Cold Copper Tears gf-3

by Glen Cook

  Rather than endure his harassment I got me up and halfway dressed and headed downstairs.

  Dean had Morley settled in the kitchen, where he was drinking tea and commiserating with the old man over the trouble he was having getting his gaggle of nieces decently—or even indecently—married and out of his house. Dean nattered on about how they were driving him crazy. I think he has some notion that someday I'll feel guilty enough to take one of them off his hands.

  I suggested, "Why not sell them?"

  "What?"

  "They've got some good years on them yet. And they're all good cooks. I know a guy might give fifty marks apiece. He sells brides to the guys who hunt and trap up in thunder lizard country."

  "Your sense of humor leaves something to be desired, Mr. Garrett." He used his admonitory "Mister."

  "You're right. I'm not at my best lately. Not getting enough rest, I think."

  "You can relax now," Morley told me. "Your nemesis, Jerce, got excited and lost his head a while ago."

  The way he made a joke of it I suspected he'd had something to do with that.

  It is his line and he's the best there is. And two thousand is enough to get his attention.

  Maybe I should have been grateful. But grateful doesn't come easy for most people and my mood was too black to make me the rare exception. I kept it bottled up. I kept most of my sour in there with it, too, though. I didn't need to hand out more excuses for folks to get ticked off at Garrett. So I just hinted. "I wonder what he could have told me."

  Morley scowled. "What difference does that make? He's a closeout. You can get on with your life without watching over your shoulder.''

  "Want to bet?"

  He gave me an ugly look.

  "Sorry. Bad choice of words. What I mean is, he wasn't the source. He was an agent of the source. Unless his getting killed is enough to scare them off, we'll both hear from them again. I don't have the faintest idea what they're up to, but they're serious about it and they're not worried about the costs or consequences."

  Morley wanted to disagree but had no facts. He was wishful thinking and he knew it.

  I asked, "What became of the guy who was following me?"

  "I put Puddle, Wedge, and Slade on him. They followed him following you here. He tried to talk to some men who were part of the excitement. They decided to each take one and see what happened."

  I know my Morley Dotes. He was stretching it out because he didn't want to get to the bad news. "So what happened?"

  "Puddle and Wedge lost their men. Slade hasn't reported back yet."

  So the big news was that there was no news. "Odd. Those guys strike me as amateurs."

  Morley shrugged. "Even an amateur is hard to stay with one-on-one."

  True. A decent tail job needs at least four men.

  Somebody pounded on the front door. I told Dean, "I'd better," and wondered what it was now. I'd just started wondering how I could ease Morley out and now somebody else wanted in. Jill, I figured, after some thinking about being a walking target.

  I peeked before I opened up.

  There were no gorgeous blondes on Garrett's stoop this time, panting for protection. This was an ugly, little old Magister who was very unhappy.

  I opened up and checked to make sure nobody would come speeding in behind him. "Come in. I'd given up on you." Actually, I'd forgotten he'd said he'd be coming.

  He pushed inside. "Those morons! Those shortsighted fools! They force me—me!—to sneak out in the dark, like a thief, because they're too scared to let me out on my own."

  What the hell? At least he wasn't mad at me. I guided him into my office, planted him in the good chair, got some lights burning, and asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"

  "Brandy. In a jar. I haven't gotten blotted since I was in the seminary. If ever there was an appropriate time, it's now."

  "I'll find something." I hustled into the kitchen. Dean and Morley had heard enough to keep them quiet.

  Dean had drawn my pitcher and was digging for a bottle of brandy. Morley tried to look like he'd explode if I didn't whisper a name. I didn't. He stayed in one piece. I grabbed everything and headed for my office.

  We got comfortable. Peridont poured himself some brandy, sipped, looked surprised. "Not bad."

  "I thought you'd appreciate it." I wet my whistle. "I gather things aren't going well."

  "To understate. My brothers in God are cowards. I presented my information and suspicions and instead of responding vigorously, with the full power of the Church, they've chosen to turn their backs and hope the whole thing fades. They've withdrawn permission for me to employ you. They've enjoined me from telling you anything. They've done their damnedest to sew me up, to tie my hands, to shut my mouth, knowing I can't possibly disregard canon law after having spent a career enforcing it."

  "In other words you came over to tell me to forget it instead of to point me in the right direction."

  He smiled. The nasty man of legend shone through. "Not quite. They overlooked a possibility. They didn't rape away my rights as a private person."

  I tried my eyebrow trick. This time it worked.

  "Mr. Garrett, they failed to overrule my right to, say, employ an investigator to look into the death of Wesley Pigotta. I give you that as your express brief. Whatever else you stir up, well, that's beyond my control."

  I smiled back. "You think as sneaky as a lawyer. I like that. In this case." I put the smile away. "How blind do I have to fly?"

  "Almost completely. They sewed me up on that. You already know enough to realize you have to be careful. You're well grounded in the basic information. You'll have to develop from that. Once you flush the villains we can put our heads together again. My brethren might be moved by an opportunity for a quick resolution."

  I don't like that kind of game. But I smiled and pretended. I wanted to stay on good terms with him. He could be helpful even while playing mental chess to get around telling me anything. "All right. I'll play along." That had been my intention no matter what he wanted. "Is there anything you can give me?"

  He took a long pull of brandy. He was serious about getting ripped. He grinned and tossed a bag of money my way. A big bag. "My own money. Not Church money." He sobered a little. "The only thing I can tell you is that the woman who occupied the apartment where Pigotta died was my mistress. I knew her as Donna Soldat. I think that was a false name. She was a difficult woman. Though I kept her in style she had other lovers. One of those men may have been why Pigotta went there that night."

  I asked him some standard questions about his relationship with Jill and got some ordinary, sleazy answers. They embarrassed the hell out of him.

  "I'm sure this is all more amusing than sordid to you, Mr. Garrett. I'm sure you see worse every day."

  Right.

  "For me it was a traumatic surrender to my sinful side." He took a long pull of brandy. He was drinking straight from the bottle now. "I've always suffered from a weakness for female flesh."

  "Don't we all."

  He scowled. "That wasn't a problem when I was younger. If I visited a prostitute and she found me out, she'd laugh. Priests are their best customers. But if I were found out now I could be destroyed."

  I understood. It was not that it would make him a better or worse person, but it would be a tool that could be used to bludgeon him.

  "I wrestle the demon within but in the end I always lose, so discreet women are a must. Donna was a godsend. Whatever her faults, she kept her mouth shut."

  She did that. "Did she know who you were?"

  "Yes."

  "That's a lot of power to hand a working girl."

  "It was accidental. And she never abused it."

  Maybe. "How did you meet her?"

  "She was an actress. Working in a playhouse on Old Shipway. I saw her. I wanted her. She led me on a long chase but persistence paid off.''

  For both of them. But I didn't say that.

  "I moved her into that place bare
ly three months ago. It was less dangerous to visit her there. Those were three happy months, Mr. Garrett. And now all this."

  He finished the brandy. He looked the sort to become a maudlin drunk. I didn't need that. I had no time to feel sorry for anybody but me. It was time to start easing him toward the door. "How should I get in touch?"

  "Don't try. I'll find a way to see you." Suddenly, he was as ready to leave as I was to have him go. The beer had me too sleepy to concentrate. He started toward the door. "Good luck, Mr. Garrett. And thank you for a fine brandy, though I cheapened it by swilling it like bottom-grade wine."

  I got him out the front door, locked up, and hurried back to see how many marks could be stuffed into a bag a little bigger than my clenched fist.

  Morley invited himself in as I got started. "What was that, Garrett? He was weird."

  "A client who prefers to remain anonymous."

  He didn't like that. Like everybody else, he thought I should make an exception and trust his discretion.

  "I don't want to seem impolite, Morley. But I haven't been getting much sleep."

  "I can take a hint, Garrett. Let me say good night to the old man."

  "Go ahead."

  A minute later, as I took the money to the Dead Man's room, I overheard him giving Dean advice about how to adjust my diet so I wouldn't be tired and cranky all the time.

  Good old Morley, looking out for my well-being behind my back. If Dean started trying to feed me salads and bean curd, I'd strangle them both.

  28

  I closed the door behind Dotes, bolted up, leaned against the door frame and sighed. Now back to my dreams of blonde sugarplums. I'd stay with them a while. No need to be a fanatic about getting an early start.

  Then I recalled that I hadn't tried to straighten things out with Tinnie. The longer I let that slide, the more difficult it would be. And I really needed to find Maya and apologize to her.

  There are only so many hours.

  The street was so quiet I heard the hollow, echoing clop-clop of horse approaching, the metallic rattle of iron rims on cobblestones. I listened. There isn't much vehicular traffic after dark. It advertised the fact that here was somebody worth robbing.

  The sound died.

  My heart sank, though there was no obvious reason it should.

  I went to the kitchen to see if Dean could use some help. Maybe I'm a little psychic and sensed there was no point in trudging upstairs.

  Someone pounded on the door. The knock had a ring of determination, as though whoever was there had no intention of going away.

  I employed my best put-upon sigh and went to see what it was.

  It was the kingpin's man Crask, looking uglier and meaner than ever because he was trying to be friendly and courteous. "Chodo says he'd consider it a big favor if you'd come out to the house right away, Mr. Garrett. He said to give you his assurance that it's important and that you'll be compensated for your trouble."

  I was getting compensated by everybody in sight without having the slightest notion what was going on. I'd get rich if the mess never sorted itself out.

  And the Dead Man thought I couldn't survive without him.

  I didn't turn Crask down. Sooner or later I'd end up butting heads with his boss, but when that happened it would be over something more substantial than lost sleep.

  "Let me finish getting dressed," I said. Damn, Crask gave me the creeps. I never met anybody who reeks of menace the way he does, except his sidekick Sadler, who has a soul struck from the same cold mold.

  Five minutes later I clambered into Chodo Contague's personal coach. Chodo wasn't aboard. Morley Dotes was. I wasn't surprised. He looked as sour as I felt.

  Not much was said during the trip. Crask is no conversationalist. His presence tends to put the damper on a party.

  Chodo's estate is a few miles north of TunFaire's northernmost gate, in a manor that would do any duke proud. The grounds are extensive, manicured, and surrounded by a wall meant more to keep in than to keep out. Several hundred thunder lizards cruise the grounds and provide protection more certain than any moat or castle wall. I've heard that Chodo has survived assassination attempts he knows nothing about because his guardians ate everything but the assassins' names.

  I looked out the window. "Chodo's pets seem frisky tonight." It was cold out. The colder it gets the more sluggish thunder lizards become.

  "He had them warmed up," Crask said. "He thought there might be trouble."

  "That why we're here?"

  "Maybe."

  There must be two guys living inside Crask's skin. One is the stiffly formal butler character that Chodo turns loose on diplomatic errands, and the other is the Crask who grew up on the waterfront, whose hobby is biting the heads off cobras. I hope I never have to deal with that Crask, though I expect it's inevitable. He's a completely casual and remorseless killer and he's smart. If he got the word to get me, he'd have me before I knew he was coming.

  The coach stopped at the foot of steps leading to Chodo's front door. There was light enough to read by, lanterns by the dozen burning, like Chodo was throwing a party and we were the first to arrive. Crask said, "Don't get out." Like Morley or I might be dumb enough to step outside and pet the monsters snuffling around the coach. He got out and went up the steps. The beasts didn't bother him.

  Morley employs profanity sparingly so when he spat, "Shit!" I knew he was rattled. I looked around.

  A thunder lizard with a head the size of a five-gallon bucket and breath that would gag a maggot was peeking in on Morley's side. It had about a thousand teeth, every one like a four-inch knife. When it stood back up to claw at the door with its silly little hands, it stood about twelve feet tall. Its scales were a lovely shade of putrescent gray-green. The coach driver whacked it across the snout with the haft of his whip. It made a noise like twenty jackasses singing and stomped away.

  Morley said, "Reminds me of a woman I knew once. Only this one had better breath."

  "I always knew you'd plook anything that moved. What did you do with her tail?"

  "You got room to talk, don't you? I've seen the woolly mammoths you go around with."

  "They still have their own teeth."

  "I noticed the other night. Snappy dresser, too, with an amazing concept of what constitutes good grooming. You going to dump her when she loses her baby teeth?"

  I was saved having to defend Maya by Crask's return. He got into the coach. He handed us each a stone pendant on an iron chain. "Wear these while you're here. They'll keep the lizards off. Come on."

  I put my gizmo on and got out behind him. A shoulder-high lizard muzzled me but didn't nibble. I managed to keep from drizzling down my leg.

  The inside of Chodo's place is plush. The King himself should live so good. It was quieter than the last time I'd visited, though there were more hoods around. Last time the place had been overrun with naked women, part of the decor. There were no girls tonight.

  Chodo awaited us beside the indoor lake of a pool where the cuties liked to congregate. I resisted an urge to chide him for disappointing me.

  Chodo was a hairless, colorless, ugly lump confined to a wheelchair. People wonder how a cripple can be so feared. They haven't gotten close enough to look into Chodo's eyes. What Crask and Sadler have, Chodo has squared. And he has them to be his hands and legs. In some ways they have no independent existence. But they seem content.

  Sadler was there behind Chodo's chair. So were several lesser lieutenants I didn't know by name. I stopped six feet from the old man, didn't offer to shake. He doesn't like to be touched.

  "Mr. Garrett. Thank you for responding so promptly." His voice wasn't much more than a raspy wheeze.

  "Crask said it was important. He implied some urgency."

  Chodo smiled thinly. He knew the smell of crap. We understood one another, which was maybe more to his advantage than to mine.

  "There's something strange afoot, Mr. Garrett." So much for the amenities. "Because of that, be
cause I've striven to keep you alive, I've been drawn into it and have, perhaps, fallen deeper into your debt."

  I opened my mouth to deny that. He lifted one white hand an inch off the drab brown blanket covering his lap. For Chodo that was an impassioned gesture. I kept silent.

  "Earlier today I learned that the people chasing you had the temerity to invade a building owned by the organization. They killed a man there. I find this intolerable."

  I didn't look at Morley, though he had to be Chodo's source. And he'd had the nerve to get indignant when I wouldn't give him Peridont's name.

  "Still, I might have overlooked that, crediting it to youthful high spirits, had they not, tonight, offended me again in an inexcusable manner."

  Now I saw it. He was hot. He was so angry smoke should have been pouring out his ears.

  "Sadler. Tell Mr. Garrett." The old man wanted to gather his energy.

  Sadler had a voice like winter. "Shortly after sunset three men, representing someone they called the Master, came to the gate. Their manners were so offensive that Chodo asked to see them himself.''

  The kingpin's indignation bubbled over. "In fine, Mr. Garrett, this Master has ordered me to stop interfering in his business. He threatened me."

  I call that a stupid move. Not even the King dares make a direct threat against the prince of the underworld. Whatever else he lacks, Chodo has an ego. It wouldn't let something like that slide. I pitied the guys who brought the message. They would've paid the first installment on the tribute Chodo was going to extract.

  Sadler smiled thinly, divining my thoughts. "One survived to carry the heads of the others back to the fool who sent them."

  I said, "These people are raving amateurs. They don't bother finding out what they're jumping into before they leap."

  Chodo growled. "Nevertheless, their confidence may not be misplaced. They don't mind wasting men. Maybe they have them to throw away."

  He paused to gather his strength again, signing that we were to wait.

  Finally, he said, "I suggest we join forces, Mr. Garrett, to the extent that we have a common interest." He was a realist, that old thug. He knew I had no love for him or his. "You haven't the resources to battle an organization. It would take you an age to do the footwork. I have those kinds of resources. On the other hand, you have your network of friends and contacts, your knowledge in hand, your access in places where my men have no entree." He ran out of energy again.