Red Iron Nights gf-6

by Glen Cook

  I gave the Dead Man a narrow-eyed look. He'd given up too easily. "He's right. What do we owe you?"

  "Not enough so I don't got to go back to raising knots on heads for that creep Licks."

  A sad story. Nobody liked Licks. Including me, and I didn't know him. "Guy has to make a living, I guess." I counted out a few coins, not much. Tharpe seemed satisfied. He hadn't done anything but answer the door.

  "You might maybe add a little tip on account of personal hardship, Garrett."

  "Personal hardship?"

  "I had to be here instead of home. Though maybe from what I hear, you done forgot about women."

  "Not quite. Not yet. But it's fading fast."

  "So be cynical and self-serving. Go apologize to Tinnie." He liked Tinnie. Hell, I liked her. I just couldn't get along with her redheaded temper. For now. The songs you sing do change. Abstinence does make the heart grow fonder.

  Saucerhead seemed in no hurry to leave. He and the Dead Man were wondering what might have snapped inside the butterfly man's head and left him wanting to carve up women. I figured this was my chance. I gathered my breakfast leavings, took them to the kitchen. Once I disposed of the evidence, I'd slide upstairs and catch me forty winks.

  Somebody banged on the door.

  22

  What was this? I'd worked so hard to discourage customers that I didn't get this many visitors in a week anymore. Dean made like he was too snowed in cleaning up, so I took care of it myself.

  Hoping for some randy sex goddess, I got Barking Dog Amato. I'd forgotten him completely.

  "You forgot all about me, Garrett," he accused, pushing inside, forcing me back with his personal chemistry.

  "No," I lied. "I figured you hadn't had time to get anything ready yet."

  "Been raining. Not much else to do. Making signs and handbills gets old."

  You'd think a drenching would wash the grunge away. Not so. Water just brought it to life. I considered propping the door open, maybe opening a few windows so the wind could blow through. If I'd lived on the Hill, I might have tried it. In my neighborhood you wouldn't dare. Even during a typhoon there would be some opportunist ready to accept the challenge. Besides, I only had one downstairs window.

  Once past me, Amato halted, dripped, reeked, looked around. "You got that thing, that whatsit they call the Dead Man. I'd sure like to take a gander at that, you know what I mean?"

  I tried shallow breaths. I don't know why we bother. It never helps. "Why not? You're a man he ought to meet." I wished Old Bones had him a working sniffer. I'd lock them in together till Amato sold him his whole zany conspiracy collection.

  I opened the Dead Man's door, held it for Amato. Saucerhead, in my chair, half-turned, saw Barking Dog.

  His face scrunched up into a world-class frown. He didn't ask, though.

  He got a whiff, that's why. He gasped, "I see you got a client I'd better go good-bye," all in one long exhalation. He slid out the door almost before I got through. He tossed me a look that told me he wanted to hear all about it. Later. A lot later, after the miasma cleared.

  I winked. "Make sure the front door is closed."

  Barking Dog said, "My God, it's an ugly sucker. Got a hooter like a mammoth, don't it?"

  Another missionary, Garrett?

  "This is Kropotkin Amato. You recall the arrangement we made."

  You know what I mean. You still intend to harass me? You will recall that your previous effort met with a singular lack of success.

  "Me? No... "

  Nor did you bother mentioning any arrangement, though I discern the details in your mind. We did not contract to have the man watch himself.

  "We didn't contract anything, Smiley."

  Barking Dog looked baffled. I would have too, hearing only half the conversation. I changed subjects. "You can understand why I did it." I didn't want to bruise Amato's feelings. The Dead Man could peek inside his head, see why we didn't have to mount a major campaign.

  You are correct, Garrett. This time. However unlikely, he believes his theories. Which, you will understand, make them the reality in which he lives. I suggest you do meet our principal, try to ascertain why he deems it worthwhile to keep tabs on Mr. Amato.

  Good morning, Mr. Amato. I have been anxious to make your acquaintance since Mr. Garrett first undertook to trace your movements.

  The rat was going to lay it off on me.

  "Uh... hi." Barking Dog was at a loss for words. Maybe I ought to check to see if this was really him.

  One breath and I knew I didn't have to check. "Look here, Chuckles, don't you go—"

  Mr. Amato and I have a great deal to discuss, Garrett. I suggest you visit Mr. Hullar and see if you cannot unearth a reason for his interest.

  "Yeah, Garrett. What you been doing, anyhow? You was supposed to... "

  I fled, defeated. Would Barking Dog care that I'd neglected him only to save TunFaire from a vicious serial killer? He would be sure they had bought me off. Even though he was the subject I was supposed to investigate for them.

  I gave the stairway one longing look, then got into my rain gear. I checked my pockets to see how much cash I had. Maybe I could rent me a room and catch a few winks.

  I made a sudden sally into the small front room before I left, thinking I'd snatch Dean's cat and drag it along. But the cat wasn't in evidence, only the scratches it had left on my furniture.

  Then I realized that I had nothing to report to Hullar. I trudged back and pried Barking Dog's report away from him. He and the Dead Man were weaving drunken spiderwebs of conspiracy theory already.

  23

  The Tenderloin is that part of town which caters to the side of people they keep hidden. Any vice can be found there, any sin committed, almost any need fulfilled. The hookers and the drug dens and gambling pits are just the surface, the glamour. At least, those aspects of those things that can be glamorous when seen from the street.

  It's a glitzy street. Or streets, really. The area is bigger than Tinkery Row. And more successful. Nothing sells like sin. After the Hill it's the most prosperous, cleanest, safest, and most orderly part of the city. Some very unpleasant people make sure it stays that way.

  It all belongs, directly or indirectly, to Chodo Contague's empire.

  Bishoff Hullar's taxi-dance place is as tame a dive as you can find there. That's all the girls do, dance and talk to lonely fellows and try to get them to buy drinks. Maybe a few make personal arrangements, but there are no facilities on the premises. The place is as shabby as they're allowed to get down there. Frankly, I don't see how Hullar stays in business, competing with neighbors who offer so much more.

  The place wasn't jumping when I arrived, but it was just after noon then. A couple of sad-looking sailors sat at a table talking to a sad-looking girl who sipped colored water and didn't pretend very hard that she gave a damn about what the sailors were saying. A doddering ratman mopped around the other tables. All those had chairs piled atop them. There was nobody on the dance floor, though a couple more girls were loafing by the bandstand, where three worn-out old musicians weren't trying very hard to stay awake. Both girls glanced at me, wondering if I was worth the effort of making so long a trek. One, who looked like she might break out in a case of puberty any day, lazily packed a pipe with weed.

  The guy behind the bar had to be the world's oldest dwarf. He wore the full costume, complete with a pheasant's feather in a peaked little cap. He had a beard that should have kept the floor swept of debris. "What's it going to be, Ace?" He wiped the bar in front of me with the same rag he'd been using to polish mugs.

  "Beer."

  "Pint?"

  "Yeah."

  "Light? Dark?"

  "Light."

  "Lager? Pilsner?... "

  "Just draw one. Surprise me. Weider's, if you got it." I figured I owed Old Man Weider a little commercial loyalty, what with him having had me on retainer so long.

  "Hasty. Always hasty." He drew me a pint. "Wet enough for yo
u out there?"

  Oh, my. A talkative bartender. "Wet enough. Hullar around?"

  "Who wants to know?" Suddenly he was completely alert.

  "Name's Garrett. I'm supposed to be doing something for him."

  "Yeah?" He wiped the bar next to me while he thought about that. After a moment he said, "I'll check." Off he trundled. I rose onto my toes, watched, wondering if he'd stumble over his beard.

  "Hi. I'm Brenda." The pipe smoker had puffed up enough ambition to hike all the way over. I glanced at her, resumed studying the wasteland behind the bar. The woman was less interesting.

  Up close it was obvious she wasn't a child, that that was just her hook. The gamine had gone a long time ago, probably before she was old enough to become a gamine. I said, "I'm just here to see Hullar. Business."

  "Oh." Her voice had had little life before. Now it was dead.

  I glanced at the musicians. "I could part with a few coppers, though, if you could explain why those band guys are here at this time of day." I didn't know Hullar's place well, but didn't think there was any music during the day.

  "Somebody kicked the shit out of them last night after work. They're waiting to talk to some guy about it."

  Licks? Coming in to put the arm on them?

  "You're in, Ace. The man says come on back."

  I dropped a half-dozen coppers into the woman's hand. She made an effort to find a smile but had trouble remembering where she'd left it. I wanted to say something to waken her spirit but couldn't think of a thing. So I just said, "Thanks," and hurried after the dwarf. If I let him get too big a head start I'd miss out when he tripped over his beard.

  Bishoff Hullar was five feet tall, three feet wide, bald as an egg, in his sixties, ugly as sin itself. The width wasn't fat. I'd heard he was a strongman in his younger days and that he kept up in case there was a call for his talents. "Sit, Garrett." He indicated a rickety antediluvian chair. He had a voice like rocks tumbling around inside an iron drum. Somebody had done the lead-pipe thing on his throat in his once-upon-a-time. "You got anything for me?"

  I gave him Barking Dog's report. He took it, started reading. I said, "I have some questions." I glanced around his workplace. You couldn't call it an office. He sat behind a table with some writing tools on it, but also makeup pots, which suggested the girls used the place for a dressing room. Overall, it was as tacky as the rest of the place.

  "Huh?" He looked up, piggy little gray eyes narrowed.

  "Basic stuff my partner never got around to asking because he thought this job would be a good joke on me."

  Hullar's eyes got narrower. "Joke?"

  "Barking Dog Amato. Nobody in the world is going to pay somebody to spy on a lunatic. Least of all a guy who runs a place like this down here. I can't see you even knowing Barking Dog."

  "I don't. Wouldn't know him if he walked in and sank his fangs in me. What's it to you? You're getting paid."

  "I'm the guy what takes his butt onto the street amongst the slings and arrows, Hullar. I kind of like to know why I'm doing that, and who for. That way I have a notion what direction to expect trouble from when it comes."

  "You're not going to see no trouble."

  "They all tell me that. If there wasn't trouble, though, they wouldn't come to me in the first place. I don't play blindfolded, Hullar."

  He put the report down, looked at me like he was making up his mind whether to kick my butt or not. Not won the toss.

  "You got a good rep, Garrett. Why I picked you. I'll take a chance."

  I waited. He brooded. The dwarf bartender waited at the door, maybe to see if the boss would need help. There wasn't much tension, though. I didn't feel threatened.

  "I ain't got much here, Garrett. We ain't got much. But we're like family. We take care of each other on account of we're all we've got. This here is like the last ledge before the fall into the pit."

  I couldn't argue that. I kept my opinion to myself. My old mom used to suggest strongly that I just might learn something if I could manage to keep my mouth shut long enough to listen. Mom was right, but I didn't get the message for years—and I still forget it far too often.

  "Somebody works for me comes to me with their trouble, usually I try to lend a hand. If I can. I do that, maybe they give me a little help when I need it. Right?"

  "Makes sense." Only in the real world it doesn't work that way very often. "One of your people wants Barking Dog watched?"

  He eyed me, still taking my measure. "You're a cynic. You don't believe in much. Especially not people. Maybe that's a good thing in your line, kind of folks you probably have to deal with."

  "Yeah." I was proud of me. I kept a straight face.

  He glanced at the dwarf, got a response I didn't catch.

  "All right. Here's the way it is, Garrett. Amato's kid works for me. When he got himself tossed in the Al-Khar, she—"

  "He's got a daughter?" You've heard that one about knocking a guy over with a feather? That feather would have smashed me like a bug.

  "Yeah. This Amato, he's a loony. But harmless. You know that. I know that. Only he's got a habit of naming names. She's scared maybe he named the wrong one, some Hill-type asshole what don't got a sense of humor. Maybe the old man is about to get his ass in deep shit. Girl's a little light-headed herself, if you get my drift. But she's family here, and when my people worry, I try to fix it so they don't. So what I want from you is you should keep an eye on the old nut, let me know if he's about to step in it so I can yank him out of the way before he gets run over. Understand?"

  Yes. And no. Barking Dog with a daughter? How did he ever manage that? "A bit hard to buy."

  "Yeah? Something about it you don't like? You just say you're out. I'll get somebody else. I picked you on account of they say you're almost honest. But I can live without you."

  "It's just a big chunk to swallow. You don't know Barking Dog. You did, you'd know why. I can't figure him for having a kid."

  "Crunch. Tell Sas to bring us a couple of beers."

  The dwarf left. We didn't talk. After a while a woman came with two beers, light for me and dark for Hullar. I'd seen her with the gamine, muttering with the musicians. I hadn't noticed then, but up close the resemblance to Amato was there. She even had those spooky eyes that looked like they were seeing things hidden from the rest of us. She pretended not to study me while I pretended not to study her.

  "Thanks, Sas."

  "Sure, Bish." She left.

  "Sure looks like him," I admitted.

  "There you go. Any problems now?"

  "Not really." I wondered if she'd studied me because the dwarf had told her who I was. Probably. Maybe he'd sent her back more to give her a look than to give me one. "This supposed to be a secret?"

  "Secret?"

  "I'll tell my partner, of course. He won't kick it around. But is it supposed to be a secret from the rest of the world?"

  "Probably wouldn't hurt. The guy maybe does have an enemy or three."

  "Suppose he catches on that I'm watching? Am I allowed to tell him why?"

  "I don't figure that would do Sas no good. Look, I know this ain't in your usual line. Pretty tame, you being used to mixing it up with sorcerers and gangsters and Hill folk, but it means something to us. You don't got to make a career out of it. I ain't paying that much. But we'd all appreciate it if you'd let us in on it should he get his ass into something he can't handle. Right?"

  I rose. "Good enough." I believed him because I wanted to believe him. You don't much see people do nice things for people. "One of your girls said your musicians are having problems."

  "You don't need to worry about that. Tooken care of." For a moment he looked like the evil thing I'd pictured him to be. "Or will be, real soon. How about you take my mug back out to Crunch?"

  I took both mugs.

  24

  The dwarf grunted when I made my delivery. For an old guy—especially for an old dwarf—Crunch was astonishingly polite.

  As I headed for
the street, I glanced at the bandbox. And almost tripped over my feet.

  A man had joined the musicians. He was one guy I'd hoped I wouldn't ever see again. He stared at me. I stared back.

  He had nothing on me in height and only a little in weight, but size didn't make this man. He reeked menace the way Barking Dog Amato reeked uninspired personal hygiene. He scared you just by being around, even when he smiled. His name was Crask. He was one of Chodo Contague's top cats. He hurt people for a living. He enjoyed his work.

  I realized I'd stopped to stare. He kept staring too. Each of us was wondering what the hell the other was doing there. When my brain unfroze again I had no trouble figuring him. He was there because of the battered musicians.

  Old Licks didn't have a license from the outfit. Him and his buddies would be in deep shit if Crask caught up. Especially deep for picking on musicians in the Tenderloin. The Tenderloin was Chodo's. Even the King doesn't mess around down there.

  I almost made it to the door before I got stunned again.

  The girl blew in as I reached for the latch. I dodged, gaped. For all she reacted, I was a ghost.

  She was the one those villains had dragged out of Morley's place. The one Morley claimed was the kingpin's daughter. I turned, stared, maybe panted some, as she strode toward Crunch.

  Crask's face went as cold as death. My heart jumped. But it wasn't me he was watching.

  The girl glanced his way, stopped, made a little sound of surprise, whirled, and sprinted for the street. She ricocheted off me as she went. I purred. Whip me, beat me...

  Crask came pounding up behind me as I stepped into the rain to watch her fly away. He halted beside me. "What the hell was that?" I asked.

  "What you doing here, Garrett?" He sounded suspicious. Nasty suspicious. Like getting-ready-to-break-arms-and-legs suspicious.

  "What are you doing here? I thought you were too big-time for legwork."

  "She come here to meet you?"

  "Huh?" That was a surprise notion. "Uh-uh. No touch. I'll break things." Crask was scary, but I wasn't afraid of him in any head-butting contest. I figured our chances were equal if we got to prancing around pounding on each other. He was scary because he was a killer and a smart one. If he decided to send you over, you might as well start counting your beads.