Glen Cook: Cruel Zinc Melodies

I’d enumerate her physical shortcomings but I haven’t found any yet. Everything is there, in all the right places, with a shine on it. Personality-wise, though, one or two sharp corners could be polished off.

‘‘Definitely a problem,’’ Alyx said. Showing me her tongue between sharp little teeth, a come-hither challenge in her eye. ‘‘You find one still in good shape, he’s too immature to waste time on. You find one like this, that’s all broken in, he’s like this. All broken down.’’

‘‘You aren’t so old I can’t turn you over my knee, Miss Alyx.’’

‘‘Promises, promises.’’

‘‘Alyx!’’ Tinnie was not amused.

I asked, ‘‘So, how come I find myself inundated by beautiful women?’’ Coats were coming off. Being an observer by trade, I was observing. And I was impressed.

I was looking at Tinnie but Alyx answered. ‘‘Because I had to see you. And I thought you might not let me in if it was just me.’’

The honey-tone honey drawled, ‘‘Her father wouldn’t let her come alone. And Tinnie was there when he decided that you’re the answer to our problems.’’ There was a twinkle in her eye. She’d be another one who enjoyed getting a dig in at the expense of her friends.

Alyx said, ‘‘Tinnie’s got you so whipped. She didn’t need to come keep an eye on me.’’

Who knows? I don’t have much backbone around temptations packaged like these. I’d still be telling me what a dumb thing it was to do but be grinning from ear to ear as I went down for the third time.

Tinnie looked grim. Probably because she didn’t like that ‘‘whipped’’ pig wriggling out of its poke. Like it was some kind of secret.

Singe returned. Lugging a tea service. She made three of my four visitors uncomfortable. Well-schooled young ladies, they owned manners potent enough to not be rude in someone else’s house.

‘‘So,’’ I said. Standing. The available chairs being filled. I didn’t go for more. Despite visions of harem girls dancing in my head.

This much glamour doesn’t descend on me without bringing bad, bad news. The kind of news that ends up with me having to go to work.

‘‘Alyx?’’

Now that she was here she didn’t want to talk about her problem.

It happens. People hire me. Then they don’t want to tell me why. Usually because they have to admit having done something incredibly stupid.

Tinnie grinned. That lit up the room. ‘‘What my friend the blond beer bimbo wants to tell you is, her daddy needs to see you. He sent her because he didn’t think you’d open the door to anybody who looked like a wannabe client.’’

Too true. I wasn’t looking for work. I have a regular income from several sources. And work is so much like . . . well, so much like work.

But prospective clients are always bimbos. Er, make that, there’s always a woman involved. As Singe might say, because half of us are female and females are more likely to find themselves in straits nature didn’t equip them to handle.

Singe sucks all the fun out sometimes, being boneheaded, literal, and logical.

‘‘Here’s the story,’’ Alyx said. Never an auspicious beginning. People who start that way usually plan on retailing a fictionalized account.

‘‘I’m all ears.’’

‘‘Not quite, but they are a little ridiculous.’’

Two paragons snickered. The redheaded fourth seized the named appendages from behind. ‘‘But they’re so cute!’’

‘‘Spin me your tall tale, baby Weider girl.’’

‘‘Daddy wants to build his own theater.’’

‘‘Good on Max. Theater is hot right now. He’ll milk it for a ton.’’

‘‘We’re gonna be the stars. Us and Cassie Doap. And Heather Soames, maybe.’’

I gave Alyx the maximum-power raised right eyebrow. The one that makes the nuns renounce their vows. ‘‘No. Not Cassie.’’

Then my mouth got ahead of my brain. ‘‘Girls don’t go onstage.’’ Not good girls. Only girls who have something to market.

‘‘We can if we want!’’ Petulant.

Alyx Weider is as spoiled a kid as ever came up in TunFaire. And that’s all her father’s fault.

Max indulged her not only because she was the baby of the family but because of his failures with her older siblings. Like he thought if he invested enough he could buy one perfect kid.

Why not? He’d been able to buy everything else he’d ever wanted since he’d gotten rich.

Alyx wasn’t half as rotten as she ought to be, the way she’d been raised.

‘‘You’re not being nice!’’

‘‘Alyx, what I am is shutting up and listening.’’ Which I proceeded to do with grand determination and limited success.

‘‘Daddy is building a theater. A big one. He already told us we could be stars. Tinnie knows somebody who can write us a play.’’

I leaned back and turned. My eyebrow query failed to knock Miss Tate down. She must be developing an immunity. ‘‘Jon Salvation,’’ she said.

‘‘The Remora? You’re kidding.’’

‘‘He’s good. He wrote a comedy about the fairy queen Eastern Star.’’

‘‘I was talking!’’ Alyx snapped. ‘‘You told me you’d be quiet and listen.’’

‘‘Being quiet, Alyx. Listening raptly.’’

Miss Weider offered a halfhearted, grotesquely inappropriate head butt that would’ve taken out the lynchpin of my fantasy life if I hadn’t been a trained martial artist-type. Tinnie growled. She cuts Alyx a lot of slack because they’re ancient friends and their families are in business together, but she has her limits.

She snarled, ‘‘Goddamnit, Alyx! Cut the shit! Talk!’’

Bobbi and Lindy were amused—the way bettors around a dogfight pit might be amused by the antics of future combatants.

‘‘Daddy wants to get into the theater business. He has a theater under construction. The World. It’ll put three or four different shows on at the same time.’’

Max the innovator. How would he do that?

Tinnie interjected, ‘‘They’ll have staggered starting times. Each play will show three times a day.’’

‘‘Tinnie, please!’’ Alyx whined.

So Max had found a way to move a lot more Weider beer. I gave Alyx a nudge. ‘‘The problem you need solved is?’’

‘‘Sabotage.’’

Tinnie explained, ‘‘It’s actually kind of petty but somebody keeps getting in and breaking things.’’

‘‘Criminals? Trying to shake him down?’’ That’s how the protection racket starts.

Most crooks are smart enough to steer clear. Max Weider is rich. And doesn’t scruple in a fight. He’ll play fair, businesswise, but try strong-arming him and there’s an excellent chance somebody less personable than me will help you get started on an attempt to swim across the river. With granite in your undies.

Not even the Contagues, the emperors of TunFaire crime, would risk making a run at Max Weider. Unless the payoff prospects were beyond my ability to imagine.

Near as I can tell, all hands are happy with the status quo. Possibly excepting the law-and-order extremists at Watch and Guard headquarters in the Al-Khar.

Alyx chewed her lower lip fetchingly. Reluctantly, she said, ‘‘Maybe. But there’s, like, ghosts, too. And bugs.’’

‘‘Ghosts?’’ Just thinking out loud. Ghosts happen, but I hadn’t run into any recently. The residual personality haunting the Eleanor painting being the last. ‘‘It’s the wrong time of year for bugs.’’ Unless you kept your house too warm. Which nobody can afford to do. Other than on the Hill.

Around here we can see our breath in the winter. Except in the kitchen. And in the Dead Man’s room when we have company.

‘‘Tell that to the bugs, big boy.’’