by Glen Cook
But I had to ask, “Is this like him?”
“What?”
“Would he hire somebody to hunt somebody so he could settle an old grudge?”
“Maybe. We only got robbed one time. I know he’s never stopped being mad about it. He’d go burn something down whenever he got thinking about it.”
Interesting. Even curious. Not for an instant had he come across as hagridden.
“Come on, Garrett. Forget all that,” Chaz cajoled.
“Yeah? Think I should?”
“I think you should think about what the doctor wants to prescribe.”
I did my eyebrow thing. “Not another thought in my head.” She did an old female trick back that set me to drooling on myself.
In a perfectly cool, rational, businesslike voice she said, “Daddy’s paying. Make a pig of yourself.”
“Oink, oink. But not here.”
“Oooh! Promises, promises. Better be careful. I don’t have to work tonight.”
That was the best idea I’d heard in a while, but because she was one gorgeous woman, I let her have the last word.
52
A couple of regulars actually lifted welcoming paws when I drifted into Morley’s place. The attitude didn’t infect management, though. Puddle scowled like he was trying to remember where he put that damned rat poison.
Morley was in a good mood, though. He bounced downstairs as my tea arrived.
I said, “I know that look. You just won big on the water spider races. Or somebody’s wife tripped and you ravished her before she could get up.”
He showed me a mouth like a shark’s. “I gather you’re doing some ravishing yourself.”
“What?”
“You were seen with a stunning blonde in a place way out of your class.”
“Guilty. How’d you know?”
“You won’t like the answer.”
“Yeah? Hit me with the bad news. I’m overdue.”
“A couple came in late last night. Slumming. He was mister Flashy. She was Rose Tate. She’d seen you earlier.”
“Bet she had her nasty smile on.” Rose Tate was the cousin of my lapsed girlfriend, Tinnie Tate. And Rose had a grudge.
“She did. You’re going to star in some interesting girl talk.”
“No doubt. But Tinnie knows Rose. Rose mention who else I was with?”
“You running a string?”
“Chaz brought her dad.” I told the tale, then asked, “You ever seen Blaine?”
“No. Why?”
“Wondering about ringers again.”
“You think Chastity is jobbing you, too?”
“It’s paranoia time, Morley. My world has stopped making sense.”
“When you’re well paid, sense needn’t enter the equation. Right?”
“But it helps.”
“You’re concerned about coincidence.”
“What are the chances Chaz would work the same place as a thief that robbed her father?”
“What are the odds you’d get thrown in there where you could meet her? A lot longer, I’d say.”
“How come?”
“Where would a female doctor have the best chance of getting started? Where would the imperials set Cleaver up if they wanted to put him into TunFaire?”
“You figure he’s into something with them?”
“My guess is they think they are, but he’s only using them so he can slide in and out of town without being noticed by people he used to know. You’ll recall he meant nothing to Chastity at first.”
“And her father?”
“You’ll have to do your homework there.”
“I’ve started. His place was cleaned out. It was one of the big jobs of the time. He only got back to town day before yesterday.”
“After this started.”
“And he’s been away for years. Only came home for a few days each winter.” Winter is the slack season in the war zone.
Morley looked at me hard, shook his head. “Your real problem is common sense is nagging you.”
“What?”
“You can’t let this thing alone. You have to keep picking at it. You set yourself up so you’d find an excuse. Now that you’ve done that common sense wants to make a comeback. Forget the Rainmaker, Garrett.”
I jacked one eyebrow way, way up. “Oh?” Did he have a private line on Cleaver?
“He’s on a traveling bullseye now, Garrett. Not mine. You get too close you could get hit by the volley that gets him.” He gestured as though to push me away. “Go. I’ll find out what I can about your lady’s father.”
53
Had to be magic. By the time I got home, after visiting a couple war buddies now in the extremist human rights movement, my place was surrounded. Ferocious pirates lounged on convenient corners. The guy from the outfit was back, with friends. The clumsy guy was there, and not alone, though I only glimpsed Winger before she vanished.
I’d even attracted some new folks. How many friends and enemies did the Rainmaker have?
I should have gathered the crowd and suggested we set up a pool, reduce duplication of effort, but I got distracted.
Slither and Ivy were camped on my front stoop.
Ivy had the good grace to blush. “We got thrown out,” he told me. “I was trying to explain something to a guy and accidentally said the P word.”
“What? What do you mean, the P word?” I checked Slither. The man looked awful.
“You know. Where he goes berserk.”
Powziffle. Right. “Just out of curiosity, does he remember what he does after he hears that?”
The answer seemed a little much for Ivy’s overtaxed intellect. He shrugged. I had a good idea, though. Might go a ways toward explaining Slither’s problems.
Somewhere, sometime years ago, somebody twisted his mind trying to turn him into a human weapon, his trigger a nonsense phrase. Who and why didn’t matter anymore, but they botched the job. Slither was out of control. He went into the Bledsoe improperly, but he belonged there. Out here he was going to get worse till somebody killed him.
Half the men roaming TunFaire belong inside somewhere. There aren’t that many sane folks around, not that cross my path.
I went inside. The boys followed. Ivy headed for the small front room. The Goddamn Parrot started up. I paused to use the peephole. Morley must have run through the streets screeching about me being back on the job.
Interesting to note that the Rainmaker’s pals were out as fast as his enemies. I wondered if some of those guys worked for Chastity’s daddy.
With the boys so thick, it wasn’t possible they were unaware of one another. That suggested possibilities.
If I was working for the outfit and thought somebody nearby worked for Cleaver, I’d snatch him and forget about Garrett. Were the lot so lazy they wanted me to do their work for them? Nah. They had to know about my lack of ambition.
Slither must have lost the landmarks blazing the trail to the kitchen. He just tagged along after Ivy. While the boys renewed acquaintances with TGD Parrot, I hit the kitchen fast and got my meager stores put out of sight.
Some forsaken jerk started pounding on the door. His knock was so diffident I almost let it go.
The Goddamn Parrot was heaping the Garrett lineage with fulsome praise. “Strangle that jungle chicken. I’m going to sell the feathers.” I returned to the peephole.
Where did they find these guys? Slight financial types, they were the kind of guys who fought their war shuffling papers. The kind of ninety-three-pound brain cases anybody who ever did any real soldiering swore he was going to drown in urine if he ever got the chance... Curious. Their kind seldom ventured into my part of town.
Macunado Street isn’t the Bustee but is in a neighborhood silver spoons are scared to visit.
Maybe they had something to do with the Blaines.
I opened up.
Error.
Maybe I did sense something. I did have one hand on the grip of my headknocker. Useful.
Because two men as big as Saucerhead Tharpe materialized from the blind spots beside my door and tried to run me over.
I stumbled back, astonished. I produced my stick. The guy nearest me tried to tackle me. I drifted aside and laid my stick across the back of his skull. These clowns had to be from another dimension. Nobody tries to take me at home.
The Dead Man doesn’t suffer disturbances.
Well, not usually. If I hadn’t been busy, I would’ve gone to see what was keeping him. He didn’t stir a mental muscle.
That first guy curled up for a nap. His behemoth buddy scoped it out and opted for a less precipitous approach. He remained confident. He had valiant commodities brokers to harry my flanks.
Slither stuck his head out of the small front room. He didn’t look like he could be much help, but he was behind the crowd. “Hey, Slither. Powziffle pheez.”
My pronunciation was good enough.
The screams for help had died away. I didn’t hear much groaning or furniture breaking anymore, either. Careful to make no noise, I moved the table away from the kitchen door, took a peek down the hall.
Ivy had Slither up against the wall, shaking a finger under his chin. The Goddamn Parrot was on the little guy’s shoulder, singing. Near as I could tell, most of the invaders were breathing.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Why did you have to go and do that?” Ivy whined.
“Because these guys wanted to operate on me without getting patient permission.” Even the guy I put down myself had bruises on his bruises. Slither must have been practicing his fancy dance steps. “He all right?”
“He will be. No thanks to you.”
“Let’s don’t squabble. Prisoners of war here. Get it? Interrogation.” I opened the Dead Man’s door — like I’d be able to see what the hell he thought he was doing, sleeping through all this. I saw what I deserved to see, which was the corpse of a fat Loghyr slouched in a dusty chair.
My pals just needed guidance. When I finished checking on my one-time partner, the invaders were trussed like pigs set for live roasting. The action brought Slither back.
“You guys ever work interrogation?” I asked.
Ivy nodded. Reluctantly, it seemed. Slither looked dumb. He was real good at that. A natural talent.
“My style is to scare them without hurting them — if that can be helped. We have four guys here. One ought to be a weak sister. Right?”
Blank looks.
“We try to figure out which one will tell us what we want to know without we bust them up.”
“Can you do that?”
Why do I try to be a nice guy? Even people on the side of the angels, my side, don’t understand.
I took my pals into the kitchen. We slapped together a really rough meal while we waited for those guys to wake up.
One by one they came around. They didn’t seem thrilled with their circumstances.
54
Cup of tea in hand, accomplices at my sides, the Goddamn Parrot cussing like he’d invented the genre, I returned to the hallway. “All right, boys. Let’s play a game. Winners get to go home with all their fingers and toes.” If they didn’t know enough to be wary of the Dead Man, they didn’t know I seldom toast off villainous digits.
Slither had his own ideas. He broke a guy’s arm. Casual, no big deal, just part of the job, all empathy absent. When his victim stopped squealing, I said, “Mainly, I want to know who you are. And why you busted in, of course.”
The clerk type with two good arms volunteered, “We were supposed to discourage you. Warn you off.”
“We’re gaining ground. Now clue me in. Warn me off what? Why? And who says?”
He looked at me like I was retarded.
Maybe he was right. “I don’t have a clue, friend.”
“You’ve got to drop what you’re doing...”
“Let’s try getting more specific.”
That didn’t elicit a response. “Lords of Shadow,” I muttered, gesturing at Slither. Slither took a step.
“Hold on! Hold on! Mr. Davenport asked us to convince you that you shouldn’t waste any more time looking for Miss Jenn.”
“Good, Except I don’t know any Davenport. I’ve never heard of any Davenports. Who the hell is he?”
My man got a big “Duh?” look on him. Which meant he did have brain enough to want to find a connection if he was supposed to pound on a guy who never heard of the guy who wanted him pounded. We were confused, us two. But I had Slither to help clarify. Slither glowered. Slither loomed. I remarked, “He likes hurting folks. You don’t want to go home in a litter, you’d better whisper in my ear. And tell me no sweet little lies. What’d I do that got this Davenport clown upset?”
“You’re trying to find Miss Jenn.”
Miss Jenn, eh? “Give me some details. I’m a detail kind of guy.”
The staff type went to talking like he’d contracted diarrhea of the mouth. I squatted beside the flood and panned for nuggets.
He claimed a character named Davenport, good buddy of Marengo North English, didn’t much like the idea of me maybe finding Emerald Jenn, so he’d asked some pals to discourage me. His pals had no idea why Davenport gave a damn who did or didn’t find Emerald.
I poked in a question whenever he paused for breath. He answered everything. He couldn’t shut up now. In time I did understand that I hadn’t gotten on the wrong side of Marengo North English himself. This was Davenport’s alone. Good. I have no desire to get noticed by the lunatic fringe.
I said, “I know this is going to break your hearts, guys, but I don’t give a rat’s ass about that kid. I’m not on that case anymore. These days I’m hunting a creep named Grange Cleaver. You help me out there, I’ll forget you messed up my hallway. I won’t even go break Mr. Davenport’s arms.”
I harvested a crop of blank looks. None of those guys ever heard of Grange Cleaver.
“All right. Out of personal curiosity, because of all this, I would like to talk to Emerald. Pass that on to her. I want to ask about her mother and Cleaver.” I gestured. Ivy and Slither both got my drift without elaborate instructions. Ivy opened the door. Slither herded the gang that way. The Goddamn Parrot got into the game, encouraging their departure. “Hey! You guys want a talking chicken?” Sometimes people are just too fast. Those guys got out without answering or even looking back.
You’d think a talking bird would be a real prize — wouldn’t you? — if you hadn’t been around him long enough to know better.
I watched the watchers watch the flight of the four dismayed human rights activists. Their going didn’t generate much excitement.
Could I lay hands on one of those fierce pirates? If he talked, I could get the Firelord what he wanted fast. Maybe. Cleaver had spent a life being light on his feet. He wasn’t about to convenience anybody now.
I went back to the kitchen, built another sandwich. I checked on the Dead Man. Out of it still. I went back to the peephole. Evening had started lowering its skirts. Which made no difference. The street was as crowded as ever. My fans hadn’t called it a day.
My gaze swept a pair of earringed angels — and I suffered a mighty intuition.
I knew where to find Grange Cleaver. He hadn’t hauled his buccaneer behind out of TunFaire. He was still around, laughing at everybody trying to track him down. It was a game for him. A vicious game. If he feared he risked losing, he’d cut and run.
I summoned Ivy and Slither. “I admit I wanted you guys out of my hair. Didn’t work, but my misfortune looks lucky now.” The Goddamn Parrot didn’t like being left alone. He started spouting off in a big way. I stepped over where he could see me, gave him the evil eye. He shut up while he considered the situation. “I need you to hold the fort.”
Ivy stared. Slither said, “Huh?”
Great. “I’m going out the back way.” I spoke slowly and clearly. “I’m leaving you in charge. Anybody knocks, either ignore them or don’t tell them anything.” I donned my best scowl, faced t
he Dead Man’s door. Old Bones was way overdue.
Hell, maybe I’d grown too dependent on him. I reminded me that in real life you can’t count on anybody but you, yourself, and you.
“All right, Garrett.” Ivy’s voice was half-strength. Was he fading?
It could be worse. The Dead Man says it can always get worse. Don’t ask me how.
I slid out the back way.
55
“What’s dis shit?” Sarge bellowed. “I got ta put up wit’ you tree times a day now?”
“Bask in the reflection, my man. Morley is my number one boy now. He up there showing some married lady the ins and out of cross stitch? I could maybe tell him something he wants to hear.”
“Yeah? Like what?” I wasn’t selling Sarge no swamp.
“Like where to find some buried treasure.”
Sarge moved out.
We’ve all endured one another so long we all know when the yak means something and when it’s just macho yammer. Sarge figured I had something, so he got intimate with the speaking tube. I didn’t hear what he said, but hardly three minutes passed before Morley descended the stairs. A woman of astonishing beauty peeked down for a moment, as though she just had to see what improbability could distract Morley Dotes from her. From what I saw of her, I had to consider that an excellent question.
“I’m sorry.” The woman retreated, but my imagination went with her. I hated Morley for having found her first. How did he do it? “Who was that?”
He sneered. “Wipe the drool off your chin. Someone might mistake you for a mad dog werewolf.”
“Who is she?”
“No, you don’t. I was a gentleman about Chaz. I suffered in silence while you wasted Tinnie Tate. I didn’t birddog when that went bad because it might get good again. So forget my little Julie, eh?”
“I’ll give you half a minute.”
“Generous, Garrett. Generous. How come you’re down here making my life miserable again?” Oddly, he seemed anxious. He covered by glancing upstairs like he was thinking about maybe spanking somebody for revealing herself to the rabble. Then he eyed me like he really did expect to hear about buried treasure.