Cruel Zinc Melodies

by Glen Cook

  It gave her the idea she had a claim.

  She beckoned.

  I looked around to see who might watch me talking to the daughter of death.

  Morley said, “You don’t have to tag along.”

  “That summons included both of us. I’m on thin ice with her already. I’m not going to set her off. If she’s in one of her moods.”

  Belinda is crazy. Psycho killer crazy. Masking it with intelligence and beauty. In a rational world they’d keep her in a cage without a door. Instead, she’s the overlord of the syndicate that manages organized crime. She has at her disposal any tool needful to indulge any whim her madness tosses up.

  “What have I told you about avoiding women crazier than you are?”

  “Hard to remember in the heat of the moment, sometimes.”

  “But you’re unafraid. Fearless Garrett, champion of the disenfranchised and downtrodden.”

  “That’s me. Absolutely. Lately having developed enough bruises to suspect there’s no need to push for another unnecessary round of hurt.” When it only takes a touch of manners to avoid the pain.

  Morley gave me a look that told me I was so full of it my baby blues had just turned brown. But he didn’t pursue it. For now. We were too near the dire woman.

  He was out in the wild and woolly himself, setting himself up to grab what might be the stinky end of a deal with the Outfit.

  Belinda smiled. There might even have been some warmth behind the surface pretense. She’s always had a feeling for me. I’ve saved her from herself several times. Unfortunately, she isn’t the sort to let sentiment get in the way at throat-cutting time.

  That’s part of what makes the woman scary. The fact that the machinery inside her noggin doesn’t work like anybody else? s. You never know what might set her off.

  She uses that, of course. Like a sledgehammer.

  And she has a few fears of her own. Especially Deal Relway. The Outfit has traditionally shaped law enforcement with carrot and stick. An incorruptible like the Director is one man. He could be removed if he became too obnoxious.

  But Relway won’t let that happen.

  Several dim candle baddies have gotten the Director stuck in their craws already. They all choked on him when they tried to swallow.

  They overlooked the fact that he has a bigger gang and is as ruthless as any of them.

  Civil and conversational, I asked, “What brings you to the wicked part of town?”

  “Bad boys. You know how I love them.” She sneered at my queasy look. “Not to worry. You’re not on the spot. I came to look at my new investment.” She touched my arm in an intimate way. I managed not to flinch. “I’m looking for legitimate ventures.” Big smile. “This will be my first.”

  I didn’t disagree. But the Combine does have interests in a lot of legitimate businesses. They force their way into some. On the other hand, whatever he pretends to the world at large, Morley is not entirely legit. He wouldn’t keep the company he does if he were.

  Belinda made me sweat with her too-friendly gestures on a public street. While Morley pointed out the place he had chosen and explained why it was perfect for serving the theater crowd. Then Belinda let me off the hook. “Just messing with you, sweetheart. I know Tinnie won the race.”

  “Uh...” All right. That would work. For now.

  “I couldn’t live with myself if it turned out to be my fault all that planning went to waste.”

  “Huh?” Conscience? Didn’t know she knew the word. Decided not to ask if she knew its meaning.

  “Not to worry, buddy. All you have to do is show up, on time, sober enough to stand, without a date.”

  My best pal looked at me like I’d sprouted a facial toadstool. A psychedelic toadstool, from the magnitude of his double take.

  The beautiful woman unacquainted with mercy laughed. She headed for the place Morley had indicated. I retreated to the theater side of the street. Where I found Puddle and Morley’s other man considering their boss nervously. Puddle said, “I don’t like dis, Garrett. I don’ like it a’tall.”

  “Got me a little less than excited, too, Puddle. Makes me wonder what’s happening inside his head.” But that wasn’t my problem. The World was. I needed to concentrate on that. I was making some headway. At last.

  62

  I didn’t get back in out of the snow. Pular Singe materialized, breathless. “I know where he is! I know how to catch him!”

  “Great! Good for you, girl. Go! What’re you talking about? What’re you doing down here?” Since she hadn’t had anything to do with her brother’s latest efforts.

  “Oh. I had some stuff I needed to do. But I finished. I can help you here now. Oh. There’s Mr. Dotes. I’d better tell him right away.”

  “Tell him what?”

  But she was gone. And Puddle was looking at me like he was trying to figure something out. He asked, “Dis ain’t gonna turn rotten on us, is it, Garrett?”

  Uncertain what his “this” might be, I went for reassurance. “I don’t think so. Though I don’t really know what Morley is thinking, any more than you do. Nothing to do with me, I’m pretty sure.”

  That part seemed to be what Puddle wanted to hear. Better his boss was hobnobbing with the queen of crime than getting into something with that Garrett guy.

  I’m never quite sure what the problem is for those people. Like women, they think I ought to know without being told.

  I went inside.

  Despite the open doorways it was much warmer in there than out front.

  John Stretch spotted me, beckoned. He looked smugly pleased. I went to find out why.

  The lord of the ratmen indicated the under-stage pit. It was filthy with bug scraps. The Rocker himself had returned to his station. He no longer had anything to do.

  “All right. It’s a mess. But that isn’t it. Is it?”

  “No. It is that there are no more bugs coming. The rats are finding very few down below now, too. Just grubs. The burned-out rats come up carrying them. Carrying food back to the nest.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “It is an instinct thing.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I have enough of them back out now to get a feel for the way it is down there. I am going to examine them.”

  “By all means. That’s excellent.” Then, fearing he might think I was being patronizing, “Maybe that'll give us enough to get this part wrapped up.”

  So, then, the ghosts. Once the spooks were settled my job would be done.

  I could hope. I could pray. Knowing prayer would set them to howling in the heavenly jakes. Nothing could work out that well. Hell, this had been going on for days. I hadn’t gotten my head kicked in once - though the Stompers did have that on their agenda. I’d received no death threats meant to scare me off. I’d run into no villainy that couldn’t be explained by simple stupidity. There’d been a corpse, or two? one barely qualifying as negligent homicide.

  I did my damnedest not to invite recompense for hubris.

  Pular Singe scooted in, all flustered, whiskers flaring, ears folded back. “You have to stop them!”

  All right. Maybe I could do that. Given something to go on.

  Singe took a moment out of her excitement to greet her brother, who waved vaguely because he was communing with some of his unmodified cousins.

  Sort of ironic. The sorcerous by-blow of a prior century trying to exterminate those of the present.

  Singe reclaimed the frenzy. “I am afraid one of them will do something neither will be able to take back.”

  I thought I got that. “Ease up, girl. Who? What? Where? Basic stuff like that.”

  “Oh. Yes. That. All right. Mr. Dotes. Miss Contague. They are having a huge fight. It started after I told Mr. Dotes that the stinking man is out there watching and I think I know how to catch him.”

  One eyebrow up and the other eye squinting because she isn’t usually so formal, I wondered, “Why would they argue? Does Lurking Fel
hske work for Belinda?”

  “Oh. No. Mr. Dotes decided he would not need Miss Contague’s financial assistance after all. Since he was about to come into a large sum by selling the stinking man.”

  “And, naturally, he didn’t have Lurking Felhske in the bag when he decided that.”

  “Correct.”

  Counting chickens. I couldn’t do anything but shake my head. That was so unlike Morley, the born-again pragmatic realist. Had he caught something from Winger? Or maybe a Saucerhead with a hangover having an especially feeble-minded morning after one of his periodic breakups? No way. Not the count of cool, Morley Dotes.

  “Stay with John Stretch. See if he reports anything we can use right now.” I headed out fast, worried that I had made a lethal mistake by not staying with Morley and Belinda. How could Morley have abandoned basic common sense? Nobody gets into a pissing contest with Belinda Contague. She'll whack your pisser off and make you feed it to the hogs.

  Puddle and the unnamed henchman were still shuffling around in the cold out front, feeling much put upon by their captain. Puddle had the look of a lost four-year-old. As I passed them I said, “Come on. Sounds like Morley has done something stupid. We might have to bail him out.”

  Right. If it came to knuckles and head-bashing, Belinda only had her big, healthy six to our seriously-out-of-shape three.

  Belinda’s bunch were standing around sharing hot tea and bullshit with Saucerhead’s crew like they were old pals. Which they might be. It’s a big city but guys in similar rackets tend to know each other.

  I slowed to what I hoped would appear to be a disinterested pace as I went by. I exchanged good-natured insults with Belinda’s chief driver, who hated me for the luck I’d had. The four footmen didn’t bother to check me out. But the final villain, probably officially Belinda’s bodyguard, tried fixing me with the hard stare. I considered giving it right back. But that’s an invitation to butt heads until somebody can’t crawl away. I didn’t find him scary, unlike some who had gone before him. Who were no longer above ambient temperature. Or ground.

  I winked and got on with tracking Morley.

  “That one guy is coming after us, Mr. Garrett,” unnamed henchman reported nervously.

  “All right. If it gets exciting, you and Puddle sit on him while I crack some heads.”

  The storm had passed. Though they still eyed one another sullenly, Morley and Belinda had not come to blows. They were talking business.

  Belinda snapped, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Came over to protect my investment.”

  “Investment? In what? You aren’t part of this.”

  “In friendship. There was a rumor that you two were behaving badly. Thought I’d make sure nobody did anything stupid.”

  Miss Contague glowered. She manages that with a furious impact. It’s the blood. You look at her and forget the cold beauty. You just remember that she’s Chodo Contague’s daughter, old Death on the Hoof himself. You recall times when she made her pop look like a pansy dance instructor.

  She said nothing now. Nor did Morley. “Have you worked it out? Morley? You letting a deal float on your skill at predicting the outcome of a water spider race?” I tried giving him a meaningful look. No doubt he thought I was constipated.

  Puddle, Unnamed, and Belinda’s bodyguard hung out around the doorway, bewildered.

  Morley told me, “I’ve got it under control. Just had a minute when wishful thinking got the upper hand on common sense.”

  Deadly calm, Belinda said, “He thought he could do business the way he plays at romance. He found me less pliable than his preferred women.”

  “Kind of the way the rumor ran, too, best buddy. Don’t go betting to a pair in the bush that you haven’t even seen yet. When you’ve already agreed to play a different hand.”

  “Your metaphors are as feeble as ever, Garrett. But you are sniffing the right trail. I did let reality get away for a second. It’s slippery, some days. I got a little overheated. Being an adult, I recognized the futility and got it under control. The tempest is over. You had palpitations for nothing.”

  He glanced at the group by the door. The boggled boys. Who really had no part in things. Useless.

  Belinda nodded. Agreeing with Morley and, likely, with what I was thinking. For a moment I got lost in those incredible blue eyes. Then managed to mutter, “Gods damn! It’s hard to be a grown-up.”

  Morley looked disappointed. But I’d gotten the point of his odd little speech. All was not as well as he was saying.

  What more could I do? He’d made his bed. I’d made sure the sheets weren’t bloody.

  “All right. If all is well, I’m going back to work. But you two better behave. I don’t want my best friends quarreling like street urchins.”

  That fooled nobody. Except maybe the witnesses by the door. But it let Belinda know where I stood. And my opinion, for some reason, does carry weight with her.

  That had been explained to me, including by the man at risk here, but I still don’t, down in my liver, completely understand. But I found out long since that understanding isn’t nearly as important as acceptance with some things.

  Morley said, “I'll come over after I finish showing Belinda what we’re going to do here. Ask Singe to wait for me.”

  It was the kind of straight line Morley doesn’t give up often. But I let it go. More of that belated growing up, I guess. Why go for a joke that belittles one friend in order to score a point on another?

  Puddle and the others followed me. Puddle said, “Hey, Garrett. All dat mean evert’ing is gonna be all right?”

  “I hope so, Puddle. I for sure never want to get on the wrong side of that woman.”

  “You said it. Anybody be dat damn foolish oughta get whatever he gets.”

  “Yeah.” His remark brought back unpleasant memories. “Hang in.”

  63

  I went back to the World. Losing my cadence for half a step, en route, when the breeze hit me with a whiff of incredible body odor. From someone I couldn’t see.

  The day, I noted, was getting on. Time flies, fun, like that, I guess. I spied Rindt Grinblatt and pack in the distance, headed my way. Brother Grinblatt looked to be in a foul mood. Though how you tell with a dwarf is subject to debate.

  I went inside and found Singe. And hardly anybody else. A whole herd, excepting ratfolk, had skipped. “Darling, when you all do catch the stinking man, ask him why he’s interested in me. Or the World.”

  “I can do that. Though maybe the Dead Man already knows. He had hold of the stinking man for a while. I think. But not for very long if he did.”

  “I'll ask.” And Old Bones would withhold the answer, most likely. He’d tell me I needed to figure these things out for myself. Or the like.

  I went to look into the basement. “Hey, Rocky. I’m going to need your backup in a minute. Come on up.” Saucerhead and his thugs are good at what they do, but some jobs just howl out for a specialist.

  Singe needs to get reconnected with her own culture. She has become too human. She was suspicious. “What are you up to, Garrett?”

  “Nothing. But in about a minute a mightily pissed off dwarf is going to stomp in here. I’d like somebody handy who isn’t intimidated by all those axes and chopping swords and maces. Somebody with a natural-born knack for making hairy folk stand still and listen to reason.”

  Good old Rindt, I suspected, had talked himself into thinking he’d established squatter’s rights over yonder just by virtue of his presence. The sort of magical thinking that makes us think we “deserve,” and “have a right to,” something we didn’t earn, just because we’re breathing and happen to be passing through life. It’s a plague on all intelligent species. I was born. Therefore, I have the right to pick your pocket so I can buy the bottle of rotgut red I want to curl up with tonight.

  Lately, I’ve been seeing a new species of graffiti. Traditional Karentine graffiti is human rightsist crap. Or kid gang crap. Or “Ferdi
e Pins wants to get into Minnie Tong’s cootch” crap. But the new stuff rides the premise that being required to produce, to work, if one would rather not, amounts to an egregious social injustice, inhumane involuntary servitude, and economic terrorism.

  Really.

  You got to wonder about the magnitude of the brass ones on a guy who could come out in public and, with a straight face, say that. I’d be inclined to give the man what he wants. But not feed him. Loaf on, brother! We'll dump you in a skinny little grave.

  That from a guy who is almost allergic to work himself. A guy with a moral imperative to avoid work as much as possible. But a guy who accepts the consequences of his inactions.

  Well. There went a parenthetical diversion from the everyday.

  Rocky stamped up, providing the closing ellipsis. “What’s up, Garrett? Better not take long. I’m gonna gotta get out of here in another hour.”

  “Those dwarves I had you check on earlier? They’re going to be here in a minute. On account of getting evicted from under that empty house. Property owners can be such pricks. And dwarves can be so presumptuous.” Rocky would grasp that better than a detailed explanation. “I need you to stand around looking like you’re thinking about dwarf goulash for supper.”

  Rocky grinned. “I can do that.”

  Where were the Grinblatts, anyway? Dwarves aren’t famous for getting in a rush but Rindt and family should have arrived by now.

  And here they came.

  I’d just started wondering if cold weather effected dwarves the way it does trolls. But that was silly. The hairy folk hail from wild mountains where it’s chilly during the summer and there are recorded instances of snow falling during Midsummer’s Night.

  If this crew got slowed down it was because their hob-nailed boots couldn’t get much purchase on icy cobblestones. And it was, for sure, cooling down out there. The slush had begun to firm up.