Whispering Nickel Idols gf-11 Page 10

  I flashed another yard of charm. “I was you, I’d think about that. How could she flimflam the whole damned Watch? What did you do, all go roaring off to the far south side after a bunch of human rights nuts? Were there even any nuts down there?”

  “An orchard full. They haven’t gone away. There was a bureaucratic screwup. The right hand didn’t keep the left posted. The people responsible have been reassigned to Bustee patrol.”

  “And next time I visit the Al-Khar their identical twins will be sitting in their old seats.”

  Block nodded, shrugged. “What can you do about human nature? We still have Watchmen willing to supplement their salaries by selling inside info or by doing favors.” He slumped like a jilted lover.

  “That’s good. You can face the truth.”

  “There’s a lot of wishful thinking at my shop. You’re right. But changes are coming.”

  “I hope you’re right. Your guests in green say anything interesting yet?”

  “Yeah. They’re gonna save the world from the Queen of Darkness.”

  “Oh, goody! What’s that mean to us who aren’t religious wacks?”

  “I don’t know. We’re looking for an expert on Ymberian cults. I want to know what’s really going on.”

  That was why I admired Block. He understands that when people are involved, not much is what it seems at first glimpse. Though you never go wrong by suspecting the worst and working back.

  Feeling generous, I talked about my thwarted visit to the Al-Khar.

  “They’re putting statues in the walls of the Bledsoe?”

  “Not anymore. You’ve got most of them locked up.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “I hope you’re just asking you. Because I have no idea.” I doubted the Green Pants guys really felt compelled to do charitable deeds. Old cynic, I.

  “I’m fishing. One must when dealing with you.”

  “Here’s a notion. Assuming the Green Pants boys are religious gangsters, maybe the Bledsoe business has to do with their religion.”

  Captain Block gaped. My leap of intuition stunned him. “I’ll be damned, Garrett. I take back everything I ever said about you. I bet you can find your toes without the Dead Man and Morley Dotes to show the way. You might even be able to count them without having to borrow an extra hand.”

  “Oh! How sharper than a serpent’s tooth the cruel envy of a civil servant. Dean! We need a pot of tea.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll be going. I found out what I needed to know.”

  That had a sinister edge. “Uhm?”

  He didn’t explain. Which left my nerves with split ends. Which was his whole point.

  “Here’s a thought, Garrett. Or two. Find Harvester Temisk before anyone else does. Then keep him away from the Combine.”

  “Uhm?” You can count on Detective Garrett to spout argot and attitude and sparkling repartee.

  “Deal has friends in low places. There’s a new trend in goombah thinking. They’re all asking, ‘Where’s Harvester Temisk?’ Even underbosses who aren’t sure who Temisk is are looking. They don’t want to get left behind. They haven’t done much yet because they’re all still nursing totally hairy hangovers.”

  “They did party like it was their last shot before the Trumps of Doom.” I levered myself out of my chair, to take up guide duties so Block didn’t get lost on his way back to the door. He’s been known to do that. “Did you notice anyone watching the place when you got here? Besides Mrs. Cardonlos and the Watch goon squad operating out of her place?”

  “Goon squad? You wound me, sir. The Watch employs only the cream of the cream of TunFaire’s most civic-minded subjects.” Denying nothing. “Tell you the truth, Garrett, I didn’t pay attention. That’s a luxury we’re starting to enjoy more.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Not having to give a damn who’s watching. Or why. Comes from knowing you’re doing such a good job your credit with the people who could fire you is inexhaustible.”

  “Oh.” That was a message.

  Somebody somewhere liked what the Watch was doing just fine.

  “I’ll have the boys poke around under the stoops and in the breezeways.”

  I gave him a look at my raised eyebrow.

  “All part of the service, Garrett. We maintain order and protect the public.” Out he went into the chaos of Macunado Street.

  What had he come to find out? More disturbingly, what were the people behind him up to now that the war was over?

  Soon after Block disappeared a stir passed through the neighborhood like an unexpected gust through a poplar grove. A dozen clean-cut men rousted out another dozen who looked much less obviously official.

  Spider Webb was the only one I recognized.

  I went back to my desk still wondering what Block had found out.

  During my absence my teacup had been refilled. It must’ve been magic. I never heard a sound.

  I picked up the egg-shaped stone one prime sample of rustic elegance had striven to sling through my skull. It didn’t feel as slick or greasy today. It felt warm, alive. Just holding it, fiddling with it, relaxed me. I slipped off into a nap.

  24

  When I wakened I ambled back into the kitchen in search of fuel.

  Dean was darning socks and slow cooking a sauce involving tomatoes, spices, garlic, and shredded onions. He had an admirably large mug of wine in front of him, which was out of character. He splashed some into the sauce. Oh.

  Singe had swilled enough beer to get silly. Time to order in a new backup keg. Melondie Kadare was in a state where she wasn’t much more than a sack of jelly, venting noises vaguely reminiscent of primitive language.

  I said, “We need to lock Mel in a box until she dries out.”

  Singe snickered. A sight to behold and a unique, gurgly sound to hear. She was feeling less pain than I’d first thought.

  There were kittens all over. I couldn’t keep track.

  Dean said, “Get the front door. I’m too busy.”

  His ears were sharper than mine. This guy must have mislaid his sledgehammer.

  I was the only hind-legger able to navigate, so I snagged my mug and headed south. After a weary trek, o’er dale and under mountain, I positioned myself at my peephole.

  One gorgeous, thoroughly frazzled, blue-eyed brunette had taken station on my stoop. I was surprised. I was more surprised to see that it was dark out. And still more surprised that she’d shown up without bodyguards or her ugly black coach. She wasn’t wearing her usual vampire wannabe look, either. She wasn’t stylish at all. She had gone lower-class, raggedy, housewifey instead of whorish.

  I opened up. Eyeballing the darkness behind her, I observed, “A lot of work go into the new look?”

  “Yes. You want to move so I can get in before somebody figures it out?”

  I moved. Belinda got inside.

  “You by yourself?” I was used to seeing her motate around with several shadows who resembled woolly mammoths operating on their hind legs.

  “All by my lonesome. I don’t want anybody guessing I’m me. Not to mention that I lost my whole crew in the fire.”

  “Uhm?” My vocabulary word of the day.

  “You know how many people are watching your place?”

  “I have a notion. What I’m not sure of is why. I thought they’d go away after they swept up the last bunch of vandals who tried to wreck my door.”

  “I have no idea what you’re babbling about. From a business point of view it would make sense to look over your shoulder twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week.”

  “Uhm?” There I went again.

  “Shit happens around you, Garrett. Weird shit. Really weird shit. You draw it like horse apples draw flies.”

  “And here you are, buzzing around my hall.” A gurgling peal of pixie laughter reminded me. “We’re having a party in the kitchen. Come on back.”

  Belinda scowled.

  She’d lost something. Emotionally, she was
back where she’d been when I’d met her. Scared, beautiful, crazy, in a shitload of trouble. She wasn’t as scattered as she’d been back then, but she wasn’t the ferocious Contague crime queen anymore, either.

  I said, “Come on. You need to relax.”

  Not the best strategy, possibly. Belinda wasn’t beloved by anyone in my kitchen-though Dean probably thinks her worst flaw is her willingness to be seen with me.

  Singe gave me bitter looks Belinda didn’t recognize because she doesn’t know ratpeople. Melondie Kadare didn’t contribute. She was on her way to becoming extinct. The kittens were pleased to see Belinda. Fifteen or twenty of them piled on as soon as she sat down.

  I scooped Melondie off the tabletop. “I’ll take Mel home. Before one of these critters forgets his manners.” The pixie buzzed feebly. I got a grip so she wouldn’t flutter off and smash her head against a wall or ceiling she couldn’t see.

  I checked the peephole, saw nothing but bats zipping through the moonlight. I opened up, whistled softly. There would be a sentry. He might need waking up, though. Pixies greatly prefer the daytime.

  They found Melondie’s husband. He and her family took over. She was snoring like a six-inch-long, horizontal lumberjack. They bound her wings so she wouldn’t do anything lethal in her sleep.

  I went back inside.

  Belinda was at the door to my office. She had a pitcher of beer, a pot of tea, a small oil lamp, and appropriate auxiliaries on a tray.

  “What’s up?”

  “I didn’t feel welcome in there. And I don’t want them listening.”

  “Let me get the lamp going. Damn!” I missed stomping a kitten by a cat’s whisker. I dumped another cat out of the client’s chair. It bounced onto my desktop, where it puffed up and hissed at the stone that had come another whisker short of braining me.

  Belinda filled me a mug and poured herself a cup of tea, added cream and a hunk of sugar the size of a flagstone. She stroked the kitten that laid claim to her lap.

  I asked, “So what’s up?”

  She stalled. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk after all. She forced it. “Do you know where my father is?”

  What? “No. Last I saw him, you were getting him out of the hall.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why? What happened? Did you mislay him?”

  “Sort of. I got him out, got him into the coach, started to look for you. The coach took off and hasn’t been seen since.”

  “Wow.” I found myself playing with the stone egg- in preference to the unhappy cat in my lap. In a leap of intuition I understood why folks were interested in Temisk. “Any chance one of the district captains grabbed him?”

  “No. I’d feel my arm being twisted already. Instead, they’re running in circles trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  “Maybe he decided to make a run for it.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe he’d had enough and made a run for it.”

  “He was in a coma, Garrett.”

  “You think? You’re sure? One hundred percent? He wasn’t just paralyzed?”

  “You know better than that.”

  “No, I don’t,” I lied. “You never let anybody get close enough to tell.”

  She didn’t bother to argue.

  I recalled Morley’s hypothesis that some guy named Garrett was the moral anchor and emotional touchstone of the spider woman. I didn’t want the job. Everybody knows what girl spiders do when boys get too close.

  Maybe it was one of those deals where, you save a life, it’s your responsibility forever after.

  You put the knightly armor on, and sometimes they don’t let you take it off.

  “What’re you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking you’re a dangerous woman to be around. And I’m around you a lot.”

  “Tinnie knows you pretty well, then.”

  “Unfortunately. But my personal life isn’t what I meant.”

  “You’re afraid of me?”

  “There’s that. You’ve got a temper. But the real problem is, you swim with sharks. I expect jaws to clamp on me any minute.”

  “With all your guardian angels?”

  “Angels? Name two.”

  “Morley Dotes. Deal Relway. Westman Block. Playmate. Saucerhead Tharpe. Not to mention your business partners. Max Weider is no angel. Neither is Lester Tate. And then there’s me.”

  Made me feel humble. For maybe ten seconds. Then my natural cynicism got its second wind. Someday I should fake my own death and see how things shake out.

  “So you lost track of your dad. Let’s slink on down to the bottom line. How come you’re in a state where you sneak off?… You aren’t just looking to hide out, are you?”

  “No. I walk back out of here in the morning and be who I’ve been since the first time we met.”

  “In the morning?”

  “I don’t have anywhere to go tonight.”

  I began to fiddle with that slingshot stone a whole lot more seriously.

  “It isn’t like you don’t have other friends stay over.”

  “You want to know the truth?”

  “Maybe not, the way you’re looking at me.”

  “None of those friends are as scary as you.”

  Belinda went on petting that kitten, scowling because she’d heard something she didn’t like. She stared at my hands. “What the hell is that thing? What’re you doing?”

  I explained. “I left it here before I went to the party. I don’t know. It relaxes me when I handle it.”

  Belinda extended a hand. I let her have the stone. “You’re right.”

  Dean stuck his head in. “You need anything before I go to bed?” He was lugging a brat cat of his own.

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  He scowled at Belinda but couldn’t get his heart into it. He sighed and went away.

  Singe didn’t bother to check us out. Which meant she was sulking but didn’t have ambition enough to make anybody miserable.

  Belinda poured herself a beer once she finished her tea. We played with kittens and let our hair down, talked like teenagers deep into the night, giggling at stupid jokes. I found out that she’d never had any girlfriends when she was younger. Never had the chance. Her role models were all the sort polite folk don’t invite to holiday dinners.

  We drank a lot of beer.

  25

  Singe wakened me at some godsforsaken hour, chivied in by Dean, who couldn’t face direct evidence confirming or disclaiming the prurient imaginings slithering round the interior of his hard black skull. The fact that his imaginings were exactly that, and only that, meant nothing.

  By the time we’d retired neither Belinda nor I was sober enough for anything more energetic than sleep.

  Singe’s attitude was sour enough.

  “What?” I snarled. The morning light at play on my curtains shrieked that it wasn’t anywhere near noon. In fact, it had to be closer to dawn, a time when only mad dogs and madmen got after the early worm.

  “A messenger brought a letter from Colonel Block.”

  A kitten crabbed out of the covers, stretched, hopped down, and stalked proudly out of the room. Belinda made “Leave me alone!” growls and burrowed deeper into the covers. “Do I need to sign or something?”

  “No. It was just a letter.”

  Then why was she waking me up now? “Then why are you waking me up now?”

  “I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Sure, you did.”

  Feelings bruised, Singe left. I didn’t care. There is no courtesy and no compassion before noon.

  I didn’t care, but I couldn’t get back to sleep.

  When Belinda started snarling about the tossing and turning and threatened me with an amateur sex reassignment, I surrendered to my conscience and dragged on out.

  I sipped black tea thick with honey. No help. I kept seeing two of everything. If I hadn’t spent five unforgettable years as a Royal Marine, I might’ve suspected double visio
n to be nature’s revenge on fools who believe rational behavior includes hauling out at sunrise in less than apocalyptic circumstances.

  Singe bustled around, doing chores, so Dean could do even less real work to earn his board and bread. She was fanatically perky and cheerful. And her coconspirator had put the butcher knives out of reach.

  “You are awful in the morning,” Singe declared.

  Exercising maximum restraint, I chirped, “Yep.”

  “Is that the best you can do?”

  “I could say, ‘Eat mud and die!’ But you’d get your feelings hurt. I have more consideration for you than that. So how about we get together with this critical communique?”

  Dean and Singe installed me in my office with hot black tea, biscuits, and honey. I got started. More or less. Weighted heavily toward the less.

  “What does the note say?” She’d tried to read the message but Colonel Block’s clerk had inscribed it in cursive. She can’t read that yet.

  She’s a fast learner, though she’ll never teach Karentine literature. Which consists mainly of sagas and epics inhabited by thoroughly despicable people being praised by the poets for their bad behavior. Or passion plays, which are hot today, but which are moronic if you read them instead of watching them.

  “It says the priest at the temple of Eis and Igory, in the Dream Quarter, is from Ymber. It says the Watch wouldn’t be disappointed in their old pal Garrett if his curiosity caused him to visit this Bittegurn Brittigarn, whose thoughts about guys in green pants might be of mutual interest.”

  “Meaning they do not think the priest will talk to them and they have no convincing excuse to pull him in.”

  “Basically.”

  “Garrett, what would the world be like if everyone was as caring as Dean?”

  “It would be knee-deep in hypocrisy, standing on its head.”

  “Which still makes him better than most everyone else.”

  “Glory be, girl. Don’t you go turning into a street preacher.”

  “The more I become a person, the more I get upset by how people treat each other for being different.”

  “I don’t want to get into a debate.”