Glen Cook - Wicked Bronze Ambition

The Director grunted, told me, “You brought him to us so we could sweep him up. You get points for that. I’ve wanted to chat with Preston for a long time, but his girlfriend always smells us coming before we can close the trap.”

I restated my thesis. “Huh?” How come I never spotted Womble? Was I so distracted these days that I couldn’t tell when I was being tailed?

Apparently so.

That wasn’t good. It wasn’t promising in my line of work.

One of the smaller red tops announced, “He wasn’t alone, Chief. Elona Muriat was with him.”

“Of course she was. But she got away,” Relway said. “Naturally, she got away. She always does. We’ll just make do with Preston.” He glowered at the little bald man, who tried to melt like a slug dancing on salt. Relway told me, “Muriat is so slick she’ll slide out of her own skin one of these days.”

I found myself at a loss for meaningful words, but nevertheless managed to croak, “Who are these people? I never heard of them.”

“They belong to a new crop of lowlifes that ripened while you were on hiatus.”

For one reason or another, mostly the woman who preceded Strafa, I had left the adventurous life till I fell into the mess where Strafa hijacked my future. We had been acquainted before, but neither of us had been in emotional circumstances where we could acknowledge our mutual interest.

“Um.”

“Garrett. I like a man who knows when to keep his mouth shut. All right. Details. Preston and Elona are freelancers. Not exactly a couple. Friends with benefits, possibly. They don’t always work together. They aren’t heavy work types. They’re more like you. Nosies. Preston has guts in action but not much courage in static sets like interrogations. He’ll tell us why he was watching you if he knows. Or, at least, he’ll tell us who paid him to do it.”

Interesting that he called them lowlifes, then told me they were in the same racket as me. I would file that as something worth remembering.

One of Relway’s beefy boys hustled up. “Preston is babbling already, Chief. Him and Muriat was hired to follow this guy, just to see where he went and who he talked to.”

“He name any names?”

“Vicious Min.”

Relway did a silent “Huh?” response. “Who?”

I said, “And there is another name that I don’t know.”

“Marty?” Relway made a two-handed, come-on gesture.

“Preston says female, middle age, very large, giants in the family a ways back, teeth like a piranha that never learned to brush, breath to match, and a real badass attitude. Plus a lousy sense of style. Says he’s sorry, but he was so intimidated he didn’t take a closer look. Says Muriat can give us more when we catch her.”

Relway sneered. “Like that’s going to happen. All right. Sweat his ass. We can’t charge him for anything because stupid isn’t a crime yet, but we can hold him on suspicion, or in protective custody, or some damned thing.”

The ugly little man eyed me then, like he thought I belonged in the cell next to Womble. And might have entertained the notion, if for no better reason than that free — lancers aren’t under adequate state control.

Relway said, “So, Garrett, you think there’s a connection between what you want to tell me and the fact that you have some intellectual cousins riding in your hip pocket?”

“Probably. But I couldn’t guess why.”

Hell I couldn’t, considering that I was connected to the Algardas now. I wasn’t just going to get the Strafa loving. Everything else that came with a Hill family was coming to me now, too, at least out there at the edge of their dust cloud.

The catch crew took Preston to his guest suite. More hospitably, Director Relway took me to his personal quarters, which doubled as his working space. Before he acquired his current status, that space had been two jail cells. Relway had removed some intervening bars and permanently locked the door of one cell. He had no privacy, although no one else occupied space in the area.

I could not be comfortable there, despite having visited before. Relway understood and savored my discomfort. He did resist the temptation to suggest that I reflect on what it would be like to become a permanent resident.

Deal Relway knows that no one else in the world is honest enough and trustworthy enough not to deserve being caged. Deal Relway is the world’s lone perfect pillar of righteousness.

I exaggerate, but not much.

His patience, tolerance, and self-control suggested that he had something on his mind. He thought I could help, somehow. He did not explain right away, though. He deferred.

He did say, “General Block isn’t in today, which is why Helenia came to me about you.” He paused. I didn’t shove anything into the silence. “She says you’ve stumbled across a new criminal enterprise.”

Had I said anything to give the woman that idea? Well, maybe she heard that, or at least said so after what I told her fermented inside her head before it came back out in a report to Relway. And the thesis was sound. That was why I had come to the Al-Khar.

“Let me try to tell it in one go and you ask questions after.”

“I’m listening.” He settled into a chair with very little padding, steepled his hands under his chin, and waited.

Like I said, Relway makes me uncomfortable. Crazy people always do. Though Relway is supposedly one of the good guys, he is also completely loony. Deadly loony.

The twitch in the right corner of his mouth said he was aware of the effect his behavior was having. He was enjoying my discomfort.

I told my story. I left out nothing. He wasn’t crazy enough to hassle Shadowslinger’s friends. He let me ramble, showing an impressive range of expressions as I proceeded; then he did homage to his normal disbelief by asking, “What did you leave out?”

“Nothing.” I have sometimes withheld something. We both knew that. He always ripped me about it and I always lied, claiming that I was doing no such thing. “Really, truly, swear on your favorite religious tract. This is a whole new kind of weird for me. Wait. Maybe I did. . Yeah. You could say I left out the fact that Shadowslinger, Bonegrinder, and all them probably wouldn’t want me talking to the law.”

“I took that into account.”

I offered a raised eyebrow by way of response.

“Hill folks think they’re above the law. I can’t reason out why they would set Preston and Elona on your trail, though.”

“Me, either.”

“Are you into anything else?”

“No. Just Strafa, these days.”

“The Windwalker. I envy you, Garrett. I truly envy you, being on a personal name basis with. . Never mind. Are you sure there’s nothing else?” Then he stopped, thinking.

I filled this silence. “Preston Womble. Elona Muriat. And Vicious Min. I really, honestly, never heard of any of them. But heading down to Macunado Street last night, with Strafa, I caught a whiff of Lurking Fehlske.”

Fehlske is in the surveillance racket, too. He is a genius at remaining invisible. He is like a ghost. Unfortunately, he is also allergic to bathwater.

Relway waved a hand dismissively. “His sort are in endless supply.” Putting me down without addressing me directly. “You still work for the brewery, right? Any possible connection there?”

“Who would mess with Max Weider?”

The brewing king is as powerful as the boss of the Outfit and Director Relway combined when it comes to having the financial wherewithal to impose his will. But Max isn’t that kind of guy so long as the world leaves him alone. However, there is no shortage of too stupid to survive.

“Still only the usual minor pilfering, then.”

“That never goes away completely, though there’s not much of that anymore. I’m good at what I do, Max is a good boss, and jobs are scarce. You don’t risk yours over pocket change.”