

  “Lucky seven sounds great to me.”

  “Look at that. He kept his sense of humor, Morley. I think that’s great. All right, Lucky, what was the plan?” I told Morley, “Be a shame to let it go to waste.”

  Morley flashed a humorless grin. “Best thinking you’ve done in years.” He was ready to go. I’d been surprised by how quickly he’d agreed to help. I recalled the glances between him and Sarge and Puddle. Was there old business between them and the Rainmaker?

  I worry when Morley gets agreeable. I always end up getting jobbed.

  “How much are you ready to spend, Garrett?”

  I considered my agreement with Maggie Jenn, then the size of my advance. “Not much. You have something in mind?”

  “Recall the Rainmaker’s reputation. We could use some specialists to calm him down if he gets excited.”

  “Specialists?” Here comes a sales pitch. “Like who?”

  “The Roze triplets.” Naturally. Perennially underemployed relatives.

  Specialists I wouldn’t call them, but those guys could calm people down. Doris and Marsha were about sixteen feet tall and could lay out a mammoth with one punch. Part giant, part troll, the only way to beat them was to booby-trap their resolve with barrels of beer. They’d drop anything to get drunk.

  The third triplet was an obnoxious little geek barely Morley’s size good for nothing but translating for his brothers.

  “No, Morley. This is a freak show already. I just want to talk to the guy, find out why he’s messing with me.”

  Morley stared at Lucky. “Garrett, Garrett, just when I thought you were developing sense. You don’t talk to the Rainmaker. All he understands is raw power. Either you can kick his ass or he can kick yours. Unless he’s changed his spots in a big way.”

  I grimaced.

  “What?”

  “My budget is pretty tight.”

  “Big news, big news.”

  “Hey!”

  “There you go getting cheap again, Garrett. You want to save money? Don’t bug the Rainmaker. Just lock your door and snuggle up to your moneybags and hope he can’t think of a way to get to you. After tonight, he’ll be trying for real.”

  I knew that. Cleaver sounded like he was all ego and no restraint. All the reason he needed I’d already provided.

  What a dummy, Garrett. Your troubles are all your own fault. You should try a little harder to get along.

  I mused, “How did he know I was out of the Bledsoe?”

  Morley and Spud perked up, smelling a tale not yet told. I had to yield enough sordid details to get them off my back. Which was way more than I wanted anyone to know, really. “I get any razzing back off the street I’m going to know where to lay the blame.”

  “Yes.” Morley gave me his nasty smile. “Winger.” That smile turned diabolical. He saw he’d guessed right. I hadn’t thought about who knew the story already.

  What Winger knew could spread from river to wall in a night. She liked to hang out with the guys, get drunk and swap tall tales. The story would grow into a monster before she was done with it.

  I said, “You really feel like we need the Rozes, get the Rozes.”

  “You gave me a better idea.”

  “Well?”

  “Use those clowns you have stashed at your place. Make them earn their keep. You said the big one owes Cleaver anyway.”

  “That’s an idea. Lucky, what direction are we going to head?”

  Morley added, “Keeping in mind that I’ll be a lot deadlier a lot quicker than Cleaver if Garrett is disappointed.”

  “West.” The little fellow’s croak contained undertones of frightened whine. I didn’t blame him. He was in the proverbial between of the rock and the hard place.

  “West is good,” I said. “West means we can drop by my place on the way.”

  I assumed Lucky’s buddies would have cleared off.

  Morley and his bunch looked unexcited by this opportunity. They’re villains, though, and no villain in his right mind got within mind reading range of the Dead Man. However strong my assurances that he was asleep.

  “His bark is worse than his bite,” I said.

  “Right,” Sarge sneered. Puddle and Morley backed him up. Spud took that as his cue to ape his elders. I gave up.

  29

  I found Ivy in the small front room arguing with the Goddamn Parrot. The Goddamn Parrot was making more sense. Beer and brandy odors were potent. Which had drunk more? Who knows? The Goddamn Parrot would suck it up as long as you let him.

  Ivy seemed determined to clean me out before he got kicked out. I told him, “You’d better ease up or there won’t be anything left for breakfast.”

  Ivy looked distressed. You could see him struggling to light a fire under the pot of his thoughts. I doubted he’d get them simmering. He did seem to grasp the notion that my alcohol reserves were finite.

  “Where’s Slither?” The big guy was nowhere in sight. There was a racket from upstairs, but nothing human could be making that.

  I could see through the open kitchen doorway. The view set me to talking to myself. Friend Slither was trying to do to my larder what Ivy was doing to my drinking supply.

  So much for good deeds.

  They start preaching at you when you’re barely old enough to walk. But what the hell happens when you do try to help your fellow man? You get it up the poop chute every time. Without grease.

  Where do the preachers get their crazy ideas? How many cheeks do they have to turn? How come they aren’t hobbling around with bandages on their butts?

  “Where’s Slither?” I demanded again.

  Ivy answered with a slow shrug. I don’t think he understood anything but my tone. He started trying to explain Orthodox transcircumstantiation to the Goddamn Parrot. The Goddamn Parrot made remarks with which I agreed.

  I commenced a quest for Slither. Snores from above seemed worth investigation.

  Slither was sprawled across Dean’s bed, on his back, his snores like the bellows of mating thunder-lizards. Awe held me immobile. The man couldn’t be human. He had to be a demigod. He was producing an orchestra of snores, humming and roaring and snorting and sputtering. He seemed capable of combining every known species of snore. All in the same breath.

  When I could move again I went to my own room. I hate to disturb an artist at work. I shut my door, went to the window, checked Morley and his crew and the ever astonishing traffic on Macunado. Where could all those creatures be going? What drove them to be out at this hour? Was just my neighborhood in a ferment? I couldn’t recall seeing as much traffic anywhere else — though the whole city seemed crowded these days.

  I could hear Slither’s every snore. I’d hear every snore plainly for however long he remained in my house.

  So much for doing good deeds.

  Morely gave the boys a glance and said nothing. He did shake his head. Even I now wondered if they hadn’t made it all up about their service. Especially Ivy. He had the Goddamned Parrot on his shoulder. It mixed its finest gutter observations with declarations of, “Awrrgh, matey! We be ferocious pirates.” That naturally drew a lot of attention. Just the thing you want when you’re out to sneak up on a guy calls himself the Rainmaker.

  My prisoner indicated a brick and stone monstrosity
he insisted was the Rainmaker’s headquarters. Dotes opined, “You get what you pay for, Garrett.” His glance speared Ivy and Slither. “You didn’t pay for the Roze brothers.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Slither was awake but might as well have been snoring. It was winter at his house. Ivy was still trying to argue with the Goddamn Parrot. The feathered devil figured he’d sorted Ivy out already and had turned to reminiscing about his sailing days.

  Morley tossed a glance sideways, checking to see how near Spud was. He flexed his fingers like he suffered the same temptations I did. “Go ahead,” I said.

  He scowled. “Can’t. But I’ll figure a way.”

  I said, “The course of our relationship has shown me a few things about dear Mr. Big.” More cunning than usual, having foreseen the possibility that the Goddamn Parrot might become a liability, I’d brought a little flask of brandy I’d dug out of a cache Ivy hadn’t found.

  Morley snickered. So, he knew. I said, “We need to keep Ivy away long enough to get the bird snockered.”

  “He was a scout, send him scouting. Along with Spud.”

  “You sneak.” I looked at Cleaver’s place. “What did they do to the guy who designed that place?” The building had been a small factory once. Undoubtedly manned by the blind. It was ugly. I was amazed that so much ugliness could be committed with simple construction materials.

  “Probably burned him at the stake because they couldn’t think of a punishment nasty enough to fit the crime.” Dotes chuckled. He was going to have some fun with me playing high-nose elf.

  His tastes in art and architecture naturally weren’t human. For all I knew, the lunatic who designed that factory was one of his forebears.

  I expressed that opinion and added, “It may be on the elvish list of historic structures.”

  Morley scowled. He wasn’t pleased. He grabbed Spud and Ivy and told them to go check the place out. “And leave the bird here. It doesn’t have sense enough to keep its beak shut.”

  Off they went. The rest of us got out of sight and listened to Cleaver’s man bitch because I hadn’t cut him loose yet. “I’m busy, man,” I told him. “I’m feeding my parrot.” The Goddamn Parrot was sucking up the brandy. “I’ll cut you loose as soon as I know you didn’t job us.” I didn’t think he had. Nobody sane would pick such an ugly hideout. Cleaver did sound like he had the kind of ego that would appreciate the place.

  Ivy and Spud scurried back. The kid said, “The place is occupied. I didn’t ask names, though. The guys I did see looked antisocial enough to be the sort Mr. Garrett wants to find.”

  I didn’t want to find anybody. “You been giving him lessons?”

  “It’s in the blood. Needs to work on his diction and grammar, though.”

  “Definitely. Smartass ought to know how to talk good.”

  “Can I go now?” the prisoner asked.

  Spud demanded, “What happened to Mr. Big? Hey! He’s drunk. Uncle Morley, did you?...”

  “No, Lucky,” I said. “I still don’t know you didn’t job us. Suppose you just led us to a place where some hard boys hang out?”

  Morley opined, “That monstrosity is the kind a fence would use. Plenty of storage. Probably an owner who hasn’t been seen in years. No traceable connection to anyone if you looked for one. You going to do it?”

  I considered my help. Neither Ivy nor Slither incited confidence. “Looks like we’re as ready as we’re gonna get. Any tactical suggestions?”

  “Straight through the front door might work.”

  “Wise ass. Slither, Ivy, come on.” I trotted toward that monument to ugliness. My strange assistants toddled after, bewildered but loyal. Morley told Sarge to stick with us, just in case. He came himself. So Spud and Puddle volunteered, too. Spud was protesting, “Mr. Garrett, you shouldn’t give Mr. Big alcohol.”

  What I always wanted to do: storm a fortress at the head of a pack of killer elves, fugitives from an insane asylum, and a drunken parrot.

  The Goddamn Parrot was muttering something about its imperiled virtue but in Drunkenese so fluent even a tipsy ratman would have had trouble following him.

  Spud said, “Uncle Morley, did you?...”

  “Be quiet.”

  I looked at that jungle chicken and grinned like a dwarf just awarded an army weapons contract.

  30

  The place was ugly, but it was no fortress. We found an unguarded side door. I cracked the crude stopper and invited us in. Dean should’ve been there to see how much good locks do.

  “Dark in here,” Ivy said. What did he expect?

  He sounded troubled, like somebody wasn’t playing fair.

  “Crackbrain’s got one sharp eye on him,” Sarge sneered. “Goddamn Rainmaker can’t fool him for a second.”

  “That’s enough,” Morley snapped. He peered around. Elves really can see in the dark, almost as good as dwarves.

  “What you see?” I whispered. We all whispered. Seemed the sensible thing to do.

  “What you would expect.”

  What kind of answer was that? What I’d expect was filth and squatters and a lot of upset on account of the style of our entrance. But only the rats seemed disturbed — and they were so confident they just went through the motions.

  According to Spud, the natives resided on the other side of the building. And so they did. Mostly.

  We were sneaking along a hallway illuminated by one halfhearted candle, me thinking what a cheapskate the Rainmaker had to be, when some sleepy-eyed goof ruined everything.

  He stepped out of a room just ahead, both hands harrowing hair already well-harvested by time. He woke up fast, generated one man-sized squeal before I bopped him with my second-best headthumper. He squealed even louder. I had to pop him four times before he laid down.

  “That tears it,” Slither muttered. It was hard to hear him because of the racket being raised by people I couldn’t see wanting to know what the hell was going on.

  “Never mind the opinion survey. You know this place?”

  “Never seen it before.”

  “Thought you said...”

  “Never was here. That I remember.”

  The hall hung a right. I stayed with it. I met a native coming the other way. He had a stick, too. His eyes got big. So did mine. I swung first. He ducked, showed me some heel, whooped and hollered.

  “You could have moved a little faster there, Garrett,” Morley suggested. The racket ahead grew louder. Morley was concerned.

  The fugitive blew through a doorway. I was only two steps behind, but when I got there the door was closed and locked. I flung one granite shoulder against it. It gave about a thousandth of an inch.

  “You do it.” Morley indicated Slither. “Stop whimpering, Garrett.”

  “I dislocated everything but my ankle bones.”

  Slither knocked on the door with his very large feet, smashing away numerous times before he risked his own tender shoulder.

  The door exploded like stage furniture. Guess you have to have the knack.

  We’d reached the warehouse area. Only a few lamps burned there. Definitely a cheapskate, the Rainmaker. Looked like the place was being used as a barracks. People flew around like startled mice, headed for other exits. Only the guys from the hall looked like fighters.

  Curious.

  Amidst the howl and chaos I glimpsed a familiar gargoyle, my old pal Ichabod. Excuse me. My old pal Zeke. Zeke did a fast fade. I went after him. We needed to have a talk. My pretty Maggie Jenn had troubles enough without her butler being hooked up with the Rainmaker.

  I didn’t find a trace. He vanished like the spook he resembled.

  We searched the dump. We found no sign of Grange Cleaver. We caught only three people — the guy from the hall who I’d bopped, plus an old couple who hadn’t reached their walkers in time to grab a head start.

  The old woman was about a week younger than Handsome. Her husband and the thug showed little inclination to talk, but she chattered like she was so full of
words they ripped out of her like gas after an unfriendly meal.

  “Whoa, granny, whoa!” She’d lost me in some kind of twin track complaint that blamed her lumbago on the incredible ingratitude of her willfully neglectful children. “That’s unfortunate. It really is. But what I need to know is where is Grange Cleaver?”

  “You might try to be more diplomatic,” Morley suggested. Like he had the patience of a saint when he was after something.

  “I was diplomatic the first three times. I did my part. Now I’m not in the mood for diplomacy, I’m in the mood for busting heads.”

  I didn’t do it good enough. Nobody was impressed until Spud let his young mouth run too long and the bad folks figured out that they were in the hands of the infamous Morley Dotes. Then, even the hard boy developed a mild case of cooperation fever.

  Yep, maybe Winger was right.

  Fat lot of good that all did. Granny Yak-Yak had the definitive answer and the definitive answer was: “He just went out, him and his boys. He never said where, but I figure he was gonna check on some guys he sent out a long time ago. He paid them and they never reported back.” She laid a hard look on pal Lucky.

  Lucky looked a tad frayed. The old folks understood whose information had brought us to uglyville. He was growing concerned about his boss’s temper.

  Morley spun him around. “Cleaver brought you from out of town. He do that with a lot of men, Lucky?”

  Lucky gave us the daggers glare. We were leaving him no exit. “Yeah.” Sullenly. He thought we were cheating on our end of the deal. Maybe we were. Tough.

  “Why?”

  “I guess on account of he couldn’t find anybody here what was willing to work for him.’Specially after they found out who he was when he was here before. Way I hear it, he made him some enemies back then what nobody wants to piss off.”

  I gave Morley a look. Some people might consider him major bad news, but he wasn’t big enough bad news that his displeasure would intimidate thugs working for somebody he didn’t like. I didn’t think. “Chodo,” I said. Call it intuition.

  Morley nodded, “There was a little brother who died badly. Chodo was way down the ladder then. He couldn’t get the go-ahead. But he didn’t forget.”