Have you never wondered about his unswerving loyalty?
"Only about a million times. Along with anybody else who ever had anything to do with the underworld."
Reflect on that patient loyalty in light of what you suspect Mr. Contague might do with the Book of Dreams.
It took me a minute. Hell, it was still early in the morning, remember? I had an excuse. "Say what?" Tell me black is white. Tell me princes of the church are saints, our overlords are philanthropists, lawyers have consciences. I might believe you. I might give individuals the benefit of a doubt. But don't try to sell me the notion that Sadler would turn on Chodo. "I don't believe it."
Have I not yet convinced you that what you believe is of no consequence? It is obvious, based on his questions, that Mr. Crask suspects a defection. If he acts upon that, the truth and your belief will not matter. My own inclination is to believe he would be correct in his assumption, considering hints underlying your last discussion with Mr. Sadler.
It's a fact, perceptions have more impact than absolute truths. We humans belong to a tribe steadfast in its refusal to be confused by the facts. Still...Yeah, but Sadler just wouldn't.Would he? Even if the cripple he expected to replace any day came up with a way not only to evade death but to get healthy in the bargain?
Ah. You begin to use your head for something besides a device which keeps your hair from getting in the way when you eat. Excellent.
"Even I have a thought sometimes." Not much of a comeback. Hell. It was still morning.
There is some excitement outside. Perhaps news from the Cantard, long overdue. You might investigate.
Him and his hobby. "Sure. Why not? I'll have plenty of time. Hell, I'll borrow Dean's broom and help the ratmen clean streets in my spare time."
Mental snee.r Sometimes he has a higher estimate of my abilities than I do.
I was losing the war there. Just too damned early. I retreated to the kitchen. "Carla Lindo, my lovely, I need your help. The Dead Man says Holme Blaine must have been in touch with some of the people you were in touch with when you were looking for somebody to help you. I need to talk to them. Soon as you tell me who they were."
She eyed me about ten seconds, smoldering and crackling. The homely Miss Ruth lost her smile. I didn't blame her. It plain wasn't fair that the gods would give one woman so much advantage over another.
They ought to make them all gorgeous. Right?
"Actually, I only asked at the place where I was staying, with friends of my father. Everyone there who could think of anyone mentioned you."
Oh, wonderful. Now I'm a household name. "So where do I go? Who do I see?" I'll get the Dead Man one of these days. He knew already.
"I'd better go with you. They're a little odd there."
"Wouldn't be safe."
"Why not? Your friend Chodo Contague captured the Serpent, didn't he?"
Oh, boy. There just aren't any secrets around my house.
I tried arguing. Carla Lindo turned deaf as a post. She wasn't telling me nothing. It was show me or nothing. "I'll be ready in a minute, Garrett." She breezed out, leaving some sort of vacuum there in the kitchen. Dean grinned at me. He enjoys seeing me nonplussed. Actually more than nonplussed. Very minused. Even Ruth got a kick out of it, though I could see she envied Carla her power.
I never had a chance once Carla Lindo went to work on me. Someday, in about a thousand years, I'm going to develop an immunity to female charm. I don't know if I look forward to that or not.
I made a tactical error. I was the one who took a while getting cleaned up and changed. They never let you forget.
Sometimes I have to wonder if I'm as smart as I think. Carla gave me some pretty good hints, but I didn't tumble to the facts till we'd damned near walked through old Fido's front door.
33
I stopped dead, stared at that bughouse, and thought I wasn't going in there never again.
"Garrett? What's the matter?" Carla Lindo was a couple steps ahead now, looking back, smoldering. How the hell did she do that? I stared at her some, too. I got a little less reluctant to head that way.
There wasn't much traffic, but what there was seemed determined to run over any guys who stood around with their mouths hanging open, staring at pretty women.
I gobbled, "I've had it, babe. All I can take of this mess. I'm up to here with running around like a short-necked chicken, not knowing what the hell is going on, who's going to do what to who, or why, always being a step too late." I couldn't tell her I was afraid to go back in there with that lunatic Easterman. Hell, I wasn't going to admit that part to me. I just told me the same stuff I told her and added that I don't much like hanging out with guys whose brains are off in fairyland.
Without a word she turned up the heat, piled on the come-hither, stacked up the promises. I kept the drool off my chin, but she did get me shivering. "You sure you're no witch yourself?" She couldn't be that old and crafty. She couldn't have discovered my weakness that quick.
She just smiled and tossed another sack of coal on the fire.
I muttered, "You're going to carrot me right into somebody's whipping stick, woman."
"What?"
"Yo! Garrett! Just the clown I want to see."
Oh, hell. Winger. Coming on like a galleon under full sail. Right behind her was the cadaverous old butler guy with the absurd name. I wondered if they were running a race. The old guy had stamina.
Carla Lindo gave Winger a look all trimmed up with daggers but lost it in about a second. Then she just gaped and tried to keep a straight face.
"Picked you up some new duds, eh, Winger?"
Winger stopped to do a pirouette. The old guy gained on her. "What do you think?"
"Colorful." Old Mom Garrett's favorite boy is shooting for another forty years. He tries to stay neutral when somebody as mean as that dressed like that asks a question like that.
"Knew you'd like it." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Colorful was understating the truth.
Nobody has lousier taste and a worse idea how to dress than an ogre. This outfit would have stunned a nearsighted ogre. Splashes and panels of howling purples and screaming oranges and a limish green so virulent it fried your eyes. Some other colors in there that swirled venomously when she so much as breathed. Which meant what you saw was changing all the time. The total picture was so awesomely ugly it was almost hypnotic.
"Bet you're surprised to see me in a dress."
"Yeah." Kind of a half-breed croak and squeak. I was in pain. I didn't dare beg for mercy. That outfit should have been illegal. It was a deadly weapon.
"A dress? Is that what that is?" Carla Lindo asked.
Winger's grin vanished. I got between the women fast. "Peace. Child's new in town."
"Who is that dung beetle, Garrett? Just so I can apologize polite like after I squish her into frog food."
"Easy. She's a friend of your boss."
"He ain't got no friends. That old spook—"
The old man caught up with her. He grabbed on to her arm and hung there puffing like he'd sprinted six miles. However dire his message, he couldn't squeeze it out. In fact, he lost his grip and started to go down on his beak.
Winger caught him by the scruff and hoisted him up. "Watch out you don't kill yourself, Pop."
Carla Lindo stared at the old man. She wanted to say something, too, but couldn't
"You come to see the boss, Garrett?"
"Yes."
"Right. Then what I got can wait a couple. Maybe when we don't got so many mouse ears around." She turned the old man around and headed for home, holding him up with one hand. He kept trying to say something but couldn't get it out. His collar was choking him.