Cruel Zinc Melodies (22 page)

There might be holes in my reasoning but I knew I’d fingered the soul of it. I was sure, too, that even a superpower compliance device wouldn’t make irresistible studs of the Faction.

I was sure because I was them when I was that age.

Still, these baby blues had actually seen Kyra Tate tagging along after Cypres Prose, apparently liking it.

Did any of the Faction have the slightest notion how disruptive a workable compliance device would be? Socially?

We might be about to find out. The device might be the reason these kids were in the sights of somebody who could deploy a Lurking Felhske.

Staring into infinity, Kip said, “Oh my God! Ohmigod! Ohmigod!” Over and over, faster and faster.

Some wisps of mist over yonder had him seeing the unfortunate dead from back when first we’d met.

My own ghosts began to form. The same as before. I was armored with a powerful cynicism. They troubled me not. I heard no music, either.

Still, Kayanne and Maya did achieve a reality that surpassed the phantom stage. I didn’t doubt that I’d find them warm to the touch if I went over and fondled.

Eleanor did bother me. I still had issues there.

I dragged Kip toward the exit. Once out, I slapped his cheeks. It took three shots to shake him loose.

His eyes focused. He remained confused. “Listen!” I told him. “What happened in there did because of what your bunch have been doing. There’s something ancient and dreadful way down below here. Your bugs disturbed it. It’s trying to wake up.”

Kip had no defiance left. “I don’t understand, Mr. Garrett.”

“I don’t, either.” I had a notion Bill Chimes couldn’t make it any clearer. Bill Chimes who had gone missing again. “All I can tell you is what I just did. That’s all I’ve been told myself.”

His eyes glazed over. But he wasn’t going back to where he’d just been. He was doing what always boggles me when I witness it in a kid. He was thinking.

“It would have to be something that operates in a mental realm like the one your partner occupies.”

My partner. It could be time to drop everything and hustle my sweet self back to Chuckles. “It might be useful to have the whole Faction sit down with him. He’d make connections none of the rest of us can.”

“That won’t happen, Mr. Garrett. Nobody wants somebody digging around inside their head.”

“I understand that. I don’t like it myself. But he won’t do anything you don’t let him do. He isn’t some barbarian raider. Consider, though. He does have multiple minds. He can look at things from several viewpoints at once.”

“I know. I’ve suffered him before. It isn’t me you have to sell. Right now, despite everything you’ve told me, the Faction wouldn’t see a problem that needs solving.”

I could have argued on but where was the point? Pushing kids in a direction they don’t want to go just makes them stubborn. Unless you’ve got a really big stick and don’t mind using it.

Better to be more clever.

“I can’t force you. But you’ve had a taste. You know there’s something bad crawling out of the darkness.”

“Bad? I don’t?”

“Think about it, Kip. What do you know about ghosts? Why would the ghosts you saw wait for you here? Did any of them come anywhere near here when they were alive?”

“I’m young, Mr. Garrett. Not stupid. I see the implications.”

Kip had had enough. He took off toward Tinnie and his friends. He and the friends headed out. Fast. I didn’t hear what they said. Kevans glanced back once; then the three rounded a dirty gray brick building, headed toward the Tenderloin. Headed for their hidey-hole.

42

Tinnie said, “So you did your Mr. Sensitive, bull thunder-lizard in Aeleya’s teagarden routine. And, lo! The kid didn’t knuckle under.”

“A gross exaggeration.”

“I’m sure. Here comes Saucerhead. Give him the true facts and ask what he thinks you could’ve done better.”

“I’m telling you this, Red. You keep picking and chipping... What the hell is she doing, tagging after Head?”

“She” would be Winger, stacked blonde slapped together on an epic scale. As tall as me. My friend, theoretically. But not a friend I want turning up anywhere where I’m the guy who'll be held accountable.

Winger is a female Saucerhead Tharpe. With more flexible ethics. You don’t trust her around the family silver. Or anything else of value.

She does try. But she just can’t resist temptation.

Distracted by the approach of big, beautiful blond trouble, I didn’t immediately notice that she wasn’t Tharpe’s only companion.

He’d brought six people along. Well, five. The Remora, Jon Salvation, is just an extension of Winger, these days. He’s not really a person.

The rest were serious thugs. I recognized three of them. They’d be men a man I trusted could trust.

Saucerhead’s knack for selection was perfection in all particulars, excepting only family deserter Winger.

I cut Tharpe out of the crowd. “You’re gonna be the guy, here, Head. Your job is, keep everybody out unless they bring you a pass signed by me. No exceptions. Not even Winger. There are some hungry ghosts in there.”

Saucerhead stared with eyes grown large. He didn’t want to believe me. But he couldn’t shove aside the fact that he’d been there with me so many times when the weirdness squared itself on the freaky scale.

“Ghosts?”

“Something that looks like ghosts. It might be something else a whole lot worse. I’m hoping the Dead Man can figure it out.”

He saw me give Winger the fish-eye. Again. “Don’t worry about her, Garrett. The Remora hanging around has straightened her up. She’s awed by the written word. It don’t change, no matter how much you bluster and threaten and try to make it.”

That was one long-winded homily for Saucerhead Tharpe. “I'll take your word. From what I hear tell, though, Jon Salvation isn’t exactly an impartial observer.”

“You think? Him mooning after her like she’s the born-again avatar of Romassa?”

“Romassa?”

“Goddess of physical love. For one a’them tribes we worked with down in the Cantard. The Avatar was even bigger than Winger.” He did cupped hands in front of his chest. “Her job was to teach the young men coming up about doing it.”

“She was a real person?”

“Sure. She was the Avatar. Not the goddess herself but her stand-in. It was a big honor to be picked.”

You hear everything at least once. After you’ve heard it all, you check out.

“Lot of happy boys around there, I guess.”

“The Avatar smiled a lot, too.”

Tinnie had been eavesdropping, off and on. Showing no happiness about the strange ways they have in far-off lands. “I should’ve gone with Alyx in the coach. Now I have to walk all the way back to midtown.”

Saucerhead leaned in like he was about to pass along a juicy punch line about how they did things in the Cantard. “So, what’s with the goofy coat?”

43

Tinnie Tate was short of temper by the time we got to my house. I kept my opinion of her choice of footwear closely guarded. No need to tempt the lightning.

I was digging for my key when the door opened.

Pular Singe stood there staring at me, sort of befuddled.

“What?” I asked.

“I could not track him.”

“What?”

“That Lurking Felhske. That Mr. Dotes wanted to find. I could not track him.” She was thoroughly unhappy. “That never happens.”

“I’m sorry. Don’t get all suicidal about it.”

Tinnie punched me from behind. And I just knew that if Singe was a human girl she would’ve burst into tears right then.

“All right. How did he kill his back trail?” That would take it out of the realm of being her fault.

“How did you...?” She looked back to the doorway to the Dead Man’s room, inclined to blame him for giving her away before crediting me with the ability to work something out. “He went through areas where the stink overpowered every other smell. Even body odor as bad as his.”

“He always came out somewhere besides where he went in. Right?” I’ve worked both sides of that gambit.

“Possibly. I think.”

“What?”

“Sorry. I am not feeling good about myself right now.”

“I understand. I’ve been there. Couldn’t you circle the bad smell till you found where his spoor came out?”

“In theory. But not really. The bad smells were so strong my nose went dead. And everybody coming out of there carried the stench with them.” She had to be talking about the tannery district. There is nothing quite like that when it comes to overpowering smells. “I can only pick out individuals if they wear something like that awful stink-pretty Saucerhead Tharpe soaks in when he is feeling especially single.”

The girl is an amazement. I couldn’t restrain a guffaw. She had Tharpe nailed. When he works himself up to go on the prowl he splashes that stuff on like... There is no adequate simile. Nothing compares. He'll never get lost. Singe will find him underwater. Sometimes the stench is unbearable. And its results are entirely predictable. No score, unless he runs into a woman totally blind and deaf in the nose with no discernible sense of taste. Or one of those gals who has the same bad perfume habit. There are squadrons of those, though most are a tad long in the tooth for Mr. Tharpe.

Garrett.

“And that answers the big question. Himself is awake. Now, if Dean happened to be hard at work womping up a supper, in quantities adequate to fill me and my sweet patootie, life could be reclassified as perfect.”

Tinnie growled, “Don’t you ever turn it off?”

“Tight shoes,” I told Singe. “And no lunch.”

“Next time I come down here I'll wear my winter boots.”

“Not the pretty ones. Bring the work ones.”

“The midthigh tops? With a shovel?”

I disengaged from further discussion of shoes. “Singe, something that came up today got me wondering about the differences between ratpeople and humans.”

“Yes?” Instantly defensive.

“We saw ghosts. All of us. Some of us heard music.” I told her about it. I didn’t scrimp on details. Old Bones was listening, too. “But you and your brother, and his guys, never saw anything.”

Singe managed a facial tick that resembled a puzzled look. “I'll take your word for that.”

Damn! It would be ridiculous if she started managing human facial expressions, too.

I’d have to head that off, for sure. She’d end up burned at the stake.

“Come help us mull it over with the Dead Man.” Or whatever you call the situation where His Nibs picks the brains of mere mortals, to help us discover the meaning of life.

Your cynicism has migrated from the realm of the mildly amusing to the uglier principality of the irritating.

“Oh, good. You’re still awake.”

So we communed, brainstormed, and schemed. The sad truth, though, was, we needed more information. My sidekick knew no more than I did about ancient, dramatically powerful things buried under TunFaire. He recalled no legends, fairy tales, or religious fancies that accounted for what was stirring.

The Tenderloin is a storied moral sink. It’s been the bad part of town since the first nomad families pitched their tents on a hospitable riverbank and never got around to moving on.

I was particularly pleased. My sweetie, once she had some food in her, dropped the attitude and focused on the problem at hand.

We ate while we worked. And Dean’s effort made the wait worthwhile.

Amazing what that old man can do with a capon, wine, mushrooms, and a few tubers that aren’t supposed to be in season. All washed down by a fine, potent Weider winter wheat lager.

44

Tinnie went to bed. Likewise, Singe. And Dean beat them all to the friendly sheets. I stayed where I was, enjoying my beer. And persevering.

Old Bones had let me know he wanted a word in private. Whatever that meant to somebody who could carry on multiple silent, isolated conversations at once.

I permitted myself a presumption this morning, once you were on your way. Penny came for a lesson. I hired her to check into a few things.

Brilliant me, intellect puffed by the Weider brew, I asked, “Like what?”

The histories of the properties involved in the World construction site. The background of the man you knew as Handsome, for Mr. Weider and Mr. Gilbey, because you have not found time for that. I also asked her to see what she could find out about members of the Faction for whom we have names. And about their families. And I tasked her to find out what she could about the history and ownership of the property the Faction turned into their clubhouse.

“And I thought you made ridiculous demands on me. A grown man.”

Sneer.

“All right. All right. Whatever you’ve got, go ahead and crow.”

Some things you learn just being around him long enough. Like his need to show off how good he is. Or how good his protégé can be.

The experience was humiliating. During a single day Penny Dreadful, totally marginal teenage person who would play no other role in the case, had, as a favor to her pal the Dead Man, dug out almost all the information he wanted checked.

History of the ground where the World was going up? Bland. Nondescript. Nothing interesting had happened there as far back as available records went. The first several slumlords who sold to Max were convinced that they had hornswoggled the beer baron. The procession of ownership started with an uprising two hundred eighty years gone that had destroyed every older record.

Who owned the ruined property? Fellow name of Barate Algarda. He bought it off the wife of a once-famous smuggler who got put out of business permanently by Chodo Contague’s predecessor, thirty years ago. Algarda’s daughter had used it for a playhouse, growing up. It had had a reputation as a deadly place, back then. Old hands still steered clear.

Brent Talanta, also known as Handsome? No children. Wife deceased. Survived only by his mother. Handsome was her only source of support. A forensic sorcerer had connected the knife found in the hand of a Stomper known as Funboy to Handsome’s wounds. Likewise, the shoes of several gang members to bruises on the corpse. Handsome’s remains had been sent on for cremation at a contract crematorium. Funboy’s body had been sold to a resurrection man. The rest of the Stompers were headed for a labor camp.