29

The case had developed a certain rhythm. I should have expected what happened next, as I was about to rejoin Block and the Dead Man. It was guaranteed.

Somebody pounded on the door. “Three guys with knives,” I muttered as I headed that way, Dean having proclaimed himself incapacitated before the pounding stopped.

I peeped through the peephole. “I wish it was three guys with knives.” I considered pretending nobody was home. But Barking Dog knew better. He had come around often enough to know our dark secret. Somebody was always home.

I opened up. “Uhm?”

“Been more than a week, Garrett. You ain’t been over to get my papers.” He bulled in behind the usual aromatic advance guard, dripping. He produced his latest report.

“You writing the history of the world?”

“What else I got to do? It don’t stop raining. I don’t like getting wet.”

“I noticed.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Cabin fever’s making me cranky. Maybe you ought to polish your speeches. It can’t rain forever.”

“No. Only all day every day. You noticed that? It’s mostly just raining during the daytime? How did the weather get so screwed up, Garrett?”

I thought about tossing him something flip about the Cantard and stormwardens but feared he’d go off the deep end with some wild new theory.

“You’d think the gods themselves don’t want me spreading the truth.”

“Them probably more than most mortals.” I left it at that, mostly because I didn’t get a chance to say anything more,

Barking Dog froze. His eyes got huge, his breathing ragged. He threw one hand up, fingers twisting into the sign against the evil eye. He said, “Gah! Gah! Gah!” in a high squeak, retreated toward the door. “It’s him!” he croaked. “Garrett! It’s him!”

Him was Captain Block, who stood in the doorway to the Dead Man’s room, gaping. When I turned back to Amato, I saw nothing but the door closing behind him.

“Gah! Gah!” I said, making the horns. “What was that?”

Block asked, “What was Amato doing here?”

“Him and the Dead Man are buddies. They get together to make up stories about the secret masters. It’s amazing how they get along. What’s your story? How do you know Barking Dog?”

Block’s cheek twitched. He looked like he wasn’t sure where he stood. “In the course of my labors as a minion of the hidden manipulators, the puppet masters who pull the strings on marionette judges and functionaries, I was forced to circumscribe Mr. Amato’s freedom.”

I laughed. “You arrested him?”

“I didn’t arrest him, Garrett. Whatever he claims. I just asked him to come talk to a man who was put out about something he said. He’d have been fine if he could’ve kept his mouth shut for five minutes. But he just couldn’t resist tearing into the best audience he ever had. One thing led to another. I had to take him in front of a magistrate for a formal warning about libel. He couldn’t stop running his mouth. Donner doesn’t have a sense of humor. He doesn’t find Barking Dog an amusing street character. The more he bore down, the more Amato jacked his jaw. So he got pissed, gave Amato fifty-five days for contempt. And all of that is this running dog’s fault. You never heard such carrying on as when we were walking him over to the Al-Khar. Hell, if he could’ve kept his mouth shut then, I’d probably have screwed up and let him get away. But he pissed me off.”

“A different view of events,” I said. “Though his version isn’t much different. He said it was his own fault.”

Block chuckled, but grimly. “I wish all our rebels were as harmless.”

“Huh?”

“One of the reasons the Prince wants to get serious is, he thinks we’re on the brink of chaos. The way he puts it, if the Crown can’t demonstrate its willingness to fulfill its social contract with the Karentine people, in an obvious and popular fashion, we’ll head into a period of increasing instability. The first sign will be the appearance of neighborhood vigilante groups.”

“We already have those, some places.”

“I know. He thinks they’ll get stronger and become politicized. Fast, if Glory Mooncalled stays lucky. Each time he makes fools of us, more movers and shakers head down there to help tame him. The more that go, the fewer there are to keep the peace here.

“He thinks the vigilantes may connect up, form private militias. Then different groups that don’t agree politically will go to knocking each other’s heads.”

“Got it. Some might even take a notion to get rid of the folks running things now.”

“The Crown could end up as one more gang on the streets.”

Good boy me, I didn’t say a word about that.

Overall, we Karentine rabble are unpolitical. All we want is to be left alone. We avoid what taxes we can, but do pay some as protection money. You pay a little here and there, the tax goons don’t grab everything. Near as I can tell, that’s the common man’s traditional relationship with the state—unless he’s a state thug himself.

I said, “I might have to take a closer look at this prince—if he really thinks the Crown is something besides a mechanism for squeezing out cash to benefit the privileged classes.” I buttered too much sneer onto my remarks. Block didn’t understand that I was being cynical and sarcastic instead of seditious. He gave me a thoroughly dirty look.

I said, “Maybe I should pay more attention to the fable about Barking Dog’s running mouth.”

“Maybe, Garrett.”

“What did you do down there?”

That’s a question every veteran understands. And every human male adult in TunFaire who can stand on his hind legs, and plenty who can’t anymore, are veterans. The one thing the Crown does very well indeed is find every man eligible for conscription.

“Army. Combat infantry to begin, then long-range recon. After I was wounded they moved me into military police. I saved a baronet’s ass once, which is how I came to get this job.”

A hero. But that didn’t mean squat. Most everyone who lives long enough to get out does something heroic sometime. Even some downright nasty scum, like Crask, have medals they trot out. It’s a different world in the Cantard. It’s a different reality. Regardless of where they stand, heroes or villains, the men with the medals show them off with pride.

Contradictions. Being human is contradictory. I’ve known killers who were artists, and artists who were killers. The man who painted Eleanor was a genius in both fields. Both natures had tortured him. His torment ended only when he crossed paths with someone even crazier.

I said, “We’re wandering far afield. Let’s scope out what to do about this killer.”

“You buy that about it coming back from the dead?”

“You mean like there’s been outbreaks before?”

Block nodded.

“From him, yeah. I buy it. We’d better dig into the old records. You have the manpower and access for that, and the clout to get around functionaries.”

“What do I look for?”

“I don’t know. A common thread. Anything. If the same spirit is coming back again and again, then it’s been caught and stopped before. We see what they did back then, we can do it now. And maybe figure out how they screwed up so the cure didn’t take.”

“If your buddy don’t have something he caught from Barking Dog.”

“Yeah. If.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I saw the first guy alive and dressed. I’ll work the clothes and hope I get lucky again.”

He eyed me narrowly. He thought I knew something. I did, but what good would it do to tell him there was a survivor of a murder attempt—and she was Chodo Contague’s kid? He’d get himself a case of heart troubles complicated by hemorrhoids.

“Right. So tell me one thing, Garrett. What the hell is Morley Dotes doing here?”

He wasn’t dumb enough not to know that Morley and I went way back. “I know what he is, Block. And I know what he isn’t.” But how to explain that this professional killer never offed anybody who hadn’t asked for it? How explain that Morley had standards less flexible than most people on the right side of the law? “He’s my window onto the other side of TunFaire. There’s anything to find out there, he’ll find it.” I hoped.

I wasn’t sure why I’d sent Dean for Morley, now, though it had seemed the thing to do at the time. Maybe he could conjure me a connection with Chodo’s kid. She had to know something. Her pretty head might hold the one fact we needed to nail this butterfly freak.

Right. She was the type who saw nothing but herself. She’d probably forgotten butterfly granddad as soon as the fear went away.

Block scowled, not liking Morley being involved. Gods spare me the born again—even when they’re born again only so they can cover their asses. “Don’t go righteous on me,” I said. “It won’t help.” How did he know, anyway? Morley was keeping his head down.

Block’s scowl deepened. “I’ll go get my men started. I’ll let you know what they find.”

Sure he would. After he milked every ounce of advantage. My opinion of him had improved, but not so much I didn’t think he was a born functionary. Him using me was still a desperation measure.

“Do.” I saw him into the drizzle, then went to find out what the Dead Man thought.

30

“Another thousand marks if I wrap it permanently?”

So the man promised. He delivered before. The Dead Man was pleased with himself for having wangled another cash commitment from Block.

“Occasionally I’ve complained about the way you—”

Occasionally? Would you not prefer ‘frequently’? Or ‘consistently’? Possibly even ‘persistently’ or ‘continuously’?

“Once in a while. Whenever the seven-year locusts sing. But I did want to make the opposite point. That was a coup, getting him to pay again.”

He is desperate.

“And desperate times are the best times for those who are alert to opportunity. I understand. What do you think about interviewing Chodo’s daughter?”

Morley had invited himself out of my office into the Dead Man’s room. Now he invited himself to comment. “This came up before. My overtures were not greeted with cries of joy.”

“Leave it to me. I got style. Get word to Crask that I want to talk about the girl. Don’t say what girl. He don’t know I know who she is.”

“I don’t get it. How can he not know? . . . ”

“You don’t have to get it. Just tell him I want to talk to him about a girl. You don’t say which one, he’ll know what I mean. Him and me can take it from there.”

“You’re working an angle, Garrett. You ought to know better. You always get yourself into deep shit. What is it? Don’t try anything with the kingpin’s kid. You get a notion like that, slash your wrists and save the rest of us some grief.”

“What do you think?” I asked the Dead Man.

An interview with the girl may prove unproductive, but an interview is necessary to demonstrate that. If possible, arrange to see her here.

“The very core of my master plan.”

You lie. But I do trust your sense of self-preservation will deflect your inclinations.

“I am a mature human being, sir. I do not look upon all members of the opposite sex as objects of desire.”

Morley sneered. “Only those over eight and under eighty.”’

“You’re not helping. Sure, I don’t plan to be in bed alone when I go. But I don’t plan to go for a couple centuries, either.”

Ha. I convinced me. All but one tiny part that wondered what I’d do if Chodo’s daughter suffered some miraculous remission and not only became able to see me but decided to whisper sweet nothings . . . Sometimes even the stoutest-hearted of us white knights find the dictates of reason, conscience, and survival overruled by parts not amenable to the dictates of the mind. There’s a sociopath in each of us just waiting to miss the connection between an act and its consequences.

“Right.” Morley didn’t believe me.

I got the impression the Dead Man didn’t either.

My own doubts were less apocalyptic. I’d seen enough of the woman to have become deafened to the sirens of that fantasy. I might snort and stamp, but I wouldn’t lose control. She wasn’t my type.

We talked about this and that till Morley decided he’d heard enough bad news. He said, “If I’m away too long, Puddle and Sarge and the kid will have me set for the poorhouse.”

“Sure. Let’s go watch them race the flying pigs.” I saw Morley out, rejoined the Dead Man.

What now, Garrett?

“I’m thinking real hard about taking a nap.”

Indeed? And what was that Mr. Amato brought? I trust that you do recall that we have another iron in the fire?

“Come on. You want me to drag that mess down to Hullar?”

It occurred to me that doing so might be useful in more than the obvious way. When you deliver the report, invest a few minutes in trying to learn if anyone knows why the Contague woman turned up there.

“I did wonder about that.”

But you were not ambitious enough to pursue it. You really must make TNT your motto, Garrett.

“TNT?”

Today, Not Tomorrow. Take it from an expert. The only thing one should defer is one’s final appointment with Death.

Hang around with the Dead Man long enough and you can read him well enough to get messages that aren’t in his words. What he hadn’t said but meant was that if I didn’t go make myself a nuisance at Hullar’s place, I wouldn’t get any peace at home.

You compromise. That’s life. Every day you make deals that buy you peace—or an opportunity for a good night’s sleep.

I decided the path of least resistance lay through Bishoff Hullar’s taxi-dance place.

31

Crunch and I were getting to be buddies. After only five minutes of squinting and thinking he remembered that I preferred beer. That saved him one question in his routine. I saved him the others by asking for a pint of Weider’s pale lager, then told him, “Tell Hullar Garrett’s here.”

“Garrett. Right.” He tiptoed away. I waited for his feet and beard to disagree. No such luck. That dwarf defied the laws of nature.

He took a while. I sipped beer and surveyed the place. I’d never seen it so busy. It was jumping. Three couples were dancing while the band snored through something I might have recognized had it been played by real musicians. Three tables boasted customers. There wasn’t a girl left over to hustle me—though by now they had me pegged for a waste. They remembered better than Crunch did.

One of the girls caught my eye. She was new. She had some life left. And she was a great actress—unless she really was having a good time. She was younger than the rest, an attractive brunette who looked enough like the brunette I’d seen earlier to cool my fantasies.

“Be out in a minute,” Crunch said behind me. I’d turned to lean against the bar while I studied the local wildlife. I glanced over my shoulder. Crunch looked back, puzzled. He didn’t understand what was going on. He had an idea I was a bagman for the outfit, only I made deliveries instead of collections.

I’d caught him on a real good day first time around. Most of the time he was like this. Puzzled. By everything.

“Who’s the brunette there, Crunch?”

He squinted, had trouble making her out. He fumbled out a pair of cheaters, perched them on his nose, pushed them back with a finger like a dried-out potato. I was surprised. Glasses are expensive. “That there’s the new girl, mister.”

Right. “Come with a name?” Her or me?

He puzzled it but didn’t come up with anything before Hullar descended on the stool beside me, his back to the bar too. He accepted a mug from Crunch. “It don’t get no better than this, Garrett.”

I glanced his way. I read no more from his expression than from his tone. Was he saying this was heaven on earth? Was he stating a fact about business? Was he being sarcastic? Maybe he didn’t know himself.

I handed him Barking Dog’s latest.

“Shit. Don’t you got nothing else to do? All I want to know is, is the crazy bastard getting his tit in a wringer? I don’t need to know every time he picks his nose.”

A point I kept trying to get across to Barking Dog. I said, “First time I dropped in here, Crask was here.”

“Crask?” Wary, suddenly.

“Crask. Like from the outfit. He was talking to the musicians.”

“If you say so. I don’t remember.”

He remembered fine. Else he wouldn’t have so much trouble with his memory. “A girl walked in just as I was going to leave. She headed for Crunch like she had something on her mind, only she spotted Crask and suddenly hightailed it.”

“If you say so. I don’t remember none of that.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“Nothing.” He was real definite about that. So definite it was a cinch I’d be beating my head against a wall if I kept after him. I’ve used my noggin to dent a few walls in my time. All that banging has taught me how to tell when it’s going to be the head and not the wall that gets broken.

I dropped it. “Who’s the new girl?”

He shrugged. “They come and go. They don’t stick for a while, you never find out. Calls herself Candy. That’s not the truth. Why?”

My turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Something different about her. She’s having fun.”

“Get those sometimes. Do it for the kick. Takes all kinds to make a horse race, Garrett.” He tapped Barking Dog’s report. “What’s this shit say? He alive?”

“Same old Barking Dog, only going bonkers because the rain won’t let up long enough for him to preach.”

“Good. Next time, just tell me that. Never mind you bury me with five hundred pages of every time he picked a zit. I maybe agreed on expenses, but not on that much paper.”

I didn’t look at Hullar. He wasn’t in one of his better moods, but neither did he want to be left alone. Tenderloin people are that way. They want to spend time with somebody from outside who isn’t a customer or somebody with a moral ax to grind. They just want to feel like real people sometimes.

They are real people. Maybe realer than most. They’re more in contact with reality than are those who buy their time or those who condemn them. Their real sin is that they’ve shed their illusions.

Hullar missed his illusions. He wanted to be distracted from those nights when this was as good as it got. “Up for a story?” I asked.

“What kind?”

“Good guys and bad guys and lots of pretty girls. What I’m doing besides peeping Barking Dog.”

“Shoot. But don’t look for me to give you no help.”

“Gods forfend. It’s just an interesting mess.” I gave him most of it, edited where appropriate.

“That’s sick, Garrett. Real sick. I thought I heard of every freak there was, but this’s a new one. Them poor girls. And butterflies?”

“Butterflies. I don’t know if they’ve got anything to do with it.”

“Weird. You got a curse at work. Or something. Maybe you ought to find you a necromancer. Hey! I know. I know a guy, weird but real good, goes by Dr. Doom—”

“We’ve met. I don’t think he’d be much help.” Weird for sure, Doom was more fraud than expert. I think. He did have a knack for laying ghosts. I’d bring him in if that was what it took.

Hullar shrugged. “You know your situation.”

“Yeah. Desperate.” I eyed the happy brunette. “In more ways than one.” I wondered if there might not be something to the idea of apologizing to Tinnie. Fate wasn’t throwing anything else my way.

Hullar saw me looking. He snickered. “Go ahead, Garrett. Give it your best shot. But I’ll tell you this. Candy’s all talk and no play. She’s the kind that, far as she’s concerned, it’s good enough to know she could’ve got you if she wanted. She gets you there, she starts looking for the next one.”

“Story of my life.” I levered myself off my stool. “Catch you later. Got an appointment with an overcooked roast.”

32

Dean does miracles when he wants. The roast wasn’t a disaster, considering. The go-alongs were excellent. I ate till I was ready to pop. Then, though it was early, I rambled into the hall and stared upstairs, awaiting a flood of ambition. It was a long climb to a cold, lonely bed.

This is where the sad strings are due—only with my luck, the orchestra would whip into an overture.

Right. It wasn’t mood music I got, it was: Garrett! Come report. Not quite an overture. But close enough.

No point arguing. The sooner done, the sooner to sleep.

What sleep? When I finished telling about my visit to Hullar I got: I want you to go back there. Work the Tenderloin for the next nine evenings. Spend time with that Candy.

“Huh?”

A notion has been brooding in the back of my rear brain. Your assessment of Candy as out-of-place hatched it.

“Huh?” What repartee. “What about all the legwork? The research on olden villains?”

Take care of that days. Work the Tenderloin nights, watching for young ladies off the Hill amusing themselves by playing lower-class roles.

It clicked. Candy. Chodo’s kid. High-class girls hanging out in low-class dives. For the kicks? Not unlikely. “If that’s some fad—”

I will ask Captain Block to revisit the families of the dead girls. I may have interviewed the wrong people. Sisters and girlfriends might have been wiser. Parents are the last to know what their youngsters are doing.

“You may be onto something.” Only a few victims had known one another, and that only casually. But if you put sisters and girlfriends and a fad for slumming into the gaps, you might find a pattern.

We might indeed.

“What do I look for?”

Girls who fit the killer’s particulars. Maybe we can identify the next victim before she is taken. We have nine days before the killer must slake his need. If the pattern proves out, if the girls were playing games, we will know how and where the killer selects his victims. With Captain Block’s help we can watch all potential victims and grab our man when he strikes.

“I’m way ahead of you now. Only, do we have to start tonight?”

TNT, Garrett. You have not been shortchanged on sleep recently.

True. And I was too fired up to sleep now anyway. Might as well go drink beer and ogle girls in the line of duty.

Hell. All of a sudden this mess had begun to look a little interesting.

TunFaire by night becomes a different city. Especially when there’s no rain. It had stopped raining. For the moment. I carried my raincloak over one arm and strolled, checking out the nightside.

The ratman hordes were about their legitimate tasks of cleaning and illegitimate tasks of removing everything not nailed down. Kobolds and gnomes and numerous varieties of little people dashed here and there on business. Sometimes I wonder how so many peoples can live side by side with so little contact. Sometimes I think TunFaire is a whole series of cities that just happen to occupy the same geographical position.

I saw a troll family, obvious bumpkins, gaping at the sights. I got propositioned by a giantess of ill repute who was, evidently, suffering a business slump. I ran into a band of goblins riding red-eyed hounds that looked more wolfish than domesticated. I’d never seen goblins before. I walked with them a ways, swapped stories.

They were bounty hunters. They specialized in tracing runaway wives. They were a ferocious, unpleasant bunch clinging grimly to an old trail. The goblin woman they were after was, evidently, smarter than the bunch of them put together.

They had plans for when they caught up. They never doubted they could outlast a mere woman.

It would seem wives are a premium commodity amongst goblins, where five or six males are born for every female. Goblins don’t go in for polyandry or equal rights or homosexuality or any of that wimp stuff. Real macho men, male goblins. One-third will die in fights over females before age twenty-three.

I watched the hunters ride off and didn’t blame goblin wives for cutting out first chance they got.

I encountered several families of centaurs, refugees from the Cantard, working together, doing bearer-type jobs. What a concept. Jackasses with the brains and hands to load and unload themselves.

I have almost as little love for centaurs as I do for ratmen. The only centaur I ever knew well was a thorough villain.

There were dwarves everywhere. Day and night, TunFaire teams with dwarves. They’re industrious little buggers. All they do is work. If they could figure out how, they’d do without sleep.

What you don’t see much of at night, outside certain areas, is human people. You do see a human, be careful. Chances are his intentions aren’t honest or honorable.

That, in fact, can usually be counted on to get you by—if you’re young and strong and don’t look an easy mark. Most people will stay away. Only the nastiest, craziest bad boys prey on other bad boys.

Hell. There I go giving the wrong impression. What I’m talking about is late nights, after the entertainment hours. Much later than it was then. People were out. I wasn’t seeing them because I wasn’t following the streets they usually chose for safety.

Sometimes I tempt fate.

At one point I joined several ratmen in a fast fade into an alley. We watched a gang of ogres tramp past, grumbling and cussing. They were headed for the north gate, on their way to hunt thunder-lizards. Night is the best time to hunt them. The beasts are sluggish then. There’s good money in thunder-lizard hides. They make the toughest leather.

I don’t like ogres much either, but wished this bunch luck. The southward migration of the thunder-lizards has been rough on the farmers, who have been losing both fields and livestock. More, it’s always nice to see an ogre doing something honest. You don’t very often.

33

Crunch recognized me right away. He plopped a pint onto the bar. “You back?”

“No. It’s my evil twin.”

He thought about that, couldn’t make sense of it, asked, “Need to see Hullar?”

“Wouldn’t hurt. If he’s not busy.”

“Hullar’s never busy. Got nothing to do.” Off he went. He didn’t step on his beard this time either. He was a magician.

I scanned the place. Business had dropped off, but the girls were still occupied. There were two I hadn’t seen before. Two daytime girls were gone. The new girls were a blond and a brunette not of the sort at risk. Both seemed out-of-place.

Maybe the Dead Man was right. Maybe the girls were slumming.

The streets are no place to play if you don’t know them. You’ll make more than your share of lethal mistakes if you come down off the Hill wearing your arrogances and assumptions. The natives won’t be impressed.

Of course, if it’s a game, maybe you’ll forget your superiorities while you’re playing. Until you get into a tight place.

Hullar waddled out, dragged himself up onto a stool, sucked up a beer Crunch had waiting, scanned the action, shrugged. You couldn’t disappoint Bishoff Hullar. A man after my own heart, he expected the worst. “Slumming, Garrett?”

“Not exactly.”

“I can’t believe you’ve taken a shine to the place. A man with your rep.”

“No. This has to do with that other thing I’m working.”

“The murders. You didn’t tell me there was another one last night.”

Word was getting around. “I got to thinking over supper. About Candy and the girl who wasn’t in here the other day, that you and Crunch never saw and don’t know. Occurred to me the rich girls might be playing bad girls, just for fun. Like the blond and brunette, there. Don’t look like the sort I’d expect in here.”

“Uhm?”

“You know the Tenderloin, Hullar. You know what’s going down. There a fad among the rich girls, bored because the guys are off to war?”

“How come you want to know?”

“Maybe my girl-killer spots his victims down here. Maybe I can spot him looking for his next target.”

“You in the guardian-angel racket?”

I grunted.

“You been out of touch, Garrett. Yeah. The rich broads been coming down. Not just the kids, neither. Them that only want into it at the edge work places like mine. The wild ones, mostly older ones, end up peddling their asses at the Passionate Witch or Black Thunder or someplace. The outfit goes easy on them. They’re good for business. You got a skillion lowlifes would love to throw the pork to some high-tone lady.”

“I understand the psychology.”

“Don’t we all. Don’t we all. And that’s what’ll cause the trouble.”

“Hmm?”

“Good for business, having all this fine young stuff down here. Gotten a lot of cash moving despite the weather. But how long before their fathers and husbands catch on? Then what do we got? Eh?”

“Good point.” The parents wouldn’t be pleased. And, human nature being what it is, the girls wouldn’t get the blame. The richer people are, the less they seem able to hold their kids responsible for their actions. “How many of them you figure there are?” Couldn’t be a lot or there would’ve been a lot of excitement already.

“I don’t get around much, Garrett. I ain’t out there counting heads and figuring who’s working the Tenderloin why. You know what I mean?”

“I know.”

“But they do stand out. People talk. You ask me, tops, there’s maybe been a hundred. Biggest part is over now. Just a few come-latelies and them that gets a special jolt from going bad. You got maybe thirty these days, mostly hard-core. Ones like my Candy are the exception now. Whole thing’ll be dead in two months.”

“They’ll find some other game.”

Hullar shrugged. “Could be. I don’t worry about rich kids.”

“Makes you even. They don’t worry about you.” I eyed Candy. Didn’t look like I’d get a chance to talk to her. She had a couple of sailors on the string. Hullar or Crunch would have to do some bouncing if she led them on too far.

“Going somewhere?” Eagle-eye Hullar had noticed me getting up.

“Thinking about eyeballing any other girls I can find. Any suggestions where to look?”

“You want just brunettes? Candy’s type?”

“Basically.”

He got thoughtful. He wasn’t concentrating on my problem, though. He had one eye on Candy’s sailors. He was getting steamed. “Crystal Chandelier. The Masked Man. The Passionate Witch. Mama Sam’s Place. I seen your type all them places, one time or another. Not saying they’s any there now. These gals, they come and go. Don’t do regular hours, neither.”

“Thanks, Hullar. You’re a prince.”

“Eh? What’s that?” Crunch snarled suddenly. He came up from behind the bar with a nasty club. “You want to watch your mouth, boy.”

Hullar shook his head. “Prince!” he yelled in Crunch’s ear. “He called me a prince. Got to pardon him, Garrett. He lip-reads. Sometimes he don’t do so good.”

Crunch put his stick away but didn’t stop scowling. He wasn’t sure he ought to trust his boss over his imagination.

Everywhere I go, I get involved with screwballs.

34

The Crystal Chandelier, as the name implied, pretended to have class. Hill girls would be just what the management ordered. I headed there first. I was in and out in the time it took to slurp a beer. I didn’t learn anything except that somebody there knew my face and didn’t like what I did for a living.

I did better at the Masked Man. I knew somebody there.

The name of the place was appropriate again. People donned masks before they showed themselves inside. Likewise, those who worked the place. The Masked Man catered to a select clientele.

The guy I knew was a bouncer, a breed nine feet tall with muscles on his muscles and more between his ears than anywhere else. I downed three beers before he understood what I wanted to know. Even then he wouldn’t have talked if he hadn’t owed me. And what he had to say wasn’t worth hearing. Only one Hill-type gal worked the Masked Man these days, a blond so screwed up she scared the owners. He hadn’t seen a brunette in weeks. The last had quit her second night. But he did remember her name, Dixie.

“Dixie. Right. That’s useful. Thanks, Bugs. Here. Have a beer on me.”

“Hey, thanks, Garrett. You’re all right.” Bugs is one of those guys who are always amazed when you do something nice, no matter how trivial. You’d think after a while the whole world would be nice just to watch him be amazed.

I drifted over to the Passionate Witch. The Witch was strange, even for the Tenderloin. I never quite understood the place. A lot of girls worked there, mostly dancing, mostly without wearing much. They were very friendly. They’d crawl all over you if they thought you might stuff a mark into their pants. They were available, but not to everyone. There was a kind of bid board. The girls worked the crowd, getting guys drunker and randier and driving the bidding up till closing. A crafty girl could pull more with one trick there than some who worked all night the traditional way.

Whatever will separate a mark and his money. It’s there in the Tenderloin.

“Ever see so many bare boobs in one place, Garrett?”

I jumped. You don’t expect your friends in those places.

I hadn’t found one. “Downtown. Been a while. Nope. Never. And I shouldn’t be seeing some of these here now.”

Downtown Billy Byrd was the guy they’d had in mind when they’d decided somebody looked like a ferret. He was a walking stereotype. He looked slimy-sneaky and was. He spied on people, sold information to anyone who’d pay. I’d used him myself, which is how he knew me.

Downtown wore a lot of junk jewelry and flashy clothing. He carried a long-stemmed ivory pipe. He tapped its mouthpiece against his teeth, pointed it at a woman. “Case in point?”

“Right. Bigger don’t always mean better.”

“She was something before gravity set in.” Downtown Billy Byrd was the kind who’d think gravity sets in. “You working, Garrett?”

I didn’t have much use for Downtown’s type but I stayed polite. I wasn’t spending much. It’d help if I stuck with somebody whose cheapness was accepted. Else I might get asked to take my questions to the street.

“Would I be here if I wasn’t?”

“Half the guys here would say that if I asked.”

I understood, then, what Downtown was doing in the Passionate Witch. He was working. Looking for faces he might sell later. I told him, “I’m working.”

“Something maybe I can help with?”

“Maybe. I’m looking for a girl. A special kind. Brunette, seventeen to twenty-two, five-feet-two to five-ten, long hair, reasonably attractive, high-class.”

“You don’t want much, do you? She got a name?”

“No. It’s a type. I’m interested in any woman like that working the Tenderloin.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“Because some creep is snatching them and cutting their guts out. I want to find him so I can explain why we don’t consider that behavior socially acceptable.”

Downtown eyed me a moment, weasel mouth open. “Come on over here, Garrett. I got a table with some pals.”

I followed but feared it was a mistake. Byrd ran his mouth steadily. How long before word spread? I wouldn’t catch anybody if the girls hid out and the bad guys lay low.

Downtown led me to the worst table in the dive. You had to send carrier pigeons to the bar. Waiters got lost trying to get back there.

Downtown’s two pals looked sleazier than he did. Cheap flash must have been in, along with mustaches.

They had bought their night’s supplies before lighting.

“Sit, Garrett.” There was a spare chair. “Shaker, give the man a beer.”

“Screw you, Byrdo.” Shaker had a palsy. He had a face like a rat’s. It was loathing at first sight. “What you giving away our beer?”

“Don’t be a butthead, Shaker. Business. The man might maybe be in the mood to buy. We got something he might want.”

Shaker and Downtown glared at one another while the third man contemplated the secrets inside a beer bottle. Then Shaker pushed a bottle my way. It was the old-fashioned stone kind, not used by commercial breweries anymore. Which meant the beer inside was cheap stuff from a one-man cellar operation, fit only for the poorest of the poor. My stomach started whimpering before the first blast headed south.

I couldn’t be intimidated. We investigators fear no beer. Besides, I’d swilled so much already that it had become hard to care what went down next.

Downtown didn’t introduce anybody. Common practice on the street. Nobody wanted anybody to know them. But Downtown didn’t bother not dropping names, either. “Garrett’s looking for a guy that snatches girls.” He looked at me. “Cuts them open, right? The one doing the jobs we been hearing about?”

I nodded, sipped from my bottle, was pleasantly startled. That was damned good for cellar beer. I found the trademark. It didn’t match that on the other bottles, so the brewer was putting his product up in whatever came his way. Too bad. I said, “Way I figure it, he grabs rich girls working the quarter for kicks. I expect he scouts them before he grabs them. I want to spot him doing it before he snatches the next one.”

Downtown eyed Shaker. “What do you say now, butthead?”

I asked, “There something that I’m not getting, Downtown?”

“One minute, Garrett.” He kept looking at Shaker.

“Well?” His minute had flown.

“I figure you got somebody big behind you, Garrett. Some girl’s father. Maybe a bunch of them. Somebody what’s got more money than sense and is out to buy revenge. Right?”

“Something like that.” Downtown’s bunch would melt like salted slugs if I told them who was paying.

“Somebody that might pay damned good if somebody handed them the whole thing on a platter?”

“I don’t think you can, Downtown. You’re shucking me. Running a game. You heard I was asking around. You decided to see if you couldn’t rip me off.”

Wound a man to the heart. Downtown Billy was in pain. “Garrett! My man! This is me! Your old buddy, Downtown Billy Byrd. I never done you wrong.”

“Never was anything in it for you.”

“You just being nasty. You know that ain’t my style.”

He’d never gotten caught. Everything was his style if he thought he could get away with it. “So I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. What’ve you got?”

“I tell you, then I don’t got nothing to sell.”

“I’m not buying a pig in a poke, Downtown. I’ve got enough cats already.”

His face screwed up into a frown that had to hurt. He didn’t understand. In the old days, less-than-scrupulous peasants sold gullible city folks baby pigs in tied sacks. Only when the sacks were opened, out jumped some very unhappy cats.

“All right, Garrett. I got your point. Here’s the way it is. Gal like the one you’re looking for, name of Barbie, worked here up to last night. Ain’t in tonight, you’ll notice.”

“So?”

“So the bidding went outrageous. Way high. And when it come time for her to deliver her half, two guys come in to pick her up and take her somewhere, not upstairs.”

It might be a lead. But I was less than excited. I’d dealt with Downtown before. He’d try to make a mountain out of some molehill and sell it for a fortune.

“You aren’t impressing me yet. It isn’t unusual for the high bidder to take his prize home. Not even unusual for him not to show his face.”

“He showed his face when he was bidding. Scruffy little dink. Like a bum somebody cleaned up, but not much. Definitely not no high roller.”

“Was a bum.” That was the third man. Downtown grinned. “Dickiebird says he seen the guy before, on the down-and-out. Anyway, it all looked funny. We decided to scout it out. You never know what might be handy to know. Like, here you are already, wanting to know what we saw.”

“Maybe I do. What did you see?”

“You want it all for free, don’t you? No way, Garrett. We got to live too. You ain’t heard enough to know if you want more, then you’re gonna have to do without.”

I pretended to study it. Then I dug out a few small coins. “I’m interested. But you’ll have to talk a lot more than you’ve done.”

Downtown traded looks with his pals. They had to trust his judgment. That put them in a spot I hoped I’d never occupy. I’ve never understood how Downtown survived his five in the Cantard.

“Going to take a chance, Garrett. Going to tell you more than I would anybody else, but only on account of I know you. On account of I trust your rep for playing square.”

“My hair’s getting gray.”

“Looks to me like it’s falling out. Whoa! Touchy!”

“Talk, Downtown.”

“Right. Always in a hurry. Here it is. The two guys that come in for Barbie put her into a coach with the dink that did the bidding. Only he’d changed somehow. Gotten spooky. She didn’t want to go, but he grabbed her. I thought maybe I’d give her a hand, only the guy’s eyes got weird.”

“Green?”

“Yeah. Like green fire.”

“You’re holding my interest, Downtown. But if that’s all you’ve got . . . ”

“Shaker knew one of the guys helped push her into the coach.”

“Ah!”

“I don’t know him, see,” Shaker said. “It’s like I seen him around. He’s not somebody I pal with, like Downtown. Just a guy I seen around.”

“Here’s the one that makes or breaks you, guys. You know where to find him?”

Shaker said, “I know where he cribs.”

I dropped coins on the table. “I’ll be back in a while. I’m going to bring a guy to talk to you. If you put us together with this guy you know, he’ll fill your pockets.” I was out of there before any of them could respond.

35

Morley had company. I had to wait. Then wait. Then wait some more. While I waited, Saucerhead came in. I waved. He joined me, glumly. “Cheer up. I need some muscle,” I told him.

“Like now?”

“Right away. Unless your investments—”

“Can’t wait?”

“Would I be . . . ? What’s the matter?”

“Just don’t feel like it, Garrett. Not in the mood.”

“Since when do you have to be in the mood to make yourself a mark?”

“Hey, busting heads ain’t all the fun it looks like, Garrett.”

“I know. I know.”

“How would you? You don’t wale on nobody unless—”

“You feel good enough to pick up a few coppers running a message?”

“I guess. Yeah. I could handle that.”

I sent him to fetch Captain Block. If I had to wait around forever for Morley to finish playing, I might as well pull in the money man while I did.

I did wait. And I waited. And then I waited. I waited so long I got sober. No Morley. Block and Tharpe showed up, dripping. It was raining again. I thought some more about getting into the boat business. When Morley still showed no sign of growing bored with his guest, I said, “The hell with him. We can handle it without him. Let’s go.”

Block was relieved. He didn’t think it would be politic for him to associate with a professional killer.

Saucerhead said, “I’ll tag along.”

“Thought you weren’t in the mood.”

“Maybe I’ll change moods.”

“It’s raining out there.”

“It’s always raining. Let’s go.”

Block said very little till we enjoyed the privacy of the street. “I hope this is something good, Garrett. I need it.”

“Yeah?”

“Pressure again. You don’t feel it down here. The Hill is in a panic. Some people up there are carrying on like the Venageti were at the gates. I need something fast. Anything.”

“Tell you what. This doesn’t pan out, you pass the word for them to keep their daughters out of the Tenderloin.”

“Give me a break, Garrett.”

“I mean it. There’s a fad amongst the deb set. Go down and play sleazegirl. That won’t make their fathers happy, but it’s a fact. It looks like our killer picks his victims from rich girls working the quarter.”

“That won’t make anyone happy.”

“Not when it gets out. You recall, none of the stories we got about the victims ever mentioned anything like that. I think we talked to the wrong people. People who didn’t know and didn’t guess because the bodies weren’t found near the quarter.”

“Maybe some suspected. I can think of several stories that sounded like somebody trying to make somebody look good.” Block sniffed, grunted, hawked. He was working on a cold. “We get lucky, maybe we won’t have to deal with any of that.”

“We don’t get lucky, maybe we can let the word get around without it looking like it’s your fault. It will come out if this goes on much longer.”

Block grunted again.

I glanced over my shoulder. My instincts were right. We were being followed. “Did you maybe bring a few helpers?”

Block glanced back. “Yeah. They’re mine. Clumsy, aren’t they?”

“They don’t get much practice.”

“Thought it might be handy having a few guardian angels hovering.”

“Aw. You don’t feel comfortable in the Tenderloin?”

“Make fun while you can, Garrett. Things are gonna change.”

Nice talk, but I wouldn’t put one copper on it. Good intentions can’t overcome the inertia of decades.

We reached the Passionate Witch. I checked my companions before I went inside. Tharpe was fine. And Block didn’t look like the law. “We’re going to be talking to some real lowlifes. Let me do all the jawing. No matter what. Understand?”

Saucerhead said, “Means you, Captain. You want to lose these guys fast, let them get a notion what you are.” I gave Tharpe the fish eye. He said, “I know Downtown Billy Byrd, Garrett. Bottom of the barrel.”

I said, “I’m going to try to bring them out here. You bring money?” I asked Block.

“Some. I won’t let them rob me.”

“They don’t have imaginations that big. What they’d call robbery you’d call a tip.” I shoved into the Passionate Witch.

The evening was fading but Downtown and his pals were hanging on, nursing their stone beer bottles, waiting for opportunity to knock. I knocked. Downtown grumbled, “I thought you forgot us.”

“Had trouble finding my man.”

“Huh?”

“Guy I work for. One who wants to know what you know. He’s outside. Wants to listen. He brought money. You ready to deal?”

“Now?”

“You want to wait for the King’s birthday? He don’t have time to waste.”

“Why don’t he come in? It’s wet out there.”

“He don’t want to show his face. You have to get wet anyway. You got to show us the way, right?”

“I guess. Shaker. Take care of the bottles.” To recover their deposits, of course. “Dickiebird. C’mon.”

I led the way. Downtown and Dickiebird followed like they counted on trouble. Each kept a hand inside his shirt. Knives. Shaker wasn’t near the bar, getting deposit refunds. He’d vanished. “Awful nervous, aren’t you, Downtown?”

“Think about it, Garrett. We got a bunch of murders, Hill gals what probably got daddies that eat no-counters like you and me for snacks. Could get hairy.”

“Sure could.” I didn’t like being included in his no-count family. I’m at least a one-counter. “But it hasn’t yet. We’re counting on what you tell us fixing it so it never does.”

“Yeah?” He was starting to think about holding me up.

Block stepped out of the shadows. “These the men?” Saucerhead wasn’t to be seen. Somebody had to watch for Shaker. Block looked damned evil in a bad light. He might do.

“Yes. They say they think they saw the last victim, who called herself Barbie, get snatched. They think they knew one of the snatchers.”

Block eyed Downtown and Dickiebird. “What’s the deal?”

“Huh?”

I asked, “You have a plan, Downtown? You got a price? Talk to us.”

“Uh. Oh.” Downtown looked around for eavesdroppers, or maybe to see if Shaker had him covered. “Yeah. Like this. You pay half now. We show you where to find your guy. He’ll be home, I guarantee.” Like he’d maybe checked while I was collecting Block. “He don’t go out. You pay us off. We split. You forget you ever saw us.”

“Not bad,” I said. “Only let’s make it you get the other half after we grab the guy and make sure he’s the one you saw.”

“Garrett! Take it easy, man. He’ll know who fingered him.”

“If he’s the real thing, you won’t have to worry about what he knows,” Block said. “How much?”

Downtown tried to get a better look at Block. “This don’t sound like nobody off the Hill, Garrett.”

“Don’t worry about where he comes from. Worry about earning his money.”

“Yeah. Right. We figured about thirty marks would be fair. Ten apiece.”

Small men have small ambitions. Block had trouble keeping a straight puss. He jingled coins, handed me three gold five-mark pieces. I passed them to Downtown, who stared at them in the light leaking from the Passionate Witch. “Damn.” He was stunned by the certainty that he’d just blown a rare opportunity.

“Too late, son,” I told him when he started to say something. “You set the price. Time to deliver.”

“Uh. Yeah.” He led off.

36

We walked maybe a mile, into an area of dense tenements occupied mostly by newcomers to TunFaire. Reasonable enough. The man we wanted couldn’t have been in town long. Only the ignorant would’ve gotten into what he had.

Downtown and Dickiebird led us to a four-story row place in the middle of a long block. Pure people storage, though more upscale than most. Depressing.

The clouds parted, let a moonbeam sneak through. It was the only light, but I didn’t complain. It was nice to have the drizzle stop, even for a little while. Downtown said, “Top floor, rear door. Hired a sleeping room all to hisself.”

“You did a lot of research, Downtown.”

His weasel face stretched in a nasty smile. “I knew somebody was going to want the goods on this one.”

Block growled but stifled his opinion. Even starry-eyed idealists knew you couldn’t sell TunFaire’s people the idea of civic responsibility. Not after they’d watched their betters do nothing but look out for themselves for centuries.

“Top-floor rear,” I grumbled, thinking of the climb. “Inconsiderate bastard.”

“Right. You get him out, we’ll finger him, we’ll all go home. Right?”

“Right. Saucerhead?”

Tharpe materialized. He lugged a limp Shaker over one shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Just making sure you were there.” Why had he bopped Shaker? Maybe just for the hell of it.

Block said, “Ripley, scout the place out.”

Shadows detached from shadows. Downtown gawked as two men entered the row building. He knelt beside Shaker, muttered about maltreatment and distrust. I asked, “If you was us, would you trust you?” He didn’t have an answer for that.

Block’s man returned, puffing. “Somebody’s in there, all right. He’s snoring. There’s only one door. Ain’t no other way out. Unless there’s a window.”

Downtown volunteered, “There is. If he’s got real spring in his legs, he could maybe jump across to the roof behind this place.”

I said, “If he’s asleep, he shouldn’t have time to get up, open a window, make a jump.”

“Better let me make sure,” Saucerhead suggested, gently pointing out that he was the specialist.

“All right.”

Saucerhead and Block and I went upstairs while Ripley went around back, just in case. We tried to be quiet, but there’s something about your step when you’re headed for trouble. I sensed sudden fear and alertness behind those doors where people were awake.

Block’s other man waited upstairs. Block whispered, “Still snoring?”

He had to ask? Hell, yes, he was still snoring. I never heard anything like it. That ripping and roaring had to be one of the wonders of the world. “Careful,” I told Saucerhead. He nodded.

Everybody got out of Tharpe’s way. He seemed to swell up, then charged. The door exploded. Though I was right behind Saucerhead, it was over before I could contribute anything. Meat hit meat, snores turned to baffled groans, Saucerhead said, “Got him under control.”

I said, “Take him downstairs.”

Tharpe grunted. Block slid around, opened the window. “Got him, Ripley. Get around front.”

We clumped downstairs. I smelled the fear from behind those doors we hadn’t destroyed. The more I thought how this was for those people, the less I liked what I was doing.

Our prisoner was groggy when we hit the street. Block demanded, “Is this the man?”

Downtown and Dickiebird stayed out of the moonlight while edging closer. “Yeah,” Dickiebird said. “That’s him.”

I asked, “You saw this man help put the girl into the coach?” I was playing a role now and Saucerhead was good enough to catch my cues. I believed Dickiebird. The prisoner was one of the men who’d tried to kidnap Chodo’s daughter. We had a different killer but the same assistants, apparently.

“That’s the guy, Garrett,” Downtown insisted. “What do you want? Come on. Pay up.”

Block had his helpers take the prisoner while he paid up. “You know these three men, Garrett? In case this is a con and I want to find them?”

“I know them.” I was still reserving the incident at Morley’s place, couldn’t explain my confidence in them.

“Hey, Garrett! I ever do a number on you?”

“Not yet, Downtown. Go on. Enjoy yourselves.” A man could make ten marks go a long way in this part of town.

Downtown and his buddies flew off like the breeze. With money in hand, they would be hard to find. For a while.

“You want to help with the questioning?” Block asked.

“Not particularly. Only if you insist. What I want is to go to bed. I’ve been knocking myself out finding this lead. I do want to hear what you find out from him.”

“Sure.” He shook my hand. “Thanks again, Garrett. Winchell. Get him moving.”

I didn’t say, “Anytime, Captain,” because he was the kind who would take me up on it.

37

The Dead Man wasn’t impressed. He refuses to be impressed by anything but himself. He’s afraid I’ll get a big head.

He did relent, though, when I returned from watching Block and his troops, with great fanfare, before numerous official witnesses, raid an abandoned brewhouse and nab a creepy old man who was, beyond doubt, the perpetrator of the most recent murder. Clothing and body parts were recovered. These monsters liked their souvenirs. Not to mention that the old boy spat a ton of butterflies, some poisonous, before they subdued him.

Subdued meant dead. Again. I didn’t see that part, but the dozen Watchmen they carried off on stretchers implied that Block was right when he insisted there had been no choice.

The Dead Man remarked, I do hope Captain Block exercises appropriate precautions.

“I think he will.”

Excellent. So it would appear that the matter is closed.

“Except for collecting from Block.”

Indeed. Take the rest of the evening off. Sleep in tomorrow.

“We’re sure generous with time that isn’t our own, aren’t we?”

Tomorrow you must resume the investigation as though nothing has been accomplished. Continue seeking Miss Contague. Try to identify potential victims. And take a closer look at this fellow you rooted out tonight. He may have had more than one associate.

“He did. But the other guy headed out of town before we finished arresting the first one. He lived in the same dump. So what the hell? You finally gone gaga? You think we got the wrong killer?”

I am confident your famous luck held and you swept up the very villain. But you got the right man before and Death did not miss a stroke.

“You don’t think it’ll take?”

I have strong hopes. But I think a wise man would prepare beforehand against the wiles of evil and the ineptitude of the Watch. It would be most excellent if everything worked out. But should it not, no time will have been wasted. Not so?

“All a matter of viewpoint. I’m not the guy who gets to sit here daydreaming. I’m the one who runs back and forth till his legs get worn down to the knees. I’m going to bed. Wake me up when the war’s over.”

Should the worst occur, you will regret having failed to take minimal precautions.

Sure. All right. So maybe I’d play with it some more. Just in case. What could it hurt? Did I have anything else going? Anyway, there were some pretty pretties around the edges of the thing. I might luck onto one who was sane and sociable.

Staying in just meant doing time with Dean’s cronies, anyway. The amount of beer those old boys were putting away while they were supposedly rehabbing upstairs, it would’ve been cheaper to hire professional help.

38

It was like nothing in my experience. I couldn’t fathom it. The Dead Man was frothing with ambition. He had hold of the case like a starving dog a bone. He wouldn’t let go.

It was easier to get out of the house, into the drizzle, and do legwork than it was to stay in and argue. Especially with Dean taking the Dead Man’s side.

It might be time to think about an apartment.

The Dead Man still had Block digging through the records too. Block was our best buddy now. We’d turned him into the Prince’s fair-haired boy. He was the hero of the Hill. His name was at the top of the short list to head the new, improved, serious, and hopefully useful Watch. What we hadn’t been able to get him to do was pay his bill. He meant to stiff us.

He said he’d pay up just as soon as he was sure we’d given him the permanent solution he’d wanted to buy. Right. He meant to stiff us.

I didn’t care if he was the Dead Man’s buddy. I didn’t care if he was tight with Prince Rupert. I had him on my list to turn over to the Saucerhead Tharpe collection agency.

Meantime, amidst all else, I maintained my thrilling surveillance of that ferocious threat to the peace, Barking Dog Amato, mainly by collecting his reports, skimming them, then passing a few appropriate comments to Hullar so he could give something to the daughter. Barking Dog’s autobiographical ambitions dwindled as he foresaw the advent of better weather. I was grateful, especially after he went into rehearsals for his new, more forceful act, designed with the help of the Dead Man.

Days hurried past. I lumbered around town trying to get some line on the old-time killings. I got nowhere. If there was any glory to be had, Block wanted his boys to get it. I wasn’t allowed access to any public records.

Evenings fled too. I made and lost friends in the Tenderloin. People down there were appalled by what had been done to those girls—but they were more appalled by what making potential future targets safe might do to business.

The consensus was, you got the guy. Don’t bother us.

The Dead Man fell back on an ancient and adolescent device for getting some of the women out of the Tenderloin. He sent anonymous notes to their families.

Six days after my amazing coup involving Downtown Billy Byrd, I told the Dead Man, “I’ve found the girl. In fact, I’ve found two of them. One of them would have to be it.”

Candy, at Hullar’s place, of course. And the other?

“Dixie Starr. She works Mama Sam’s Casino.”

Dixie Starr?

“Really. Call it her business name. Barbie was the only victim who came close to using her real name.” The most recent victim had been one Barbra Tennys, daughter of a viscount with obscure connections to the royal family, said family including Prince Rupert. Barbra’s mother was a stormwarden on duty in the Cantard. No proofs would convince her father that his daughter had been selling her favors at auction, for kicks, before reality slithered dread tentacles into the fantasy. “Dixie’s name came up before, at the Masked Man. This is a girl with problems. Candy, on the other hand, is a real innocent on the street. I don’t think it’ll be hard to find out who she is. I doubt she’d notice if I just followed her home.”

And the identity of the Dixie woman?

“I have it already. She’s Emma Setlow. Her father and grandfather are meat packers who found a better way to preserve sausages. They made their mint off army contracts.”

And you have gotten nothing useful from your search for information from the past?

“Block’s made sure I can’t get near any official records. From what I can see, though, he’s not doing much looking himself. Whatever he says. He’s too busy making political hay and spreading his influence throughout the entire Watch.”

I suspect he will change his attitude.

Damn if I didn’t think he knew something he wouldn’t share.

There came a dawn when there was an actual break in the rains. Dean became so excited that it was still dawn when he wakened me. I cussed and threatened, but he won out. He got me interested. What did daylight look like without rain? My body whined and dragged, but I hauled out and headed for breakfast.

Dean had the kitchen curtains back and the window open. “Place needs airing out.”

Probably. I shrugged, sipped tea. “Streets are going to be crazy.”

Dean nodded. “I need to do some shopping.”

I nodded back. “Barking Dog will launch his new show, the rain doesn’t start up. I can’t miss that.”

Everyone in town would find some excuse to get out, even knowing everyone else would be in the streets.

“At least the city will be clean,” Dean observed.

“It will. The rains lasted long enough for that.”

“Now, if people would just keep it that way.” He delivered a plate of biscuits, steaming, straight from the oven. Drooling, I left him to do the talking.

I didn’t hear it, which meant I’d grown distracted. That had been happening more and more as more and more the women of my heart became the women of my imagination. Anyway, I looked up and found the old boy absent. Puzzled, I started to get up. Then I heard him coming down the hall, talking. He’d answered the door. He’d let someone inside.

Going to have to have a talk with him.

“Someone” just had to be Captain Block.

“Not again,” I muttered loudly enough to be heard.

Dean set another place, poured tea. Block settled, went to work daubing a biscuit with honey. I ignored his existence.

“Not sure yet, Garrett,” Block said around a mouthful of biscuit. “May be trouble again.”

“Ain’t my problem. Ain’t going to be my problem. Only problem in my life is deadbeats.”

Block got hot, sudden and major. He thought we were trying to exploit his misfortune. He was right. But he’d set the terms. And I figured he was getting off cheap, considering the alternative.

Block cooled down before he risked speaking. “Garrett, do you recall the knives from the Hamilton place?”

“The ritual tools? What about them?”

“They’ve disappeared. We got them back when we went after Spender.” Spender having been the accursed bum in the abandoned brewery.

“Huh?”

“They was locked up in the barracks armory. I got space there for keeping evidence. I saw them there day before yesterday. Last night they was gone.”

“So?”

“Tomorrow night is the next time the killer would strike.”

“Wow. That’s right.” I laid on my most sarcastic tone, like I was amazed a Watchman could work that out.

“A Corporal Elvis Winchell, who was part of the raid force the other night, disappeared yesterday sometime. He had access to the armory. Apparently he and a Private Price Ripley were isolated with the killer’s corpse for about seven minutes during its trip to the oven.”

“And you’re afraid Winchell will—”

“Yes. I need your help again, Garrett.”

“It’s wonderful to be appreciated. It really is. But you’re talking to the wrong guy. You need to see my accountant.”

“Huh?”

I’d lost him. “The Dead Man. But he’s put out with you too. With me, it’s money, with him, it’s information.”

“Oh. Back to that.”

“Back to that. It’s the bottom line. I have a feeling that if you talk him into anything, he’ll insist on payment up front.”

Block didn’t argue. He didn’t dare. We were about to discover how desperate he really was. I passed him on to the Dead Man.

39

I slipped out while their backs were turned. It was going to be a long, dull argument. Block hadn’t yet panicked.

Negotiations are fun for the Dead Man. My tastes are more earthy, more basic. Maybe not as simple as a hotfoot, but not cerebral. It always helps if there’s a lady along. Especially if she’s no lady.

Barking Dog got the better of his crackpot religious squatter by showing up earliest. The nut was there when I arrived. He was sullen. He growled a lot. Amato tended his placards and ignored him. Barking Dog looked confident. He was ready.

His return had been noted. His normal audience consisted of functionaries who worked in the area. They kept an eye on him, wondering when he’d start raving. Speculation was rife. His absence had left him looking primed with fresh madness. His reappearance was a happening resented by a single soul.

The holy crackpot finally left in a huff.

Barking Dog’s venue is the Chancery steps. Seems appropriate, in a sense. In the old days the Chancery was a court of equity, but time changes everything. Today it’s mostly a place to store official records, civil type, for the duchy, plus some royal records. Half the main floor has been occupied by the functionaries who manage military conscription in this end of Karenta. They migrated from the military Chancery years ago, after having been crowded out by procurement offices that grow faster and faster as the war winds down.

The Chancery structure is a relic of the empire, built late, evidently with an eye to impress. To reach the huge brass doors of the main entrance, you have to climb eighty dark granite steps that span the entire front of the building. Each twenty steps there is a level stretch ten feet wide. Vendors and people like Barking Dog take advantage of those. If it can be sold from a tray hung from the neck, you’ll find it for sale outside the Chancery.

Amato’s spot was at the left end of the first landing. Most of the traffic in and out of the building naturally passed that way, plus Barking Dog was just high enough to be seen and heard easily from the street.

I planted myself on the stone rail alongside the next landing up, nodded to Barking Dog. He acknowledged my presence with a smile. He adjusted his placards. He had four, all on sticks with bases meant to hold them upright.

Whether entering the Chancery or just passing in the street, people slowed, paused, hoping the merriment would break out soon. Several clerk types accumulated, looking uncomfortable. Their superiors had sent them to keep track and to call when the nonsense began.

Barking Dog was as crazy as a herd of drunk possums, but he had his fans.

Judging from his placards, his text for the day would be a traditional crowd pleaser, the international conspiracy which denied Barking Dog Amato his rights and properties.

He let word spread before he spoke. He waited past the commencement of the business day. Then he started, soft and slow, without the brass megaphone, while word spread that he was starting.

I noticed something that had escaped me during more casual viewings. Barking Dog had him a kettle out, marked to encourage donations. Passersby surprised me with their generosity.

Maybe Amato was less the fool than I thought. Maybe this was how he paid for supplies. Maybe this was the whole point . . . No. That couldn’t be true. He’d live better than he did.

He started gentle and slow and sane, almost conversationally. His chats with the Dead Man had paid dividends. His soft voice arrested passersby, made them strain to hear. I couldn’t hear from behind him.

“Signs and portents,” he said when he did raise his voice slightly. “Yea! Signs and portents! The hour is coming! It is at hand! The wicked shall be revealed in all their ugliness. They shall be found out and rooted out, and we who have endured, who have borne their weight upon our shoulders till we have become hunchbacks, we shall see our agony repaid.”

I glanced around. Was there anybody here who might know me? That sounded suspiciously like he was going to take a plunge into sedition. That seemed an unwise career move to me. Sedition was the sort of talk that could get you thrown into a real prison—if you were dumb enough to talk it on the Chancery steps instead of at the bar in your neighborhood tavern. Outside, in broad daylight, it might sound serious instead of just bitching.

Ha! Fooled you, Garrett!

Everyone listening heard hunchbacks and jumped to the same conclusion. The crowd grew quieter, waited for Barking Dog to step into it up to his knees, then shove his foot in his mouth.

How come people get such a kick out of watching a disaster in progress?

Barking Dog veered off ninety degrees. “They have stolen my houses. They have stolen my lands. They have stolen my family titles. Now they strive to steal my good name so they can silence me when I denounce their wickedness. They had me incarcerated in the Al-Khar in their efforts to stifle me. They have tried to silence me through fear. But by stealing everything from me they have left me entirely without fear. They have left me nothing to lose. By stealing everything they have also taken those signs which remind them of who I am. They forget whom they consigned to vile durance.

“Kropotkin F. Amato will not yield. Kropotkin F. Amato will fight on so long as a single breath remains in his abused flesh.”

That was all old stuff, excepting the prison references. He began to lose his audience. But then he did something he’d not done before. He named names. And he started moving, stalking back and forth, flinging his hands around, shrieking in rage. Again I thought he was digging himself a grave, but then realized he’d named only names on the public record. And he hadn’t said anything objectionable about them, he’d just surrounded their names with racket that might nail them through guilt by association. The man was damned clever.

40

“The man’s damned clever.”

I bounced high enough to bruise my skull on low-flying clouds.

“I mean, using the truth to tell lies that way.” Crask had appeared out of nowhere, behind me.

I barked, “Why the hell you got to do that?”

He grinned. “Because it’s fun watching you jump.” He meant it. He would keep trying to make me jump till the day he really did greet me with a knife.

“What do you want?” My mood wasn’t what it had been.

“It’s not what I want, Garrett. It’s never that. It’s what Chodo wants. You know that. I’m just an errand boy.”

Right. And a saber-toothed tiger is just a pussycat. “I’ll play. What does the kingpin want?” I tried to keep one eye on Barking Dog. Amato was into a foaming-mouth frenzy now, excoriating and denouncing everyone and everything and drawing one of the best crowds of his career. But I couldn’t keep my mind on him with Crask so near.

Crask said, “Chodo wants to talk about the girl.”

“The girl?”

“Don’t get cute. She’s his kid. It ain’t right she’s down to the Tenderloin, whatever she’s doing there. That don’t look good. That can’t get out.”

“You don’t like it, tell her to knock it off.”

“There you go again. Cute. You know it ain’t that simple, Garrett.”

“Sure. It isn’t like she was some kid off the street, just slap her around, maybe kick in a few ribs when she don’t do right.”

“You got a problem with your mouth, Garrett. I been telling Chodo for a long time you got a problem with your mouth. For a while there he couldn’t see that. But he’s maybe seeing things clearer these days. You’ll maybe want to keep a lid on the wise-guy stuff when you see him.”

I always had . . . See him? I hadn’t planned to see that old coot ever again. I told Crask that.

“We’re all entitled to our opinions, and maybe even our little dreams, I reckon. But sometimes they got to change, Garrett.”

I glanced around. Crask wasn’t alone. Naturally. He’d brought enough help to carry off three or four uncooperative characters my size. “I suppose you have a point.” I stood, indicated he should lead the way.

I considered taking a powder. Barking Dog’s crowd might have made escape possible. But I had a feeling I wasn’t in danger. Yet. Had I reached the head of the kingpin’s list, they’d have just hit me. Killing was a businesslike business with Chodo and his main men. They didn’t waste time tormenting their victims—unless there was a big public-relations dividend to be gained from killing somebody an inch at a time.

“Pity to miss the rest of this.” I nodded at Barking Dog.

“Yeah. Old goof’s on a roll. But business is business. Let’s go.”

Our immediate destination stood at the curb on the far side of the Chancery. It was a big black coach similar to the one the old butterfly man had ridden. Chodo Contague’s personal coach.

“How many of these does he have?” It hadn’t been that long since I’d fallen out of a similar one scant seconds before it became a lunch bucket for a thunder-lizard taller than most three-story houses.

“This is a new one.”

“I figured.” Since it looked and smelled new. You can’t fool us trained investigators.

That other, earlier ride had sprung from a misunderstanding that had irked me at the time. So much so that I’d decided to whack Chodo before he came after me again. I’d joined forces with this very Crask to see the job done.

But Chodo was still alive, still in charge.

I couldn’t figure it.

Crask is smart but he isn’t much of a talker. It’s a long haul from the skirts of the Hill out to Chodo’s estate. You have plenty of time to consider the meaning of life. If you’re traveling with a Crask and a couple other stiffs who lack even the redeeming value of having brains, you tend to drift away into philosophy. There’s only so much amusement to be had from farting contests and exchanges of grotesque misinformation about female anatomy.

Try as I might, I couldn’t get anything better going. All I got out of Crask was an indefinite impression that there was more going on than he cared to tell me.

Which made perfect sense if he planned to break my neck. You don’t tell the pig ahead of time that it’s come the day for making bacon. All I had going was the dubious comfort I could take from knowing that Crask had no cause to go to all this trouble just to ice me.

I hadn’t seen Chodo’s place since the night Winger and I broke in planning to hasten Chodo’s journey to the promised land. Nothing appeared changed except that the damage had been repaired and a fresh herd of small thunder-lizards had been brought in to patrol the grounds and graze on intruders. “Just like old times,” I muttered.

“We’ve added a twist or two,” Crask informed me, grinning evilly, like he hoped I’d think he was bluffing and would have a go at sneaking in. That would appeal to his selective sense of humor.

41

Like old times. Chodo greeted his company in the pool room.

It was called that because there was a huge indoor bath in there. I’ve seen smaller oceans. The bath was heated. Usually—though this time was an exception—the poolside was decorated by a small herd of unclothed beauties, there just to lend that final touch of decadence.

While we waited, I asked, “Where are the honeys? I miss them.”

“You would. Chodo didn’t want them around while his daughter was staying here. He never got around to bringing them back.”

What did that mean? That the daughter wasn’t staying here anymore?

Patience, Garrett. All will come clear.

The man himself arrived, looking little changed. He was in his wheelchair with a heavy blanket wrapped around his lap and covering his legs. Hands like tallow claws lay folded upon his lap. I couldn’t see his face. His head had fallen forward. It swayed back and forth.

Sadler stopped him at the far end of the pool, fiddled with his chair, tilted him back so his head stayed level. I’d never seen Chodo in anything approaching good health, but now he seemed way worse than ever before. He looked like somebody had poisoned him with arsenic, then he’d suffered severe anemia till the vampires got him. His skin was almost translucent.

He was dressed and groomed as though for dinner with the King—and that only made the sight of him more horrible.

I started forward. Crask caught my arm. “From here, Garrett.”

Sadler bent to Chodo’s right ear. “Mr. Garrett is here, sir.” He spoke softly. I barely heard him.

Nothing shifted in Chodo’s eyes. I saw no light of recognition. I saw no evidence that he could see at all. His eyes didn’t move and didn’t focus.

Sadler leaned forward as though to let Chodo speak into his ear. He listened, then straightened. “He wants to know about his daughter.” No pretense about her now. “Whatever you know. All your speculations.”

“I already told you—”

“He wants to hear it. With everything you left out.”

Bullpucky. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to notice. Maybe they didn’t care if I did. Chodo’s lips hadn’t moved. He hadn’t done anything but drool.

I flashed back to the night we tried to scribble the end of his story. We—Crask, Sadler, Winger, and I—had had him cornered, along with a witch he’d been chasing. The witch did get herself elevated to a higher plane before Winger and I cut out, but she’d made a final gesture before checkout. She’d given Chodo a fist in the face. She’d been wearing a poison ring filled with snake venom.

So. Rather than killing Chodo, the venom had induced a stroke.

How nice for Crask and Sadler. They must have thought themselves beloved of the gods when that happened. Their original plan had been to do Chodo and grab control of the outfit before anyone realized what was happening. That was the historically preferred solution to the problem of the transition of power in the underworld. But it meant a long shake-out period while potential challengers were eliminated.

This way there was no problem with the succession. Chodo was alive. They could pretend he was still in charge while they gathered the reins slowly.

It was grotesque.

I played along.

Not playing along would be a capital crime, I suspected.

Much of the time I function well in tight situations. I didn’t betray my thoughts. I pursued a conversation with Chodo, through Sadler, as though I sensed nothing unusual.

I gave them a thorough briefing on the serial killer and young women frequenting the Tenderloin. Sometimes it’s best you don’t shield people from the truth.

“Seen her lately?” Sadler asked.

“Not since that day at Hullar’s.”

“You didn’t try to trace her?”

“Why? No. I lost interest once I knew who she was.”

“You’re not as dumb as you look,” Crask observed.

“Like you. Protective coloration.”

Sadler gave me the fish-eye. “You would’ve known who she was after seeing her at Dotes’s place.”

“Speaking of Morley, the reason I asked him to contact you is the girl might know something that would help stop this killer. And I didn’t figure hunting her up personally would—”

Sadler cut in, “You said the killer was dead.” He was determined to trip me up.

“Maybe. We hope. But he’s been dead before. The killings didn’t stop.”

“You don’t think they’re going to?”

“The ritual knives disappeared. A Watchman who was around the corpse and who had access to the knives has disappeared. That may not mean anything, but why take chances? I’ve identified two women who fit the victim profile. I’ll see them covered like a blanket.” Did I sound like I was making sense?

Sadler bent, stayed bent a long time, though Chodo’s lips never moved. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him that, sir.” He straightened. “Chodo says he has a job for you, Garrett. He wants you to find his daughter. He wants you to bring her home.”

“The resources he has, he can’t find her?”

“Not without everybody knowing he’s looking.”

Crask said, “He can’t go looking himself, Garrett. That would be like admitting he can’t control his own family.”

Yeah. And folks might even wonder why she’d run away. “I see.” I turned away, pretended to pace, finally stopped. “I can handle it. But I could use a little something to get started with. I mean, I don’t even know her name, let alone anything about her.”

“Belinda,” Crask said, “She won’t be using it.”

Teach your mama to suck eggs, boy. “Belinda? You’re kidding. Nobody’s named Belinda anymore.”

“After Chodo’s old granny.” The man didn’t crack a smile. “She raised him up until he was old enough to run the streets.”

Crask had a faraway look. I hoped he didn’t wax nostalgic about the old days. Chodo had a decade on him, so they couldn’t have run the bricks at the same time, but Crask and Sadler, like most of Chodo’s inside boys, had come into the business from the streets, with time out for special education at Crown expense, in the University of the Cantard.

“I can handle it,” I said again. I seldom demur when dealing with the kingpin face-to-face. A weakness of mine, being fond of breathing.

Sadler leaned down as though startled, listened. “Yes, sir. I’ll see to it, sir.” He straightened. “I’ve been instructed to advance you a hundred marks against your fees and expenses.”

Maybe it was the season, all these people throwing money my way. “I’m on the job,” I said. “Only I hope I don’t have to walk ten miles home.” Hint, hint. But I wouldn’t press the issue. I wanted out of there bad. Soon. Before there was anything more.

42

I thought a lot during the ride home, concluded that finding beautiful Miss Belinda Contague might not be healthy.

Crask and Sadler might consider me disposable once they had her in hand, under control.

My disposability probably had plenty to do with why they had chosen this particular investigator to investigate. There was one fine chance they figured I knew too much already. In fact, just to be optimistic, I was going to count on that.

So the one thing I had going for me was the fact that I hadn’t found the girl yet. As long as she stayed unfound, things would stay just dandy for me.

The more I thought, the more I was convinced I had to simplify my life. I didn’t have enough eyes to watch all the directions I needed to watch.

Night fell before I got home. With the darkness came rain, surprising me I don’t know why. Wasn’t like it was something new.

I headed up the front steps wondering how I could find Belinda Contague without seeming to find her, before I weaseled out of my troubles with Crask and Sadler.

“Where have you been?” Dean demanded before the door opened wide enough to admit me.

“What are you, my mother? You think it’s any of your business, you drop in while I’m explaining to His Nibs.” I could maybe drop a few housekeeping hints while I was at that. Anything to get a little cleaning done in there without having to do it myself.

Dean read me like a book. He was old and slow but far from senile. He harrumphed, headed for the kitchen, but halted as he came abreast of my office doorway. “I nearly forgot. You have a guest. In the small front room.”

“Oh?” A new cat, big enough to rip my leg off? Or Barking Dog on a midnight mission? . . . No. Amato would be across the way swapping insanities with the Dead Man. Evangelists?

Only one way to find out.

I opened the door.

Time passed. I finally came around when the woman cracked, “You like what you see? Or are you just a mouth breather?”

“Sorry. You weren’t what I was expecting.”

“Then put your eyes back in their sockets, Jocko. Why surprised?”

“Your father just drafted me to find you, Belinda. In his usual smooth-talking way, he offered me the job without giving me any chance to turn him down.”

That shut her up. She stared.

“His driver just now dropped me off.” 1 stared back. I liked what I saw. She didn’t hurt the eyes at all. She still preferred black. She still looked good in black. “You look marvelous in black. Not many women wear it so well.” She would look good in—or out of—anything. She had what it took, though I got the impression she was used to hiding it.

For the moment the cat had her tongue.

I wondered where Dean had the beast hidden.

Belinda didn’t match the victim profile tonight. Her hair was short, black as a raven’s wing, made more remarkable by the pallor of her skin and the brightness of her lip rouge. I wondered if the pale skin was a family look, if she would resemble her father in a few years. She looked pretty much the way she had at Morley’s place and not much the way she had at Hullar’s. At Hullar’s, probably wearing a wig, she’d fit the profile perfectly.

They’re a protean breed, women.

Oh, I love them, I do, I do, however they disguise themselves.

Belinda rose like she meant to make a run for it. “My father? My father is—”

“Your father is in less than total control of his faculties. His lieutenants—who hijacked me and dragged me out to the estate—made a big show of it being his idea. Oh. Excuse me. I’m Garrett. Dean said you wanted to see me. I’m glad, too. I’ve wanted to meet you since that night at the Joy House.”

She looked puzzled. “The Joy House?” She edged sideways. She’d changed her mind about wanting to see me.

“Weeks back. In the Safety Zone? You ran in and stole my heart. Then some brunos tried to steal you. Remember? Big black coach. Old boy with green eyes and butterflies on his breath? Your basic every-night weird kidnapping upset when the gallant knight of the streets rescued the distressed damsel?”

“You’ve been dieting. You were four inches taller and sixty pounds heavier then.”

“Ha. Ha. That was Saucerhead. He used to be my buddy. He helped me a little. My heart was broken when you didn’t stick around long enough to say thanks.”

“Thanks, Garrett. You’re blocking the doorway.”

“No shit? You’re quick. I told Saucerhead you’d be quick. I told everyone you’d be sharp. Is that a problem? Me not moving? I thought you wanted to see me.”

“That was before you told me you work for the ugly twins.”

“Did I say that? I didn’t say that. I couldn’t have said that. I have a long-standing reputation for refusing to work for them or your father—though I might let one or the other labor under the misapprehension.” I tried my famous boyish grin, guaranteed to set any girl’s little heart going pitty-pat.

“Stow the bullshit, Garrett. Let me out of here.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re not dragging me off to the uglies.”

“No way. Why would I do that? My life wouldn’t be worth two coppers if I did.”

“Mine either. Mine especially. I don’t really know about yours. Let me out of here.”

“Not till I hear why you came.”

“Doesn’t matter now. You aren’t the guy I need.”

“Because I know Crask and Sadler?” I shrugged as though trying to shake off a broken heart. “Can’t win them all. But you are the girl I need. I’ve been looking for you for weeks.”

“Why?”

“It’s about the people that tried to snatch you. You’re their only target that got away.”

She got real pale. That wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. She asked, “What do you mean?”

“You’ve heard rumors about the killer who strings girls up and guts them?”

“I’ve heard talk. I didn’t pay much attention.”

“That’s funny. I would’ve paid a lot of attention after somebody almost dragged me off.”

“Was that them?” She was grim, suddenly. Hard, like her father.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” In a small voice. An I feel foolish voice.

“You and me, we’re the only ones who ever saw him face-to-face and lived.” She didn’t really need to remember Saucerhead, did she? “And I only saw him for a second. You must’ve had more to do with him and his boys. You were running from them when you showed up at Morley’s.”

“I was working part-time at Bishoff Hullar’s Dance Parlor. I don’t know why. For the hell of it. I didn’t do anything but dance. Some girls I knew used the place to make dates.”

“I know the scam.”

“One night—that night—two men tried to pick me up. Their boss had seen me, they said. He wanted to meet me. I’d be well paid for my time. I said no. They persisted. I told them to eat shit and die. They wouldn’t take no for an answer. Hullar had to run them out. But they didn’t go away. They tried to grab me when I left work.”

Plausible. Some guys think that when a woman says no she’s only being coy, possibly because so many women have only been being coy when they’ve said no. From what I saw at Morley’s that night, those guys hadn’t been long on social skills. “Why the Joy House? Funny place to run.”

“Morley Dotes. I hoped his reputation would scare them off long enough to give me time to think. Then, when they came in, I hoped Dotes would get upset about them getting physical inside his place.”

“He did.”

“I couldn’t run to my father’s people. I would’ve had to explain why I was in the Tenderloin in the first place.”

“What about the guy who wanted to meet you so bad?”

“I guess that was him in that coach. That was the only time I ever saw him.”

Well, hell. Wonderful. She’d be no help unless the Dead Man found something she didn’t know she knew. “Great. Back to where I started. So. Even though you’ve changed your mind, how come you’re here? What’s up?”

She studied me. “I think he’s after me again. Anyway, it’s somebody with that same smooth style, sending guys to talk for him. I got scared. I heard you were straight. I thought you could get him off my back.”

The butterfly man had good taste if not good intentions. Belinda wasn’t dressed for it, but she couldn’t hide the fact that she was a looker. Her mother must have been something. She hadn’t gotten those looks from her father.

“I could discourage him. Why’d you change your mind? Because I mentioned your father?”

“Because of Crask and Sadler. I’m not going to let them profit from what happened to my father. And they know it.”

Should I reveal my past role? Tell her Crask and Sadler had done nothing but exploit a situation that had fallen into their laps? Didn’t seem the best strategy. “There’s never been any love lost between me and the uglies. When they were your dad’s top boys they strained at their leashes, wanting their chance at me. Now they can pick their time. I wish I had time to worry about that. But I have to concentrate on this killer. He’s about due to strike.”

She was distressed again. “Then he wasn’t taken by the Watch? A Captain Somebody was doing a lot of crowing a while back.”

“Captain Block. His optimism was premature.” I told about the two killers so far and asked her to fill me in on the dandies whose sweet talk had so impressed her that she’d come running to me.

I learned a lesson. Belinda Contague didn’t listen any closer than her father ever had. “I don’t get it. How come the murders keep happening?”

I shrugged. “Crazy stuff happens.”

“Inside somebody’s head. You didn’t get the right man.”

Odd. Mostly Belinda was a girl of the street, what you’d expect of a thug’s daughter. But something kept sneaking through, something suspiciously redolent of refinement. She’d been away from home most of her life, a secret because Chodo hadn’t wanted her to become a hostage to fortune. I had a feeling she’d learned to be a lady while she was away.

“We got it right, Belinda. Both times. Without a doubt. The killers liked to keep souvenirs, and the men we caught had them. This time we have an idea who may have caught the curse—if it moved on—but we can’t find him. We can guess when his compulsion will make him kill. We’ve identified his three most likely victims. You’re one. And somebody’s been bothering you.”

“Actually, I thought . . . ” Small, sour smile.

“You thought they were Crask and Sadler’s beagles and you could leave me in the middle while you did a fast fade on everybody.”

She nodded. “You’re not as put out as I’d expect.”

“That’s what I do. Get in the middle. It’s easier when a pretty woman wants me there.”

“Save that stuff, Garrett. I’m immune. I’ve heard all about you.”

Checking up? I put on my best hurt look. “What? Me? The white knight?”

“The rooming house where I stay—under a name I’ll keep to myself, thank you—caters to single women.”

Sounded like the antechamber to heaven. I maintained a neutral expression. “And?”

“So I’ve heard about you. You recall a Rosie Tate?”

I gasped, choked. Should I be outraged or should I laugh? “Good old Rose. Sure, I know Rose. I did her out of a fortune by making sure the lady her brother named in his will got what she had coming. I didn’t let her get her way by wagging her tail at me. Yes, I know Rose. She’s got a real boner for me. I didn’t know they let her out on her own.” Rose Tate running loose could be a disaster worse than a platoon of serial killers. The woman was nasty. As gorgeous as they come, but nasty.

“You think she’s a joke?”

“Not hardly. Not Rose. Rose is a joke like a starving saber-tooth is a joke. Make that a starving saber-tooth with a toothache.” I faked a laugh. “So she still holds a grudge.”

“That woman wants your head. She didn’t say anything about any money.”

“Rose was never one to let little things like truth and accuracy get in the way when she was creating a mood in her audience.”

“Tell me about it. Didn’t take two weeks before every girl in the place was ready to strangle her.”

“Way it goes. It’s hard to be a crowd pleaser in my racket. So what about Crask and Sadler?”

“Garrett, I don’t really know. I can remember when either one of them would have died to protect me or the family name. They would have done anything to shield me from a breath of scandal. That’s the way those people do things. They have this elaborate code of honor.”

“I know. And part of it is that women and children are exempt. But. The last thing your father ever said to me was, look out for his baby.” I don’t know why I told her. It wasn’t a smart move. She didn’t need to know. I didn’t need to hoist up a sign saying here’s a way to manipulate me. “I said I would. I didn’t think I’d need to. Crask and Sadler said you’d be taken care of. Maybe they had their fingers crossed.”

“That sounds like them. Him and them too. My father had a thing about you, Garrett. He used to go on about honorable men. About how there were none left, except for you, and you were going to get yourself killed for your trouble.”

“He didn’t know me the way he thought. I have my bad moments like anybody else.”

“He was funny some ways, Garrett. Besides having crotchets about you, he was always honest with his daughter.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I was never in doubt what he did. Unlike most females near his kind. As far back as I can remember, he told me all the hows and whys and wheres and dirt that makes the business go. I never thought anything was strange till he sent me off to school. Then I got embarrassed. I lay awake nights. I prayed my little heart out. Then I found out all the other girls were embarrassed by their fathers too, and half of them made up the most outrageous stories to explain why . . . I realized that no matter what my father did, he did love me. And that was more than most of my classmates could say.”

Cue the violins, Bunky. The kingpin was a loving dad. When they were totting up the score at the gates to hell, he could tell them, “I done it all for my little girl.”

Chodo was the next thing to dead, and still he kept surprising me. “Belinda, I have to admit I admired your father—even when I hated what he was and what he did to people. But all that’s something we can go into later. Right now every minute brings me nearer to the time the girl killer will have to do what he’s got to do to stay happy.”

“What?”

“Bottom line. Some people need rougher stimulation than others. That’s what the Tenderloin is all about. Providing junk for the weird-stuff junkies.”

My sweet Belinda surprised me by responding in an accent neither of the street nor of the Hill. “My daddy woulda been proud a you, Garrett. Some people . . . Some people is just sick and cain’t get it off.”

“That’s the heart of it, isn’t it? Where’s the line between what’s unusual and what’s unacceptable? When does weird become dangerously perverted?”

She looked me straight in the eye. “I’ll let you know.”

“Hey . . . ”

Garrett.

Of course the Dead Man would yank my chain right then.

43

“He wants to see you.”

Belinda looked puzzled. “Who does?”

“My sidekick. Watch him. He’s not fast on his feet, but he’s sly.”

“The Dead Man?”

“You’ve heard of him. That’ll puff his ego.”

Garrett, do get on with it.

“I thought I was getting on with it as good as I could, under the circumstances.”

Belinda gave me a strange look. The Dead Man sent, Your love life was not my concern. Get her in here.

“We’re a little hasty today, are we?”

“What the hell are you doing, Garrett? Talking to the walls?”

I wish to speak with you, Miss Contague.

“What the hell is this, Garrett? Get the hell out of my head!”

“It ain’t me, babe. I thought you knew about the Dead Man.” She wasn’t heading for the door, she was pressing closer to me, a development I didn’t discourage. I eased her across the hall. “I know. I know. You didn’t think you’d have to deal with him. You thought the stories were exaggerated. They are, mostly. Except about how ugly he is.”

Garrett!

“And testy. He’s real testy. Like a badger with bad teeth.”

“My God! Look at that nose!” She clutched my arm. I melted. I tried to slide the arm around her, to comfort her, but she wouldn’t let go. I’d have bruises in the morning.

Garrett, take your gloating, less-than-winning personality into the kitchen. Indulge your true nature guzzling beer while the lady and I exchange reminiscences.

“Hey! Let’s not get personal.”

I went to the kitchen and sulked, indulged in my favorite food, Weider’s pale lager.

Garrett!

Hell. Here I was barely through my fourth pint and he was rattling my chain. What did a guy have to do to relax? I stamped in there, past Belinda. She asked brightly, “Where can I find Dean?”

“Kitchen. What do you want, Chuckles?”

The girl is exactly what she appears to be. He was astonished, obviously. I am amazed that she is so honest and forthright.

“So it isn’t hereditary?”

That is not what I meant.

“What you really mean is, she didn’t know a damned thing we could use. And you’re thrilled about it.”

After a fashion. I convinced her that it would be in her best interest to remain here, out of sight, in our guest room, till we do something about the killer.

“Say what?” He doesn’t like women, of any species. He doesn’t want them in the house to visit, let alone to hide out indefinitely. “You going through some change? Actually recommending that a female stay here?” He sure wasn’t trying to do me any favors.

It would not be the first time.

“That depends on how you add things up.”

I would love to match wits with you, but that game has lost its savor. I want you to go see if you cannot charm either the Candy woman or the Dixie woman into spending the night here.

“Why?” He had more faith in me than I did.

I despair of teaching you to employ your reason. Because once you lure the potential victim close enough, I can make sure she is not out there when the killer goes hunting tomorrow night. Because then I would have two of the three most likely targets under my protection, freeing you and Captain Block to concentrate on the remaining woman.

“Right. I’ve watched those two women in action, Smiley. Candy don’t play and Dixie is out of my price range. Snowball-in-hell time.”

I have faith. You will find a way.

“Right.”

This defeatism amazes me in a man who so regularly disturbs my naps with the gales of whooping and snorting emanating from his room.

“Regularly? I can just about count on the fingers of one finger the number of times—”

Garrett, I am dead, not stupid.

“Yeah. Well. So maybe I underexaggerated. But I do wish I was doing half as good as you think.”

I wish you were too. You are more easily endured when—

“Stow that. How’re we going to move a bunch of women in here? We don’t have—”

Dean can see to their wants. I will see to their safety. You go to the Tenderloin, bring us back one.

“If they’re even working. You have to remember, they don’t do this stuff for a living. It’s part-time, for kicks. Anyway, why should we bother? Did Block catch up on his payments?”

We came to an agreement. There are no financial obstacles.

“Really? Nice of you to keep me posted. I hope you took him so bad he won’t come around here ever again.”

I suggest you adjourn to the Tenderloin and lay groundwork.

Is that what you call it? “But I have to—”

Let everything else ride. Mr. Hullar will not expire if he misses his regular report on the adventures of Barking Dog Amato. I want to be right on top of this killer if he has survived. I insist.

I was willing to arrange that, only I didn’t know how to get him out there—unless maybe I hired a wagon and a dozen sturdy moving men. I could just see him dashing gallantly about town, bringing his special style of derring-do, to the dismay of the wicked and cheer of the downtrodden.

Your brain has become a snake pit.

“But I have only one snake pit.” I withdrew, danced lightly upstairs to see how my unexpected guest was settling in. Mostly I got to watch Dean help her settle. He interposed himself like he was her maiden aunt.

Dean had been having his rehab parties for weeks. My bedroom, which lies across the front of the house, and the guest bedroom have been done for a while, but till Dean and his pals went to work, the other two rooms had remained untouched, repositories for junk that should have gone to the basement or street long ago. The parties had gotten the room across the back set for Dean, partly. It wasn’t finished. But he no longer had to sleep on the daybed downstairs when we had company. Still, his room needed plenty of work to become really habitable. The more he got between me and Belinda, the more I considered leaving the gaps in the outside walls there for him to handle himself come winter.

“Look, what I really need to know is whatever you know about the girl called Candy. At Hullar’s. I have to come up with a way to make her stay away tomorrow night.”

“I didn’t work with her. I barely knew her to say hi.”

“Damn. Somehow I had the idea all you girls should know each other. I’m getting really tired of this whole thing. You can’t give me anything?”

Dean scowled, though even he realized I’d intended no double meaning. Belinda caught his scowl, raised an eyebrow—I fell in love all over again, because that’s one of my own great talents—then winked when Dean wouldn’t see her. “No.”

I went away wondering.

44

“Look,” I snapped when the Dead Man started in on me during my report, “I did my best. I let Barking Dog drive me crazy telling me about his day so I’d have something to tell Hullar. Then I spent two hours trying to get somewhere with a dame so dizzy she thought me trying to save her life was a new pickup routine. She finally told me to screw off and die. Not exactly a boost for the ego. But I did find out that she won’t be working tomorrow night. She has family obligations.”

Excellent. If we fail tomorrow, we will have her as bait next time.

“How come you’re so sure we’ll have more trouble with this killer?”

I am not sure. I am taking a page from your philosophy, looking on the dark side, expecting the worst. If nothing happens, I will have had a wonderfully pleasant surprise.

“Yeah? I hope you get your wonderfully pleasant surprise. I’m going to bed. It was a bitch of a day.”

All that beer, in the line of duty.

“There are limits. Stand watch. If that woman finds she can’t control her urges—”

Ha. She is sound asleep, without a thought of anyone named Garrett anywhere in her mind.

“What is she, then? A nun? Never mind. I don’t want to know. I want to sleep. Good night. Tight. Bedbugs. Bite. All that stuff.”

I made it upstairs before the summons came. Garrett! Come down here.

Rather than prolong the pain by fighting, I went. “What?” This would have to be good.

You did not tell me about the other woman. Dixie. At Mama Sam’s. Remember?

“I remember. She didn’t show up for work. She was expected in but she didn’t make it. Nobody was surprised. That was the way she was. All right? She was time wasted. But she’s supposed to be there tomorrow for sure. She’ll be our bait. Good night.”

Whatever questions he had, he took answers directly, without forcing me to spend more time on one of our famous exchanges. I climbed the stairs again. This time I made it all the way to my room before he prodded me. Garrett! There is someone at the door.

Hell with them. Let them come back at a civilized hour. I settled onto the edge of my bed, leaned forward to untie my shoes.

Garrett, Captain Block is at the door. I believe he has brought bad news but he is too excited to read reliably.

Great. For Block I’d make special arrangements. He could come back next week.

Nevertheless, I pried my carcass off my bed and trudged down the hall, downstairs, up the ground-floor hall to the door, peeped through the peephole. The Dead Man was right. That was Captain Block out there. I held another brief debate about whether or not to admit him. I finally gave in and unlocked the door.

I was a tad more frank than usual. “You look like death on a stick.”

“I’m considering suicide.”

“And you came here for help? That’s not one of our services.”

“Ha. Ha. He grabbed a march on us, Garrett.”

Bring him in here, Garrett.

“Say what? You can’t go talking around things tonight. I’m so tired I’m wasted.”

“Winchell. He snatched the Candy woman. Tonight. Because he knew we’d be set for him tomorrow night. Ripley was with him.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw them. I was down there scouting out how I wanted to do cover tomorrow night. I saw them snatch her when she left work. I chased them till I collapsed. They saw me too. They laughed at me.”

“You lost them?”

“I lost them. I’m going to kill myself.”

I told the Dead Man, “You want to let him do that now so I can get some sleep? I’ll get rid of the body tomorrow.”

Nonsense. Captain Block, you must return to your barracks and turn out every man who knew Corporal Winchell or Private Ripley. Determine if any knows where either man might hide. Send squads to check those. Worry more about saving the girl than capturing the villains. A success there will endear you to the public and your superiors alike. I suggest you begin moving now. If, in fact, you do manage to overhaul the villains, do capture rather than kill them. The curse will be easier to control with its carrier still alive.

“I tried that last time. The clown made us kill him.”

I suspect that, too, is part of the curse. Whoever cast it originally, for whatever reason—you seem to be taking an inordinately long time examining the official records—was a genius. He did not just toss off a spell that compelled someone to go forth and slaughter a certain sort of woman. He created a curse that interacts with its environment, that learns when it fails, that goes on and gets harder to overcome with time.

Block had grown pale. “There’s no way to beat it? If I do stop it today, it gets harder to stop tomorrow?”

I can think of several ways to stop it. None are especially appealing. You can make certain the current curse-bearer dies in the presence of someone so handicapped that he cannot manage a killing. Or with a prisoner who will never be released. I am now convinced that the accursed must be kept alive while the appropriate experts study him and determine how to deactivate the curse, cantrip by cantrip.

Alternatively, inasmuch as each transfer has been from a dead man to a living one through direct association, we might experiment with a live burial. Even better might be a live burial at sea. Perhaps entombment if we could be certain the tomb would remain unopened forever.

“You saying the curse itself can’t be stopped, only the guy wearing it?” I asked.

That has been the situation to date. In reality, burial has just been a means of passing the problem to a subsequent generation.

“I smell legwork.”

Indeed. Much of it legwork that should have been done already. I suspect actual dismemberment of the curse will require identification of the sorcerer who cast it and a clear picture of circumstances surrounding the casting. Motive may be as important as means. Knowing why the curse was created could provide a clue as to how to get at it, where to start unraveling it.

I told Block, “I’ll bet he’s been thinking this way since the first time you came around. And you’ve been sloughing off the research on account of it seemed like too much trouble.”

He didn’t argue and neither did the Dead Man.

I said, “Whatever’s happening now, I’m not involved. I’ve got sleep to catch up on.”

Block opened his mouth.

“Don’t start on me, Captain. How many times do I have to drag your ass out of the fire before you’re satisfied? You have the same equipment I have. Old Bones here told you what to do. Go do it. Save a life. Get famous. Where’s Dean? Can’t he let Block out? Gone to bed? Come on.” I grabbed Block by the elbow. “Do what he says. Get that research when you can. Good night.” Out the door he went, sputtering.