We abandoned the alley, brokenhearted over our failure.
Folks on Wizard's Reach raised eyebrows, pinched their noses, and turned away. But nothing helped me. It didn't matter which way I turned my head or how tightly I pinched my nose, I could still smell me. And I was way past ripe.
Maybe a sudden thunderstorm would come up and wash me down to the river.
Maybe they ought to put all the unemployed ex-soldiers to work cleaning the city.
Never happen. Makes too much sense. And it would cost public monies that can be put to better use lining somebody's pockets.
The neighbors lost interest in me when somebody hollered, "There goes one!" and everything came to a halt while the entire population stared at the sky. I was a couple beats late. I saw nothing. "What the hell is that all about?"
Playmate looked at me like he'd just flipped a boulder and discovered a new species of fool. "Where have you been? There've been strange lights in the sky and weird things hurtling around overhead for weeks. Longer than that, if you believe some people. I thought everybody in TunFaire knew about them and was watching for them."
"Well, not me. Tell me."
Playmate shook his head. "You have to get out of the house more, Garrett. Even when you're not working, You need to know what's going on around you."
I couldn't argue with that.
6
"What the hell?" My front door stood wide open.
"Maybe Kip ran away." From the vantage of his superior altitude Playmate surveyed Macunado Street, uphill and down. "Which would be stupid. He can't find his own way home."
I gave him a raised eyebrow look. "Where do you find them?" He's worse than Dean is. Dean being the antediluvian artifact who serves as my live-in cook and housekeeper. Who has several huge personality flaws. Those include acting like my mom and my dad and having a soft heart bigger than my often somnolent sidekick. But Dean does confine his overweening charity to kittens and strange young women. Playmate will take in anything, including birds with broken wings and nearly grown boys who need a guide to get around their own hometown.
Playmate was too concerned to talk. He charged up my front steps and into the house. I followed at a more dignified pace. I wasn't used to all that exercise.
"Hey, Garrett! He's right where we left him."
Absolutely. Kip was nailed to the client's chair, wearing an expression like he'd just enjoyed a divine visitation. The Dead Man was holding him there. But that couldn't account for the goofy expression.
"Then who left the door open?"
Your lady friend became distressed when she could find no one willing to make her breakfast. When the boy just stared at her and drooled she stormed out. That sparkling sense of amusement hung in the air once more, rich and mellow, with well-defined edges.
"But you had plenty of brainpower left over to hold and manage this nimrod."
Being dead had corrupted somebody's sense of relative values. The streets are swamped with goofballs. But Katie is unique. Katie is like a religious epiphany. "And what happened to the talking buzzard?" He would know. The Goddamn Parrot was almost a third arm and extra mouth for him anymore. He's going to weep great tears when that vulture bites the dust. Though Morley is fond of reminding me that parrots can live about a million years. If something doesn't wring their scrawny necks.
I'll weep myself when he's gone. Tears of joy.
Mr. Big is tracking the creature you failed to capture because you were unable keep your attention on the matter at hand.
"You mean Bic Gonlit, the guy who made his escape on a galloping donkey? Because nobody bothered to warn me that it was him hanging around in the alley, leaving me unprepared?"
Apparently an oversight on my part. I detected no second presence out there. Which is no longer of any consequence, now, anyway. But I would be remiss if I failed to point out that you should have been better prepared, knowing there could be difficulty.
"No consequence? Difficulty? You aren't the one the little pork-ball whapped upside the head."
Spare us your unconvincing histrionics, Garrett.
Unconvincing? I was convinced. I took a deep breath. I'd never gotten in the last word yet but like an old-timer married fifty years I'm an eternal optimist. It could happen. There might come a day. It might be today.
Actually, it'll probably come when I'm on my deathbed and the Reaper snatches me before Old Bones can come back at me. Except that Chuckles might decide to come after me. He's already got a head start.
Death. Now there's a guy who knows how to have the last word.
Mr. Big is following the creature I sensed in the alley, Garrett. Not any sad little manhunter named Gonlit. I had thought you would understand that. A most unusual creature this is, too. Nothing like it has entered my ken before. Most notably, it seems capable of rendering itself invisible by fogging the minds of those around it. It is amazing.
"And you keep telling me there's nothing new under the sun."
Playmate's scrawny young buddy finally collected himself enough to notice us. "What happened to you guys? You smell awful."
My good and true friend Playmate announced, "What you smell is Garrett. I myself am redolent of roses, lilacs, and other sweet herbal delights."
I glared at Playmate. "We ran into Bic Gonlit." I turned my glower on the boy. He did not leap at the opportunity to have a chuckle at my expense. Maybe he wasn't a total social disaster at all times. Maybe he retained some rudimentary, skewed sense of self-preservation.
That's Mama Garrett's big boy. He can find a silver lining inside the ugliest sow's ear. Maybe he didn't have any sense of humor at all. Kip looked to Playmate for confirmation. Playmate told him, "It was Gonlit." Then he told me, "Do something about your sweet self. I have a strong feeling we're about to get out amongst the people. I wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself."
Yet again the stardust of amusement twinkled in the air. I would propose that Mr. Playmate has offered excellent advice, Garrett.
I smelled doom. I smelled it like I'd smelled leaf mold in the jungle every time it'd rained while I was in the islands. It was in the air, sneezing thick. I did not have to sniff to catch a whiff.
I was about to be cursed. Squirm as I might I was about to have to go to work. All because I had been dim enough to open my door and let trouble walk in.
I whined, "Where on the gods' green earth is the beautiful girl?" It'd never failed before. I'd always gotten some wonderful eye-candy out of... "Yike!"
Old Dean, who pretends to be the chief cook and housekeeper around here, but who is really the wicked stepmother, had stuck his bitter, persimmon-sucking face into the office. "Mr. Garrett? Why is it that I return home to find the front door standing wide open?"
"It was an experiment. I was trying to learn if crabby old people will kick a door shut before they start complaining about it having been left open. Of particular interest are crabby old men who live in a household where their status more closely approximates that of a guest than something more eternal. So you tell me. Do you have any idea? Where's the girl?"
Dean doesn't have much of a sense of humor. He offered me the full benefit of his hard, gray-eyed stare. As always, he was rock-confident he could demonstrate to the world that my second greatest flaw is my frivolous, incautious nature.