Whispering Nickel Idols gf-11

by Glen Cook

  “I’m making a list. Not a lot. We had too much to begin with, since we never entertain.” He produced tea in a cracked beaker. I drank.

  “What’s Singe up to?”

  “She and her brother are in talking to the thing.”

  “The thing? Old Jolly woke up? Why didn’t you say so?”

  “It may be old age confusing me. I thought I just did. The fury of the storm woke him up.”

  I didn’t buy that. Now I knew why I’d felt weird after I got home yesterday. Old Bones was awake and lying back in the weeds.

  “Give me a refill, here, and I’ll be off.”

  He muttered something about my not needing any tea to get there.

  Singe had half the lamps in the house in the Dead Man’s room. He makes her nervous. Though I don’t know many people who are comfortable around corpses. Particularly around corpses still inhabited by the original occupants, like a ghost that can’t get up and walk.

  Asking what kind of mood he was in would waste time. Ill-tempered usually covered it. Instead, I asked, “Where are the cats?”

  “Hiding,” Singe said. “They are terrified.”

  “Makes sense. In his time His Nibs was known as Terror of Kittens.”

  John Stretch eyed me like he wasn’t sure I was joking. He was rattled. If he were human, he’d have been a bloodless white.

  “You sure he’s awake?” I asked. “I’ve been in here a whole minute and he hasn’t contradicted me yet.”

  There are matters of greater weight to consider, Garrett. A dozen minds in the street outside need examination. Employing a pickpocket’s touch inasmuch as they believe that I am no longer viable.

  “Ah. Were you ever?”

  And still the man wonders why I prefer sleep to suffering his company.

  He was employing one of his lesser minds to communicate. He didn’t have his heart behind his snaps. He was distracted. Which was a good sign. He’d found this new world exciting enough to engage his intellect.

  Here is what you must do. Beginning immediately. Have Mr. Tharpe and Ms. Winger come see me. Employing your considerable talent for fabrication, get each of the following to visit, as well. Colonel Block and Deal Relway. Miss Contague. The child, Penny Dreadful. Any of the men who wear green pants. Or their handlers. The priest you visited. Teacher White or one of his henchmen.

  Once I have interviewed a few of them it should become possible to develop strategies. Finding Mr. Contague and Mr. Temisk will be critical. Those two will be able to clarify the developing shakeout in organized crime.

  That’s the Dead Man. He goes on and on. And on. The bottom line is legwork for me.

  Where is the bird? I do not sense the parrot.

  “Gone,” I said. I tried to sound thrilled, but the truth is, I do miss the foulmouthed chicken. Just a little. In rare, maudlin moments.

  Ah. An interesting turn of events. Most of which I am thankful to have missed.

  “You didn’t miss much.”

  Do you honestly believe you can mislead me?

  “I don’t remember who, but somebody said that where there’s life, there’s hope.”

  My cousin Duphel said it first.

  “What?”

  He responded with the mental equivalent of a shrug. He had wasted time enough. Here is your schedule.

  My partner. Already in there bullying me to collect the bits he needed to make sense of the senseless. He makes connections quicker than I do.

  Should you prove able to approach Mr. Dotes in such fashion that his subsequent actions appear to be independent of your visit, ask him to stop by. Then go to the Bledsoe. See what more the outlanders have done.

  Didn’t seem like they could’ve gotten much done. Most of them were in jail.

  There is a witch you know.

  “I know several.”

  Exclude your stable of floozies.

  “Ouch! I was.”

  Retain one and ask her to come here.

  “One who doesn’t know about you?”

  That would be preferable.

  “I’m starting to wonder why I’m always determined to wake you up. Life is simpler when you’re asleep.”

  But it goes nowhere.

  “Wrong, Butterbutt. It goes the best places of all.”

  He started rummaging around inside my head, evidently under the delusion that he’d been invited. In seconds he was appalled in a big way.

  Whereisthe parrot?

  “Mr. Big? Pursuing a higher calling.” The Goddamn Parrot belongs to days gone by and other stories. If there’s any mercy in heaven, he’ll never be more than another dyspeptic memory.

  Chuckles tromped around inside my skull like twenty drug-crazed home invaders wearing sensible shoes. Being Himself, he dropped the question of the pestiferous, overdressed chicken like a maggoty dead mouse. He plowed on as though Mr. Big never existed.

  “Speaking of critters. Tell me about the cats infesting the house. They don’t seem normal.”

  It is impossible to slip anything past you.

  “Answer the question.”

  They are not normal cats. As you have surmised. They do demonstrate points of character we associate with domestic cats. I am unable, yet, to see into their minds. They are afraid of me.

  “Sounds like a healthy attitude. Everybody ought to be.”

  You might adopt it yourself.

  “But I know what a big old cuddle bear you really are.”

  Be careful when you leave. The kittens may attempt to escape.

  I was being dismissed. Told to get on with my chores. Sometimes he forgets who the senior partner is.

  I returned to my office, found me a scrap of paper with a little clean on one side, made myself a list.

  30

  I leaned into the Dead Man’s room. “You awake enough to reach somebody a block away?”

  Be more specific.

  “I just took a look out front. If you can reach a block, you can nab a character called Skelington, who works for Teacher White.”

  Where?

  I described the spot.

  It may be that I am not sufficiently awake. If that bird was here, I could send him out and ride along.

  “Gotcha.” He wanted me to go out there. “Don’t be surprised if Skelington runs when he sees me coming, though.”

  At this point in your career you should be capable of making an unthreatening approach.

  No point debating. “I’m on my way.” I hitched my pants, patted myself down. I had an adequate low-intensity arsenal on board.

  I was ready.

  The weather drama was over, but a drizzle continued. Not a day when I’d work if Himself weren’t back there with a sharp stick, poking.

  Skelington was less thrilled to be out than I. Huddled in misery, he failed to see me coming till it was too late.

  I told myself, “That went well,” as Skelington entered my house. Maybe drizzly weather wasn’t all bad, after all.

  Nobody was at home at Saucerhead’s place. He hadn’t been seen since yesterday. So he hadn’t gone home from my place. I left a message mentioning the possibility of paid work.

  Winger wasn’t in her usual haunts. I couldn’t run her down at home because I didn’t know where she lived. I left word that Garrett had cash for her if she came to my house.

  I couldn’t think of a scheme to lure Block or Relway.

  I strolled past Morley’s place. Sarge was out front doing some wet-weather sweeping, pushing litter and horse apples over in front of a neighbor’s dump. He showed me a scowl so black I waved and kept rolling. Just passing through. Didn’t have no notion to drop in.

  At Harvester Temisk’s place two no-neck types muttered to one another about the chances of snow. I didn’t recognize them. I did spot a familiar Relway Runner keeping an eye on the two brunos.

  Not once during my icy-drizzle-down-the-back-of-my-neck wanderings did I spot Penny Dreadful. Which goes to show that even a fourteen-year-old girl has better sense.

>   Belinda I disregarded. I had no idea where to look for her nor any notion where to leave a message.

  I wandered over to Playmate’s stable, just to get in out of the miseries.

  “Garrett, you look like that thing they talk about the cat dragging in.” Playmate was banging hot iron in the smithy of his stable. Building horseshoes. Weather got in because he hadn’t repaired all the damage done during some excitement we were involved in not long ago. He grumbled about not having the money.

  Money couldn’t be the problem. He had points in the same manufactory I did.

  “Us honest folk got to work no matter what the weather is like.”

  Play whopped a hot horseshoe. “You make me regret that I’ve heard a calling, Garrett. Sometimes I want to cut loose and tell you how full of the stinky you are. This is one of those times.”

  “How come everybody does me that way, Play?”

  “Everybody knows you.”

  I grumbled but didn’t remind him that I was always there when any of them needed something.

  “So to what do I owe the honor of your presence? What favor do you want now?”

  “Nothing. Except to get in out of the rain. I’m headed somewhere else.”

  “Why aren’t you home resting up for an evening of debauchery?”

  “The Dead Man is awake.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “You see? You’re forewarned. The only guy in this cesspool of a city who is. So don’t pass it along.”

  “I said thank you. Want some tea? There’s water.” He never lacks for heat in the smithy.

  “Sure. Hey. You have any idea what happened to Antik Oder, used to have a storefront down the street?”

  “Aha! So now we get to it.”

  “To what? The Dead Man wants a witch. Elderberry Whine kicked off when I wasn’t looking.”

  Playmate made tea, his grin ivory in a mahogany sea. “Antik is still there. She isn’t what you’re looking for, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s a fraud.”

  I grunted, sipped tea. “There’s something in this.”

  “I dribbled in a dollop of vanilla rum.”

  I’m not big on hard liquor, but this was good. I rendered myself incapable of competent behavior in minutes.

  It seemed like a good idea at the time.

  Playmate isn’t the kind who lets friendship get in the way of business. Much. “Rain’s slowing down, Garrett. Time to move on.”

  I’d told him most of what was happening, hoping he’d have a suggestion. I’d wasted my breath. He asked, “Where are you headed from here?”

  “I don’t know. I’m thinking about crawling into the hayloft and grabbing forty winks.”

  Playmate frowned. He thought I was scamming, but couldn’t figure my angle. “I guess it can’t hurt. But shouldn’t you show more ambition?”

  “Ambition? About what?”

  “Your job.”

  “Why? There ain’t nobody paying me.”

  He doesn’t stint the critters. The hay in the loft was first-rate. It retained enough sweet clover smell to remind me of idylls in country pastures.

  He was wrong. The drizzle hadn’t slowed. It had grown into a steady rain. The rattle on the shingles overhead was a powerful soporific. Or maybe that was the rum.

  I was gone in half a minute.

  31

  First I thought it was the change in the patter of the rain. Then I thought it was the cold. But the war taught me to wake up carefully and not to trust first impressions. I lay still, controlled my breathing, listened.

  Playmate had company. That company wasn’t looking for a place to stash horses.

  I moved glacially till I could see.

  Teacher White was down there, safely distant from Playmate, not coming across half as fierce as he wanted. He looked more like a pretend bad guy.

  Assisting Teacher were two wide-load no-necks who looked like they were from out of town. Plausible, given that Teacher had only a half dozen soldiers of his own, none heftier than Spider Webb or Skelington.

  Teacher cautioned the wide bodies, “Careful. There’s more to the man than meets the eye.” Though I can’t imagine anybody underestimating Playmate.

  Teacher told him, “There ain’t no need for nobody to get hurt, Play. All you-”

  “There is, you come in here pushing me around.”

  I steeled myself to jump in, though I suspected Playmate would be all right. The shoe might be on the other hoof. The bad guys might need help before the straw settled.

  Playmate is all religious. He preaches turn the other cheek. But he takes an eye-for-an-eye attitude when it comes to professional scum.

  Teacher asked, “Where’s Garrett?”

  Playmate didn’t answer.

  The wide loads moved in. Playmate met one with an invisibly fast straight jab to the schnoz that rocked the man’s head back like it was about to pop off its stump. He plopped down on his back of beyond with a stunned, goofy look.

  The second thug took a punch to the chest. Pure amazement filled his face. This didn’t happen when you educated civilians.

  Playmate collected a hammer. He showed it to Teacher White. Teacher took note. “Time to move along, boys.”

  Good thing, too, because I was just about to jump down and make life really harsh for Teacher.

  Then I saw what I would’ve jumped into.

  Spider Webb and guys named Original Dick and Vernor Choke showed up to help the wide loads leave. They hadn’t made a sound there under the hayloft.

  Vernor Choke had been born to his name. I didn’t know the story on Original Dick. I wouldn’t hang the moniker on anybody, but that didn’t mean his mother hadn’t.

  I climbed down half a minute after Spider Webb exited, the last of the crew to leave.

  Playmate observed, “Once again there’s proof that just knowing you is a bad idea.”

  “What was that all about?”

  “They’re looking for some guy named Garrett. Said they followed him here. They didn’t say why. They seemed pretty determined, though.”

  I put on my best baffled face. Without faking. “I don’t get it. They’ve been following me around long enough to see that I can’t tell them what they want to know.”

  “And what would that be, Garrett?”

  “Huh? What would what be?”

  “What do they want to know?”

  “Well, hell!” I had no real idea. “Maybe just a closer look at my pretty face.”

  They did know that I couldn’t find Chodo or Harvester. Didn’t they?

  “Oh, sure. That’s got to be it, Garrett. How did that get past me?”

  32

  I gave Teacher and his crew fifteen minutes to hurry off to some far place where they could get out of the wet and forget harassing a handsome but ignorant investigator. Playmate supported my tactical view.

  “I couldn’t figure out what they really wanted,” he admitted. “They changed stories three times. The bottom line, though, was that they really, really, really wanted to lay hands on a guy named Garrett.”

  “Thanks for not giving me up.”

  “Gratitude noted in the Book of for Whatever That’s Worth.”

  “I am a handsome young man.”

  “Duly noted in the Book of Natural Fertilizers. Why don’t you get out of here so I can get some work done?”

  Some folks are obsessed with being productive.

  “I can take a hint.” I left messages for Saucerhead and Winger, in case he saw them before they got the word somewhere else.

  The rain wasn’t heavy, but it was steady. It wasn’t one to please the farmers. They want their soakers in the springtime.

  A voice husked, “Garrett.”

  I was a block from Playmate’s. I was hunched over, wishing I had a poncho. The ones we’d used in the islands hadn’t kept us dry, but they did keep us from being wounded by the larger raindrops.

  “Spider.” I hit Webb alongside the he
ad with my stick, then spun and got Original Dick in his namesake. I wove easily past a wide-eyed Vernor Choke, smacked Teacher White between the eyes, and slid behind him while he wobbled. My stick lay across his throat. I lifted him a little.

  Spider leaned against a wall, trying not to get dragged under by a concussion. Original lay curled up on the cobblestones in a smear of his own puke, fighting for air. Choke put on a show of dancing around looking for an opening. Teacher complained, “You broke my nose! I got blood all over my new jacket!”

  They hadn’t expected me to explode.

  I hadn’t brought enough explosives. I whispered, “Teacher, how about you tell me why you guys keep dogging me?” Then the big boys responded to all the whining.

  I popped Teacher again, from behind, with immense enthusiasm, then faked right and ran left, headed for Playmate’s place.

  One of the brunos grabbed Vernor Choke and flung him like a bola. And Choke did the job, what with all those legs and arms trying to latch on to something as he flew by. I took several solid thumps before I got untangled. Seeing double, I had legs too watery to run.

  Where was the Watch when a little interference might be useful?

  Following Welby Dell, who was disguised as a handsome investigator by a cute illusion you can pick up for next to nothing on the black market.

  I was too busy hurting to care. I got in a good whack at a kneecap. The other wide body kicked me in the ribs. Then somebody hit me from behind with that bucket of rocks than which he was dumber.

  33

  “Hey, Teach, I fink da asshole’s comin’ round,” a voice said. It turned out to be Vernor Choke’s.

  I was tied into an ancient wooden armchair. The setting was the sort of hideout gang guys run to when there’s a war on. There were pallets scattered around. Spider Webb and Original Dick occupied two. Both were in worse shape than me.

  Choke got behind me. He lifted my chin, showed me Teacher White slumped in a chair close by, still leaking a little red.