“You’re too eager. You make me nervous when you’re eager.”
“I ever mention that you worry too much?”
“Only on those occasions when I’m close enough to hear you talk.”
We jogged off with half a dozen guys who pretend to be servers at Morley’s place, none the sort who wait tables because they love the work.
Dotes insists that he’s out of the life now, yet persists in surrounding himself with men like these.
I worry, what with the dedication shown by the secret police lately. Deal Relway doesn’t worry about due process. In his own mind, he is the law. Too often, those left behind will agree that you had it coming.
Nevertheless, the underworld goes on. As strong and committed and obsessed as Relway is, he isn’t able to do much but nibble at the Outfit’s peripheries.
We turned into Ironstar Lane. And came to a many-legged, confused halt.
The character who’d tried to trepan me with a stone wasn’t a block ahead. He ambled along, searching shadows, like he had no idea somebody might chase him down.
“What’s the game here, Garrett? That moron is toddling along like he doesn’t have a care.”
“You can’t hold me responsible because somebody else is an idiot.”
“It’s arguable. Sins of the blood and all that stuff.” He came close to using bad language.
I asked, “Instead of standing around debating, why don’t we take advantage?”
Morley signaled his boys. We moved out.
Traffic was light, but that’s normal in Ironstar Lane. There aren’t any shops.
We surrounded the squat man before he realized someone was after him. His response was bewilderment. For an instant I thought I’d fingered the wrong guy. Like all of a sudden everybody in TunFaire had taken to wearing hideous green pants, and bad fashion sense wasn’t a sure sign of innate villainy.
Then he charged, went right through one of Morley’s boys.
“Wow!” I said.
“Yes. Be careful.”
The squat man didn’t run. He did make it unpleasant to get too close. At intimate range he was quicker than Morley, who, till now, had held the record. In my experience. And he was strong. He flung me thirty feet, easy.
We took turns bopping him from behind. Which was kind of like bull baiting, only this bull never made a sound. He didn’t answer questions. He just fought on, emphasizing doing damage to Ma Garrett’s only surviving son.
We outnumbered him only eight to one so it was our great good fortune that police whistles began squealing in nearby streets. We broke it up immediately. Nobody wanted to visit the Al-Khar. Not today.
As though there’s any good day now.
“That was exhilarating,” Morley said as we inventoried limbs, combed cobblestones out of our hair, and figured out who got bragging rights for suffering the biggest bruises. “If I’m alive in the morning, I’m going to give that guy another look. With Doris and Marsha doing the heavy lifting.”
Doris and Marsha Roze are relatives of his. Somehow. They’re part giant, part troll, part other stuff. They stand twelve feet tall and can bring down small buildings with a single pound. Too bad they weren’t along a few minutes ago.
“Why not? There must be another ten thousand streets that could use a good dusting.” It’s rare as frog fangs to see Morley Dotes all dirty and spiffed up in rags. “I wish I could preserve this vision for posterity.”
“I’ll put on old clothes next time. Get back to me on this.”
He was upset. I wasn’t sure why. You can’t win them all.
“I’ll do that. Good luck tonight.”
10
“What happened?” Dean demanded as he let me into the house.
“Somebody tried to kill me.”
He grunted, unimpressed.
“You should see the other guy.”
He grunted again. He has no respect for my way of life, though it keeps him full of bread and beans.
“Not a scratch on him. Even though I had Morley and six of his guys there lending a hand. We would’ve turned it around, though, if the Watch hadn’t shown up.”
That was for Singe’s benefit. She’d come to the kitchen to find out what was up. She had a kitten in her paws, petting it. The baby cat didn’t mind the incongruity.
I asked, “Think you could pick up a day-old trail using this?” I tossed her the green egg.
“Gak! Underwater. What was it? A bear or an ogre?”
Singe has a talent.
Ratpeople are blessed with an exceptional sense of smell. Some can embarrass a bloodhound. Singe stands out of that crowd.
As noted, she’s a genius. For a ratwoman. And has more courage than ten other ratpeople put together. Excluding only her brother.
Even the most daring and wicked ratfolk get scared around humans. The sorcerers who created them saw no need to take that timidity out.
“He was human. From one of the far fringes of the species.”
“What did he do?”
“He tried to kill me. With an old-fashioned sling. Using that egg for ammunition.”
“Bathing would not appear to be one of his human vices.”
I told Dean, “That tongue gets more wicked every day.”
Dean scowled. He can’t shed all his prejudices. Singe bounced, though, pleased by the compliment. She has one great character flaw. She tries hard to be human.
She’s smart enough to know they’ll never let her be.
“Why a day-old trail?”
“I don’t have time today. I have Chodo’s birthday party to do.”
“Who are you taking? Tinnie?”
“Nobody.”
“Can I go?”
“No. I’m not taking anybody. It could get ugly fast. I don’t want anybody getting hurt.” Not to mention that she wouldn’t be welcome. Virulent prejudice can be ignored only at great peril. Particularly by persons of goodwill.
Singe knows that on the practical and emotional levels. She doesn’t let on when she gets her feelings hurt. She thinks that by revealing her feelings, she’d belittle my effort to save her some pain.
I know. But it works for us.
I asked, “Anything stirring on the undead front?”
If the Dead Man hates any one thing enough to almost let it get his blood pumping, it’s being lumped with the undead. Vampires, zombies, and whatnot are all predators. He insists that he isn’t.
“Not a sign,” Dean said. “Looks like he’s down for a while this time.”
That wasn’t good news. I could use some advice. Like maybe the top ten ways of surviving Chodo’s shindig, barring the obvious: Don’t show up.
When you have no choice about hiking the valley of the shadow, you need to brainstorm ways to cover your ass. I got busy.
I had options. I had connections. Some might even be useful.
Singe’s brother, for example.
I recalled a conversation with Morley about the truth of what I mean to Belinda Contague. Not the business meaning. Not the former-lover meaning, nor the outright-fear meaning. The symbolic or fetishist meaning to the secret, frightened little girl hidden way down deep inside Miss Belinda. The little girl who, Morley believed, wanted me for the daddy she hadn’t had when she was coming up because her real daddy was Chodo Contague, hardly a paragon as a parent.
I’ve rescued the woman, one way or another, from the deepest shit several times. Morley says she’s chosen me as the bellwether of her personal fortunes because of that. That she’ll never let me be hurt because the little girl needs Daddy Garrett out there in case another terror closes in.
“Singe. I’ve got an idea. Maybe a dumb one. Come in the office and help me brainstorm.”
“What’s up?” she asked, hissing like a sack of rattlers as she forced the contraction.
“You think your brother might help us with something? If we offer him an appropriate fee? I know! I know! But you had the same mother. Humans figure that makes him your brother.”