by Glen Cook
Morley bent down to look me in the eye. He couldn't restrain a smirk.
I grumped, "This place is starting to look tacky, buddy. Maybe you ought to start setting yourself up for another format change. Try selling granite wine to dwarves and trolls for a while, maybe."
"Those kinds of people are much too hard on the furniture. The overhead would be too high. You started to remember anything about what happened?"
He knew blows to the head sometimes work that way. Chunks of memory from right before the trauma disappear.
"Some. I was headed for Grubb Gruber's place. Katie's dad had just told me to get lost. I hadn't seen the guys down there since before that business with The Call. It seemed like a good time to drop in."
Morley offered me a thinly veiled look of despair. He asked, "Why would you want to hang around with that tribe of has-beens?"
Because what they has been is what I has been, I didn't say. Morley would never understand. Guys down at Gruber's know what everybody else went through. Not many others do. And less than anyone those who stayed home to comfort the lonely soldiers' wives. Some of us don't need to go in there as often as others. "Because I learn more from them about what's going on around town than I can anywhere else. None of those guys feels like he's got anything to hide or anything to hold back."
"Ouch! How the bee doth sting."
I asked, "Did you perchance send word out about what happened? I was supposed to meet some people this morning."
"I informed your partner. At his request I passed the word along to Playmate, too." Morley grinned. "He had a huge row with Winger. About whether or not she ought to get paid. Until he decided he had to relay the news to someone else."
Morley seemed more curious than I found comfortable. Naturally suspicious, I examined that from a couple of angles while also wondering if it wasn't natural to want to know what was going on when you were involved. Hell, I wanted to know what was going on myself.
Some of Morley's guys were sweeping, mopping, otherwise halfheartedly getting ready for the coming evening's business. Of a sudden, with no perceptible change in attitude or speed, they all headed for the kitchen. In moments the place was empty except for myself and the owner. And the owner no longer looked happy.
I muttered, "Maybe I should head for the kitchen, too." Because I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what was about to happen.
Imminence became actuality.
The approaching coach, the rattle of which had cued the troops to vanish, wasn't approaching anymore. It had arrived.
Morley said, "I do wish she'd take a little less of a personal interest in her business. It's your fault, you know. Nobody ever sees her till your name comes up."
Two thugs pushed into The Palms. Once they stepped out of the bright sunlight they looked like miniature trolls, ugly and hard as jasper. I don't know where they find them. Maybe there's a mine where they dig them up. One held the door for Belinda Contague.
Despite being who and what she is, Belinda persists in dressing herself as the Slut of Doom, the Vampire Whore in Black. She wore black today but with the light behind her not much of her shape remained a mystery.
That ended when the door closed. Her dress was black and unusual but not particularly revealing without the backlighting.
She said something to her henchmen. Both nodded. One went back outside. The other assumed a relaxed stance watching Morley and me.
Belinda approached, perfectly aware of the impact she had because she worked hard at creating it. She was tall, with a shape well-favored by nature. She had a particularly attractive face, which, unfortunately, she insisted on covering with makeup as pale as paper. Her lips were painted bright red and slightly exaggerated by the color.
We have been lovers. We might be again if she really insists.
Very few things frighten me. Belinda Contague is one of them.
Belinda isn't sane. But she has her madness under control and uses it as a weapon. She is deadlier and scarier than her father ever was because she's so much more unpredictable.
She bent and kissed me on the cheek, lingering in case I cared to turn for something with a little more bite. I had to fight it.
Belinda has her positive attributes.
She sensed my temptation and was satisfied. She dropped into the seat beside me. The one Katie had occupied just last night. Luckily, Katie had gone home.
Sometimes it's a curse being a red-blooded Karentine boy. Especially when the red-blooded Karentine girls won't leave you alone.
I asked, "How'd you get here so fast?" I did know that Morley had sent her a message about the Reliance situation.
"I was in town already. There was a matter I had to see to personally. I'm making arrangements for my father's birthday. This one is the big six-zero. I want to give him a party. I'll want you guys to be there. I wouldn't be around if it wasn't for you."
Morley and I exchanged the looks of men suddenly and unexpectedly condemned.
Belinda said, "Tell me about your problem with Reliance."
I did so.
"Why's this Pular Singe so important to you?"
"She's my friend."
"Do you make her squeal?"
"She's just a friend, Belinda."
"I'm just a friend but you've made me squeal a few times."
"It isn't like that, Belinda. I've also helped you out a few times because you're a friend."
She showed me some teeth and a flash of tongue. She was pleased with herself. "I owe you for Crask and Sadler. So I'll send out word, the way you suggested. That'll set you up. And it'll close out my debt to him for his part in saving me from those two."
"You all over that now? You all right?" She'd been tortured and brutalized during the incident she'd mentioned.
"Back to my old self. Able to best a Marine two falls out of three. Know where I could find a Marine who wants to wrestle?"
"You're turning into a forward little sweetmeat."
Morley made a face but kept his groan to himself.
"Sometimes you've got to be direct. When all anyone does is worry about whether you're planning to cut their throat. I'm no black widow, Garrett."
So she said. I had no trouble picturing her with a scarlet hourglass on the front of that dress, accentuating her already-enticing shape. She had no reputation for that sort of thing but there was ample precedent in her own father's treatment of her mother.
"I don't think you are. What I wish you weren't is somebody who twists my head into knots every time I see you because that really gets in the way when I try to do business with you."
She leaned against me. "Poor baby."
Morley sat there in absolute silence, showing no inclination to draw attention to himself. He had no personal relationship with Belinda to help shield him from her unpredictable wrath. He preferred by far to do business at a grand remove.
Belinda told me, "Tell me a little more about this case you're working." So I did. I could see no way that it would hurt. And there was always a chance she'd get a wild hair and do something that would help.
"How does that tie in with your rat girlfriend?"
"It doesn't, far as I can see."
"I'll look around."
In TunFaire it's far harder to hide from the Outfit than it is to hide from me or Colonel Block. The Outfit commands far vaster resources.
"This have anything to do with all those flying lights everybody's been seeing?" she asked.
"It might," I conceded, grudgingly, not really having considered the possibility before. There was no evidence to suggest it.
Belinda popped up, in a bright good mood suddenly. Her mercurial mood swings are another thing that makes her a scary thing. She's much more changeable than most women.
She planted another kiss, this time at the corner of my mouth. "Give my best to Tinnie."
"We're on the outs. This week."
"Alyx, then."
"Nothing going on there, either."
"There's hope for m
e yet. I'll definitely want you to come to Daddy's party." Out the door she went, bouncing like she'd shed a decade of life and a century of conscience.
Morley exhaled like he'd been holding his breath the whole time. "You know what that means?"
"Belinda having a party for the kingpin?"
"Yes. He's not going to be sixty. Not yet. And I think his birthday really isn't for a couple of months yet, either."
"It means she's confident enough of her hold on the Outfit to roll Chodo out and let everybody see what his condition really is."
The purported overlord of organized crime in TunFaire is a stroke victim, alive still but a complete vegetable. Belinda has been hiding that fact and ruling in his name for some time now. Questions have arisen but the combination of Chodo's past propensity for bizarre behavior, a little truth, and Belinda's utterly ferocious, ruthless suppression of challengers have kept the kingpin position safely a Contague prerogative.
Morley said, "There're some old underbosses who'll revolt. They won't take orders from a woman, no matter who she is."
I sighed, too.
Chances were good Belinda knew that better than we did. Chances were good that Belinda was ready to retire those old boys, and might do it at this marvellous party.
I could figure that but they couldn't because they didn't know what I knew about Chodo.
"How many times have you saved her life?" Morley asked. "Several, right?"
"Uhm." He'd been there a few times.
"I think she's gotten superstitious about you. I think she's decided you're her guardian angel. That no matter how bad it gets, if she's in trouble good old Garrett will bail her out."
"That's not true."
"But she believes it. Which means you don't really have anything to fear from her."
"Except for her expectations."
A sly look flicked across Morley's features. "You think she bought your story about Singe?"
It took me a moment to get it. "You butthead."
35
I said, "I was afraid of something like this."
Another woman had just stamped into The Palms. She headed toward me and Morley, elbowing Morley's men aside.
Winger definitely survives more by luck than by any good sense.
"Winger." Morley's greeting was less than enthusiastic. I suspect he'd had a bad personal experience there, once upon a time. Which would teach him to pay attention to his own rule about not getting involved with women who're crazier than he is.
"The very one," she retorted.
Winger is a big old gal, more than six feet tall, and solidly built, though she's actually quite attractive when she bothers to clean herself up. If she was a foot shorter and knew how to simper she'd be breaking hearts wholesale just by looking the wrong way.
"Hey, Garrett," she roared. "What the hell are you doing sitting on your ass in this nancy dump? You was supposed to—"
"You don't listen too well, do you? Word went out that I got the snot beat out of me last night. To you, too. The man who told you is standing right over there. Meantime, I've got bruises on my bruises. I'm stiff all over."
"Yeah? How 'bout where it counts? Didn't think so. You're another one that's just all talk." She glared at Morley. "Get up and walk it off."
Winger is something like a thunderstorm and something like a female Saucerhead. Except with better teeth. And she's a lot more stubborn than Tharpe. It may take Saucerhead a while to work something out but he'll change his mind. Winger has never been wrong in her life. Unless it was that time she thought she was wrong but it turned out that she wasn't.
Big, blond, meaty, goofy, completely dangerous where your valuables are concerned, she's likely to be part of or taken in by the most outrageous scams imaginable. And yet she's one of my friends. One of the inner circle. One of those who'd take steps if something happened to me. And I've never figured out why we like each other.
"Come on, Garrett. Get up off that fat ass. Don't you figure you done left Saucerhead twisting in the wind about long enough?"
I did think that. But Saucerhead was getting paid. And he, too, had been told of my misfortune.
I asked, "Where's Playmate? You're supposed to be covering for Playmate."
"Oh, he went off somewhere this morning, before your messenger came. When I got bored I decided... "
I sighed. Morley shook his head.
"What?"
I said, "I'm sure you've heard the word ‘responsibility' a few times. You have any idea what it means?"
Chances were she did but just didn't care.
"What?" Winger demanded again.
"If you came over here because you're bored, who's minding Playmate's stable so the other crooks don't walk off with everything in sight?" It was really stupid of us to have left all of Kip's inventions unguarded. But the gods of fools had been with us. Word had come that Playmate hadn't suffered any losses. He had wonderful neighbors. "Who's getting paid to make sure that doesn't happen?"
"Other crooks? What do you mean, other crooks? Wiseass. Look, I'm actually here because I'm kind of worried about Play. I thought he was going off to meet you. I figured he'd come back when he heard you wimped out on account of you got a couple of bruises and a scrape."
I said, "Well, I've had all the fun here that I can take. I'm going home."
It took me nearly a minute to get out of my chair. Then I couldn't stand up straight. "Guess I'll have to look on the bright side." I looked left. I looked right. "So where the hell is it?
"Winger, for heaven's sake, go take care of that damned stable." I had visions of footpads absconding with my own personal three-wheel. "And don't give me any of that crap about I'm picking on you because you're a woman. I'm picking on you because somebody hired you to do a job and you're just letting it slide. Again."
"Gods. Somebody get this man a drink. He's gone totally cranky."
36
Singe and Dean both awaited me on the stoop. The old man came down the steps to help me make the climb.
Winger had been right. A little exercise had loosened me up. But hardly enough. I still moved like somebody twice my age, suffering from rheumatism. I'd begun to worry that the ratmen might have done me some internal damage.
Once I'd eaten and downed a quart of Dean's medicinal tea, though, I no longer felt like we needed to send for a witch doctor.
With Singe's help Dean moved a padded chair from the small front room into the Dead Man's room. I occupied it, prepared to discuss business. Instead, I went to sleep. I stayed that way a long time. When I awakened Dean was there with more food and fresh tea. Singe fluttered about nervously.
We find ourselves facing a disquieting development. Mr. Playmate has disappeared.
"No. I didn't want to hear that." I don't like losing a client. That means I have to work three times as hard. Usually for no pay.
Miss Winger sent word to the effect that he has not yet surfaced. I took the liberty of sending Dean to Mr. Dotes with an appeal that he send a few men to support Miss Winger. This would seem an opportune time for raiders to try scooping up Cypres Prose's inventions.
"It would, wouldn't it? And it's Mrs. Winger. She's got a husband and a couple of kids she abandoned, somewhere out in the country."
The good news is, an hour ago a messenger delivered a letter from Reliance. It was a bit formal, stiff, and strained, but he renounced all further interest in Miss Pular.
"Hear that, Singe? You can go outside without worrying about the bad guys... "
Reliance cannot, and does not, guarantee the good behavior of all ratmen, Garrett. Call it a weasel clause if you like, but he did advise us that he is not able to control the actions of some of the younger ratmen. He denounced a certain John Stretch in particular.
"To be expected, I guess. We're still better off than we were. I can't imagine too many of those youngsters being crazy enough to want to get the Outfit after their tails."
The young often cannot connect cause and effect, Garrett. You
see stupid behavior on the street every day. It will take only one fool who believes he can outwit Reliance and the Outfit to ruin Miss Pular's prospects.
"I'm pretty sure Miss Pular is bright enough to outwit any of her kind who might be stupid enough to come after her."
Indeed.
Singe preened.
But she will have to remain alert and ready for trouble for some time to come. Until the rat tribes acclimate themselves to the new situation. Reliance's letter is there before you. I asked Dean to leave it when he finished reading it to me.
His mention of the letter was a hint that I should read it. I did so, wondering who had written it. I'd never heard of a ratman who could read or write.
"I'd say this is less than a total victory for Singe."
That is correct.
Singe asked, "What is wrong?"
"The way Reliance states this, he isn't just giving up his claims on you, he's telling us you don't have any more claims on the community of the ratpeople. He won't let you."
Singe thought for a while. Then, "Please explain more. In case I do not understand correctly."
"He's exiled you from your people. You know exile?" She nodded. "He's basically saying that since you won't play by his rules he isn't going to let you have anything to do with your own people. I guess you'll have to decide if that's a price you're willing to pay."
"I have decided already."
"Are you... ?"
"Reliance does not have much longer. And while he does last he cannot be everywhere, keeping me from making contacts I might want. He is too old and too slow. And an enforced exile will compel me to learn my way around the rest of the city more quickly."
"Wow!" I said.
Yes. Perhaps you should marry her after all. In five years you might be a king.
Old Bones let Singe in on the part where he showed that he was impressed. The rest he sent only to me. One of his poor excuses for a joke.
Garrett. Miss Pular. You will have to pick up Mr. Playmate's trail at his stable. Track him to wherever his hidden demons have taken him. You might search the boy's workshop. It is conceivable that Mr. Playmate found something there that led him to believe he could find the boy on his own.