Bic growled. Bic didn't want to listen to any damned theories.
"Look at him, man. He looks like you in a funhouse mirror." A mirror that skinnied him down and tailed him up.
"Never mind. I'm not going to argue till you're convinced."
"So just give me your damned letter and let me out of here."
"And don't forget to remember me in your will. Because I've treated you better than anybody else in town would've done." I found myself lusting after a beer. Or something with a better kick. I hadn't had a drop since our country picnic. But I couldn't take time out now. I had business to attend to, outside the home. "Bic, I'd kiss you good-bye but then you'd just come back for more."
I shut the door behind the little man at last, leaned against it. "I sincerely hope that that's the last time I ever see Bic Gonlit." The man was like a mosquito. Not a major problem but one persistent annoyance if you didn't kill him.
"Can he possibly have any other reason to buzz around my ear, now?"
Suppose the Guard arrest and question him.
"I didn't think of that." I hadn't, which seemed real dim of me the second the subject came up. "But he will. And he's clever enough not to let that happen. I wish the bird was here to send out to watch him."
You might send a pixie. They have not yet done much to earn their keep.
"That seems a little dangerous. For the pixies. Let's just trust Bic to do what he said he'd do. I'm going to clean up and change now. I'm heading up to the Tate compound. To see Willard Tate."
Old Chuckles failed to seize the opportunity, though I'm sure he noted my unnecessary explanation of why I had to put myself in close proximity to a certain ferocious redhead who couldn't quite seem to decide how big a part of my life she wanted to be.
68
"I think we're in business," I told the Dead Man when I returned in the wee hours, a little light-headed. Willard Tate enjoys his brandies and loves to share his pleasures with people he likes. He likes me right now.
The rest of the Tates are wine people, every one with a favorite vintage. I'm not much on the spoiled grape juice myself. I prefer that Weider barley soup with plenty of hops. But I couldn't be impolite when a taste was offered.
And it was hard to keep track of how much sipping I did when I was a little distracted, off and on, by Tinnie and her wicked cousin Rose.
I said, "I'll have a sitdown with all the principals as soon as I arrange for Morley to make space available."
I would take Morley on a nostalgic voyage into his past, returning The Palms to the days when it was The Joy House and neutral ground for meetings just like the one I planned. He was a good friend. He deserved to get the business.
Excellent. And though I do begrudge admitting it, I believe you have suffered one of your better ideas this time.
"Did Singe get back yet?"
More than an hour ago. All went well. She ate and drank like a lumberjack, then went to bed. That child has an amazing capacity for beer.
"If she's going to keep sucking it down here, she'd better start showing an amazing capacity for bringing in cash. What about the jungle chicken?"
Still out there. Watching the al-Khar now. To see how the Guard responds to your message.
"There's only one response possible. Don't tell me they haven't done anything."
Nothing dramatic. There have been comings and goings but, not being familiar with the routine around the jail, I do not know if they are unusual. And it would behoove us to recall that we live in a political world. What Colonel Block should do and what he is allowed to do might not be identical —if someone important upHill happens to be an investor in Reliance's undertakings.
"I know. I know. It's a blackhearted world. I'm going to go put away some beer myself. Then I'm going to sleep till noon."
A man's fondest dreams and dearest ideals often become storm-tossed wrack upon reefs of reality.
I wakened to find myself already deeply involved in some extremely heavy petting.
Evas had decided school was in again. Only... It took a few moments of exploration to determine that tonight's pupil wasn't Evas. Perhaps Fasfir had pulled rank.
Fasfir was a dedicated student, give her that. Her focus matched Evas'. It seemed she wanted to practice till she got it right. She didn't go away until people started stirring around the house.
Good thing I'd announced that I meant to sleep in.
69
Dean didn't get the word. Or didn't care. He wakened me. His stern look of disapproval was the one he reserved for my sloth, brought out on occasions when he felt he couldn't state his opinion aloud. He would've employed an entirely different and much uglier scowl had he known about Evas or Fasfir.
He told me, "You need to get up. There are messages awaiting your attention. And Miss Winger is in the street outside, apprising the world of all your shortcomings."
"I doubt that. She hasn't had a chance to catalog them. Unless you've signed on as her adviser."
He plowed ahead. "And the workmen have arrived." He said that last quickly and softly, as though it was a minor, mooshy afterthought of no consequence whatsoever.
I didn't think about it. Which was the point.
John Stretch had cut Winger loose. Good for him. Good for her. Maybe not as good for me if she was going to roam the streets accusing me of being in cahoots with those ugly fraternal twins, Mal and Mis Feasance. Although I certainly had trouble imagining why she might do that, considering she slept in their bed herself, most nights.
"None of that sounds all that pressing to me," I grumbled, knowing he was going to be disgruntled simply because I was in bed when it was light outside already.
Dean shrugged. His usual, aggressive morning attitude seemed to have abandoned him. He was intrigued by something on the floor. Something he might possibly have last seen hanging off Fasfir. He frowned deeply as he tried to get a mental grasp on the facts.
I saw the change when he decided he was imagining things.
I said, "I'll be down in a few minutes."
On instructions from the Dead Man, Dean let Winger into the house. She stormed from the front door directly into the kitchen, where I was working on breakfast while surrounded by my harem. "Have a cup of tea, Winger." Then I said, "If you insist on being abusive I'll just chuck you right back out in the street. Where you can keep on entertaining the secret police spies who watch this place every minute."
Winger was wound up. She blistered the air with her extemporaneous remarks. However, mention of Relway's gang got her stuttering fast. Unfortunately for her immortality, I wasn't paying enough attention to recall her exact words for posterity. Which was probably just as well. She hadn't been doing a whole lot of nun-style talking.
"You're running around loose, aren't you?" I wedged the question in while pouring tea for myself and Evas, who seemed astounded that something like Winger existed. "Imagine that. And you didn't get one single precious little hair on your pretty head harmed, either. Amazing." I wasn't responsible but she didn't need to know that.
Winger thought some. The implications made her stumble some more. She decided to sit down and enjoy an eating contest with Singe—at least until she'd worked herself up for a fresh round of accusations.