by Glen Cook
“That could be.” He did not sound convinced.
He knew something I didn’t.
It would be a waste of time to press.
Instead, I asked, “There some special reason you’re interested in a construction project?”
“Only because illegal behaviors are going on around there. Those kid gangsters. Not going to be a problem anymore. No more theft or vandalism.”
He did not explain. They must have connected that rusty knife to Handsome. I didn’t want to know what next. It was sure to be harsh.
He did say, “I’m interested mostly because of a sudden interest on the Hill in what’s happening in that neighborhood. Particularly because somebody wants to go low profile. When Block can’t...” He stopped. It was against his religion to volunteer anything.
The problem would be Kip’s friends. Some had to be from the high Hill country. Doing what kids do. Helping themselves to their parents? stuff when the old folks weren’t watching. I did it with Mom’s brandy. And got caught every time. Hard to cover up when you pass out with the bottle in your lap.
“Any names I know trying for the down low?”
Snaggled teeth again. I wouldn’t get Deal Relway that easy.
“And you get all over me for holding back, even when I don’t.”
“And if you’re not, even this time, I’m the world’s first nine-foot-tall dwarf.”
I zagged when I hoped he expected a zig. “What can you tell me about somebody they call Lurking Felhske?”
He started, then faded into neutral mode. Turning off anything that might be a tell. “Felhske?”
“Lurking Felhske. Actual first name possibly Tribune.”
“Why? What do you know about Felhske?”
“Interesting. There something special about him?”
“What do you know about him?”
“What do you know?”
“I know you’re sitting in my cell way down here in the heart of the Al-Khar. And it’s a long way to the front door. What do you know about Lurking Felhske?”
He’d gone from friendly to neutral to hard-ass in seconds. “There was somebody watching us over at the World. Saucerhead Tharpe said he thought it might be somebody called Lurking Felhske.”
“Tharpe knows Felhske?”
“No. Knew of him. I never heard of him before.”
“Tell it.”
I did so.
“Run that description again.”
I did that.
“I might want to borrow your tracker.”
“Excuse me?” I hadn’t mentioned Singe getting a sniff of Felhske.
“We have a strong interest in arranging a direct interview with the Felhske person.” Naturally, he didn’t explain why. “You’ve given me more than I’ve been able to put together before.”
“I can’t tell Singe to do it. She probably would, though, in the interest of good relations. And making a little money. But you’d have to give her something to start with.”
“Um?” He figured I was handing him a ration.
“She’s the best damned tracker in town but you can’t just tell her to go find somebody. She’s got to have a place to start, the right scent, reasonable weather, and has to get started pretty soon after the subject leaves the starting point. This burg has got a lot of stinks.”
“And stinkers.”
“Of which I’m one?”
“If the shoe fits. Listen. I? mvery interested in having a conversation with Mr. Felhske. Who sounds like an orangutan in clothing. I’d be appreciative of anyone who made that conversation possible.”
“Drop by the house, talk to Singe. She’s always looking for ways to ingratiate herself.”
The Director’s tiny smile told me I’d find myself running between the flop drops of a swarm of flying pigs before he visited my house again.
He was one of those paranoids who was dead on the mark when he thought somebody was out to get him.
Old Bones would love to prowl the labyrinth of his lethal little mind.
He muttered, “This might change things. I need to... I appreciate you coming in, Garrett. I may want to see you again. Hell, it’s a lead pipe cinch you'll make me want to see you again.”
There were questions I wanted to ask. I got no chance. This wasn’t about me and my wants. He yelled. A little man with some gnome in him materialized. “Cut him loose.”
“Sir?” Spoken to me. “If you'll come with me?”
I’d been dismissed. I’d need to throw firebombs to get Relway’s attention again. “Lead on, Studly.”
No point telling them I could find my way out. I might want to surprise them someday.
28
It was only afternoon but it had gotten dark. Snow fell in big, soggy chunks that could knock you down if you weren’t careful. I’d need to beware ambushes. It was great snowball snow. Every kid in TunFaire would be balling up and waiting for victims.
Ten steps from the Al-Khar doorway one wide load of a human slid into my path. I was about to break out my head thumper when I recognized him. “What’s up, Sarge?”
“Morley was worried about you. Sent me ta fine out what the laws was doin’ wit’ you. Good timin’, you. I jist got here. Now I don’t got ta freeze my ass off all day.”
That would take a long arctic winter. Which observation I reserved. “Yeah? How’d he know they picked me up?”
“Dat frail a’ yours. Sent somebody over. On account of she was worried about you.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’get dat. Somebody like you wit’her.”
“Makes me wonder, too, Sarge. But I don’t look too close at its teeth.”
“I don’t get it.” When there were treasures like him to be had.
“The gods work in mysterious ways, I reckon. Tell Morley they turned me loose. Give him all my love for caring.”
“Maybe you might oughta go tank him your own self, slick.”
Maybe. Hell, why not? My day was shot. Too much time inside the second most terrible Crown structure in TunFaire. And The Palms was closer than home. Meaning a chance to get warm again that much sooner.
“Why not?” I told Sarge. “I don’t even remember what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Dey can do dat ta you, dem guys in dere.”
“You know about that?”
“Been dere, ace. Every mont’ or so, dey pull me in. Dey git somebody from da crew most ever week.”
I didn’t know that. Morley never mentioned it.
Maybe it was something new. I hadn’t gotten together with Dotes for a while.
I’d turned into a real stay-at-home. They’d probably held wakes for me at my old habitual hangouts.
I said, “Must be tough, trying to run a business when you can’t count on your people coming in.”
We were trudging along with the snowflakes bashing us from behind. Sarge stopped. He looked at me like he was trying to figure out something. Which he was, of course.
Puddle, Sarge, the rest of Morley’s crew, they never did connect fully with my sense of humor.
Morley Dotes, well-known half-breed dark elf, runs a toney watering hole that used to be a dive. And something worse before that. As had he.
We’ve been friends so long that I don’t recall how we became blood brothers. So long that there’s never any question anymore about turning out to offer a helping paw.
Dotes had his troops assembled for inspection when Sarge and I entered The Palms. He told them, “This snow will keep the punters away. Again. I don’t want to lay anybody off. But if I don’t have money coming in, I can’t pay wages.”
The faces were familiar, though I couldn’t put a name to several. None looked like the kinds of guys who consider food service their life’s calling.
Sarge told me, “Sit your ass down somewhere an’ keep your friggin’mout’ shut. He'll get to you.”
“I could be down to the World counting giant bugs.”
Sarge gave me the boggled frown often shown when I talk to
him.
He isn’t the brightest member of Morley’s crew.
Sometimes I think Morley picks his associates with an eye to shining sunny amongst them.
Dotes finished haranguing his troops. “Sarge, get that coat out of the kitchen.” He settled across the table from me.
I observed, “You look worn down.”
“I am. Business sucks. I’m dying, trying to keep my suppliers paid and my people employed.”
“You got through last winter.”
“Last winter The Palms was still fashionable. The place to see and be seen. The place to make a connection.”
That would be one of the more honest things he’d ever said. Admitting that his place was more than just a feeding trough for swells.
“Maybe it’s time to move on to the next format.”
“No can do. The only option now is a fallback to something like the Safety Zone. I don’t want that. I’ve had a taste of the high life.”
In one prior incarnation The Palms was the Safety Zone, which was basically a place where denizens of the dark side, of all races, could gather and do business without fear of assassination or other inconvenience. The Safety Zone had been great when I was starting out. I could hang out, listen, make contacts, find out who was who.
Then I met Tinnie.
“Then change up just enough to make them want to come see what’s new. Serve something besides eggplant, parsnips, and rutabaga wine.”
“Thank you, Sarge,” Morley said. “Your coat, Mr. Garrett. Your redheaded friend sent it over with word that you’d been dragged off to the Al-Khar.” He eyed me expectantly. I paid no attention to the coat.
How do you lie to your best friend? “Relway wanted to enlist me as a consultant. About what, or why, he never made clear. But he’s interested in something involving kids off the Hill.”
“Word is, you’re working for Max Weider. Something to do with oversize bugs.”
“Yes. I’ve taken care of that. I hope. I'll go make sure after I leave here.”
“There’re lots of big bugs around, scaring the marks in the Tenderloin. You’re not popular down there right now.”
“Me? I’m not? I need that explained.”
“You loosed the bugs.”
“I did not.” Stupid is more pervasive than air. Inability to reason comes in right behind. “I was down there to suppress them. And did a damned good job, thank you.”
Morley just smiled.
I may have mentioned it. Apologies if I have. Mr. Dotes is poisonously handsome and overloaded on animal magnetism. If you’re a father or a husband, he’s the guy who haunts your nightmares.
He’s keyed into fashion, always dressed to the pointy ears in the latest. Even here, working, with no one to impress, after a harsh winter, he was overdressed and preening, showing an embarrassing quantity of pastel lace.
Puddle, who could be Sarge’s ugly twin, brought a tea service. Morley poured. I sipped and relaxed in the warmth. The usual stress around the place was absent. I thanked Puddle, asked Morley, “What’s really going on?”
“Nothing. Tinnie was worried. I made moves to find out how bad off you were. Lucky you, they cut you loose. Sarge brought you here so you could get your coat. Once you got here, I amused myself by giving you a hard time about your bugs.”
“Not my bugs. Kids off the Hill. Tell me about Lurking Felhske.”
His good mood vaporized. He stopped lounging. Stiffly erect in his chair, he snapped, “What do you know about him?”
“Two things. First, nothing. Which is why I asked. I never heard of him before yesterday. Second, every time I mention him, people get the stone face and, instead of answering me, they start trying to get me to turn him up. Why the hell is that?”
“Are you for real? You never heard of Lurking Felhske? In your racket?”
“Morley. Look at me. I’m getting exasperated here. My friend. I told you. I have no flipping idea who Lurking Felhske is. I never heard of him before Saucerhead said something. I’m pretty sure there might be three, maybe even four other people out there who’ve never heard of him, either. There might even be people who’ve never heard of you. So cut the crap.”
Sarge was back, examining the coat he’d brought. He told Morley, “His adventure in da Al-Khar drove him mad.”
“Certainly made him cranky.”
Sarge told me, “Dere’s maybe a problem here, Garrett. Couple of da guys in back, dey t’ought dis coat was left behin’ by some customer. Dey got in a squabble over it. Kinda tore it some.”
“Ssss!” I hissed, making descending wiggle fingers. “I’m a lightning rod for petty disaster. Crap. What makes me real cranky is friends who won’t believe me. Who think it’s funny to play games when all I need is a splash of honest information.”
Morley tickled his ghost of a mustache. “I'll pretend you’re really as dim and ignorant as you want me to believe. In the interest of getting on with getting on.”
“How gracious.”
“Isn’t it? Considering the bad things that have happened this year.” Feral smile. He was still irked about me getting him back for saddling me with a talking parrot who could make a sailor blush.
“All the hills don’t go up. Some have a down on the other side.”
“You’ve been hanging around with the old folks again.”
“Lurking Felhske.”
“Yes. Lurking Felhske. A legend. The spy’s spy. A man almost as unpopular as gumshoe Garrett. A man so good at sneaking and eavesdropping most of his targets never know. So good, in fact, that most people have never heard of him.”
“Including the aforementioned gumshoe Garrett. What the hell is a gumshoe, anyhow?”
“It’s a kind of soft sole for people who spend all their time on their feet. Check with your friends on the Guard. Meantime, take it from me, those who have suffered because of Lurking Felhske would love to have a sit-down with him.”
I couldn’t see Relway being upset about being exposed by this character. I could see him smelling a chance to find out where a lot of bodies were buried. “You got something to hide and it gets out, you can’t hardly claim you being in trouble is somebody else’s fault.”
“Of course you can. Most people do. Don’t be naive, Garrett.”
“I understand that most people are too self-centered to blame themselves for their own troubles. That’s human nature at work. Come on. Lurking Felhske. Give.”
“Felhske. The wonder. I told you. Legendary sneak. The man you hire when you want to find out what somebody else doesn’t want found.”
“Damn! I thought that was Mama Garrett’s ever-lovin’ blue-eyed baby boy. How?”
“Uh... you got me, Garrett. How what?”
“How do you hire a Lurking Felhske if he’s so legendary that nobody knows what he looks like or where to find him? I’ve always wondered about that when it comes to legendary assassins and professional thieves.”
“Thieves?”
“The ones who steal the holy gem eyes or fangs out of demon idols or ancient grimoires from heavyweight sorcerers. You want that kind of people to do a job for you, how do you get hold of them? You can’t hardly hang a sign out. And neither can they. Especially neither can they. Here’s this poor Felhske clown, got people hunting him and all he does is watch people.”
“But then he goes and tells somebody what he saw. That’s what makes people mad.”
“That’s all you know?”
“That’s all I know, Garrett. That and I could solve my financial problems if I had a Lurking Felhske to auction off.”
I made a face, repelled.
Morley smiled. He’d gotten me. Again. “How much influence do you have on the three-wheel business?”
“Five percent. And I can have my own guy check the books. So far, nobody’s screwed me. I put it all back in. Eventually, I'll own more of the company. Singe has the math worked out. Why?”
“I have a cousin who thinks it would be dandy to have her own three-w
heel.”
I was suspicious immediately. I’ve only ever met one family member of his. A nephew. Who should’ve been drowned at birth.
Morley said, “Don’t give me that fish-eye, Garrett. I was thinking about buying her a spot near the head of the list.”
What about those financial problems? “Does this cousin live in the city?” He might want a three-wheel to ship out where feral elves could get busy building knockoffs. Though that is more a dwarfish-style stunt.
It’s company policy never to sell to dwarves.
We’d have to design a special dwarf model, anyway. They couldn’t get their stubby legs down to the pedals on a normal three-wheel.
Dotes shrugged. “Forget about it. Five percent isn’t juice enough. How long do you think the fad will last?”
“A long time if the Tates are as clever at promoting three-wheels as they were combat boots back when Tate shoes became the thing for the in-crowd.” They’d been supposed to make those boots exclusively for the Army.
“Snob appeal.”
“The worst you ever saw.”
I took a moment to enjoy The Palms. Good smells wafted in from the kitchen. My long affair with an omnivorous diet prevented my saying so. My best pal is a born-again vegetarian.
“An interesting notion,” Dotes mused, mind a hundred yards away. “Change the menu. Come up with something the punters won’t get anywhere else. Then get out the word about how exclusive it is. You’re not as dumb as you let on, Garrett.”
“A thought for the ages.” And, “Thanks for caring enough to send Sarge out. I’d better get moving. There was a bunch of stuff I was supposed to do today. I haven’t done any of it yet. And I’m hungry.”
There was a lot of garlic in the air. I do like a dish with ample garlic flavoring the meat.
“Don’t forget your coat.” Dotes ignored my gratitude. In his world, doing for friends wasn’t something you talked about.
It was a real men thing.
I held the coat at arm’s length. “This was my best coat.”
I didn’t hear an offer to make good, or even an apology for the damage. I didn’t challenge Dotes. The clever little villain would turn it around to make the damage my fault because I’d been dumb enough to loan my best coat to a redheaded woman.