Glen Cook - Red Iron Nights

So. You are the villain responsible.

He knew darned well I was, he just hadn't brought it up before.

"I am he," said I. "I'm also the guy what owns this dump. I'm also the guy what's feeling damned put upon on account of I've got a housekeeper who's moved in uninvited and figures it's his duty to drag in every stray cat he can find. I'm also the guy what don't like the floor crunching under his tootsies whenever he starts looking for the chamber pot in the dark. Never mind about the bugs, Saucerhead. Let him use his imagination."

The Dead Man sent me an exaggerated mental sigh. So be it. I fear, then, Mr. Tharpe, that we have no further need for your services.

I gave the Dead Man a narrow-eyed look. He'd given up too easily. "He's right. What do we owe you?"

"Not enough so I don't got to go back to raising knots on heads for that creep Licks."

A sad story. Nobody liked Licks. Including me, and I didn't know him. "Guy has to make a living, I guess." I counted out a few coins, not much. Tharpe seemed satisfied. He hadn't done anything but answer the door.

"You might maybe add a little tip on account of personal hardship, Garrett."

"Personal hardship?"

"I had to be here instead of home. Though maybe from what I hear, you done forgot about women."

"Not quite. Not yet. But it's fading fast."

"So be cynical and self-serving. Go apologize to Tinnie." He liked Tinnie. Hell, I liked her. I just couldn't get along with her redheaded temper. For now. The songs you sing do change. Abstinence does make the heart grow fonder.

Saucerhead seemed in no hurry to leave. He and the Dead Man were wondering what might have snapped inside the butterfly man's head and left him wanting to carve up women. I figured this was my chance. I gathered my breakfast leavings, took them to the kitchen. Once I disposed of the evidence, I'd slide upstairs and catch me forty winks.

Somebody banged on the door.

What was this? I'd worked so hard to discourage customers that I didn't get this many visitors in a week anymore. Dean made like he was too snowed in cleaning up, so I took care of it myself.

Hoping for some randy sex goddess, I got Barking Dog Amato. I'd forgotten him completely.

"You forgot all about me, Garrett," he accused, pushing inside, forcing me back with his personal chemistry.

"No," I lied. "I figured you hadn't had time to get anything ready yet."

"Been raining. Not much else to do. Making signs and handbills gets old."

You'd think a drenching would wash the grunge away. Not so. Water just brought it to life. I considered propping the door open, maybe opening a few windows so the wind could blow through. If I'd lived on the Hill, I might have tried it. In my neighborhood you wouldn't dare. Even during a typhoon there would be some opportunist ready to accept the challenge. Besides, I only had one downstairs window.

Once past me, Amato halted, dripped, reeked, looked around. "You got that thing, that whatsit they call the Dead Man. I'd sure like to take a gander at that, you know what I mean?"

I tried shallow breaths. I don't know why we bother. It never helps. "Why not? You're a man he ought to meet." I wished Old Bones had him a working sniffer. I'd lock them in together till Amato sold him his whole zany conspiracy collection.

I opened the Dead Man's door, held it for Amato. Saucerhead, in my chair, half-turned, saw Barking Dog.

His face scrunched up into a world-class frown. He didn't ask, though.

He got a whiff, that's why. He gasped, "I see you got a client I'd better go good-bye," all in one long exhalation. He slid out the door almost before I got through. He tossed me a look that told me he wanted to hear all about it. Later. A lot later, after the miasma cleared.

I winked. "Make sure the front door is closed."

Barking Dog said, "My God, it's an ugly sucker. Got a hooter like a mammoth, don't it?"

Another missionary, Garrett?

"This is Kropotkin Amato. You recall the arrangement we made."

You know what I mean. You still intend to harass me? You will recall that your previous effort met with a singular lack of success.

"Me? No... "

Nor did you bother mentioning any arrangement, though I discern the details in your mind. We did not contract to have the man watch himself.

" We didn't contract anything, Smiley."

Barking Dog looked baffled. I would have too, hearing only half the conversation. I changed subjects. "You can understand why I did it." I didn't want to bruise Amato's feelings. The Dead Man could peek inside his head, see why we didn't have to mount a major campaign.

You are correct, Garrett. This time. However unlikely, he believes his theories. Which, you will understand, make them the reality in which he lives. I suggest you do meet our principal, try to ascertain why he deems it worthwhile to keep tabs on Mr. Amato.

Good morning, Mr. Amato. I have been anxious to make your acquaintance since Mr. Garrett first undertook to trace your movements.

The rat was going to lay it off on me.

"Uh... hi." Barking Dog was at a loss for words. Maybe I ought to check to see if this was really him.

One breath and I knew I didn't have to check. "Look here, Chuckles, don't you go—"

Mr. Amato and I have a great deal to discuss, Garrett. I suggest you visit Mr. Hullar and see if you cannot unearth a reason for his interest.

"Yeah, Garrett. What you been doing, anyhow? You was supposed to... "

I fled, defeated. Would Barking Dog care that I'd neglected him only to save TunFaire from a vicious serial killer? He would be sure they had bought me off. Even though he was the subject I was supposed to investigate for them.

I gave the stairway one longing look, then got into my rain gear. I checked my pockets to see how much cash I had. Maybe I could rent me a room and catch a few winks.

I made a sudden sally into the small front room before I left, thinking I'd snatch Dean's cat and drag it along. But the cat wasn't in evidence, only the scratches it had left on my furniture.

Then I realized that I had nothing to report to Hullar. I trudged back and pried Barking Dog's report away from him. He and the Dead Man were weaving drunken spiderwebs of conspiracy theory already.

The Tenderloin is that part of town which caters to the side of people they keep hidden. Any vice can be found there, any sin committed, almost any need fulfilled. The hookers and the drug dens and gambling pits are just the surface, the glamour. At least, those aspects of those things that can be glamorous when seen from the street.

It's a glitzy street. Or streets, really. The area is bigger than Tinkery Row. And more successful. Nothing sells like sin. After the Hill it's the most prosperous, cleanest, safest, and most orderly part of the city. Some very unpleasant people make sure it stays that way.

It all belongs, directly or indirectly, to Chodo Contague's empire.

Bishoff Hullar's taxi-dance place is as tame a dive as you can find there. That's all the girls do, dance and talk to lonely fellows and try to get them to buy drinks. Maybe a few make personal arrangements, but there are no facilities on the premises. The place is as shabby as they're allowed to get down there. Frankly, I don't see how Hullar stays in business, competing with neighbors who offer so much more.

The place wasn't jumping when I arrived, but it was just after noon then. A couple of sad-looking sailors sat at a table talking to a sad-looking girl who sipped colored water and didn't pretend very hard that she gave a damn about what the sailors were saying. A doddering ratman mopped around the other tables. All those had chairs piled atop them. There was nobody on the dance floor, though a couple more girls were loafing by the bandstand, where three worn-out old musicians weren't trying very hard to stay awake. Both girls glanced at me, wondering if I was worth the effort of making so long a trek. One, who looked like she might break out in a case of puberty any day, lazily packed a pipe with weed.