Deadly Quicksilver Lies (16 page)

According to Spud, the natives resided on the other side of the building. And so they did. Mostly.

We were sneaking along a hallway illuminated by one halfhearted candle, me thinking what a cheapskate the Rainmaker had to be, when some sleepy-eyed goof ruined everything.

He stepped out of a room just ahead, both hands harrowing hair already well-harvested by time. He woke up fast, generated one man-sized squeal before I bopped him with my second-best headthumper. He squealed even louder. I had to pop him four times before he laid down.

“That tears it,” Slither muttered. It was hard to hear him because of the racket being raised by people I couldn’t see wanting to know what the hell was going on.

“Never mind the opinion survey. You know this place?”

“Never seen it before.”

“Thought you said...”

“Never was here. That I remember.”

The hall hung a right. I stayed with it. I met a native coming the other way. He had a stick, too. His eyes got big. So did mine. I swung first. He ducked, showed me some heel, whooped and hollered.

“You could have moved a little faster there, Garrett,” Morley suggested. The racket ahead grew louder. Morley was concerned.

The fugitive blew through a doorway. I was only two steps behind, but when I got there the door was closed and locked. I flung one granite shoulder against it. It gave about a thousandth of an inch.

“You do it.” Morley indicated Slither. “Stop whimpering, Garrett.”

“I dislocated everything but my ankle bones.”

Slither knocked on the door with his very large feet, smashing away numerous times before he risked his own tender shoulder.

The door exploded like stage furniture. Guess you have to have the knack.

We’d reached the warehouse area. Only a few lamps burned there. Definitely a cheapskate, the Rainmaker. Looked like the place was being used as a barracks. People flew around like startled mice, headed for other exits. Only the guys from the hall looked like fighters.

Curious.

Amidst the howl and chaos I glimpsed a familiar gargoyle, my old pal Ichabod. Excuse me. My old pal Zeke. Zeke did a fast fade. I went after him. We needed to have a talk. My pretty Maggie Jenn had troubles enough without her butler being hooked up with the Rainmaker.

I didn’t find a trace. He vanished like the spook he resembled.

We searched the dump. We found no sign of Grange Cleaver. We caught only three people — the guy from the hall who I’d bopped, plus an old couple who hadn’t reached their walkers in time to grab a head start.

The old woman was about a week younger than Handsome. Her husband and the thug showed little inclination to talk, but she chattered like she was so full of words they ripped out of her like gas after an unfriendly meal.

“Whoa, granny, whoa!” She’d lost me in some kind of twin track complaint that blamed her lumbago on the incredible ingratitude of her willfully neglectful children. “That’s unfortunate. It really is. But what I need to know is where is Grange Cleaver?”

“You might try to be more diplomatic,” Morley suggested. Like he had the patience of a saint when he was after something.

“I was diplomatic the first three times. I did my part. Now I’m not in the mood for diplomacy, I’m in the mood for busting heads.”

I didn’t do it good enough. Nobody was impressed until Spud let his young mouth run too long and the bad folks figured out that they were in the hands of the infamous Morley Dotes. Then, even the hard boy developed a mild case of cooperation fever.

Yep, maybe Winger was right.

Fat lot of good that all did. Granny Yak-Yak had the definitive answer and the definitive answer was: “He just went out, him and his boys. He never said where, but I figure he was gonna check on some guys he sent out a long time ago. He paid them and they never reported back.” She laid a hard look on pal Lucky.

Lucky looked a tad frayed. The old folks understood whose information had brought us to uglyville. He was growing concerned about his boss’s temper.

Morley spun him around. “Cleaver brought you from out of town. He do that with a lot of men, Lucky?”

Lucky gave us the daggers glare. We were leaving him no exit. “Yeah.” Sullenly. He thought we were cheating on our end of the deal. Maybe we were. Tough.

“Why?”

“I guess on account of he couldn’t find anybody here what was willing to work for him.’Specially after they found out who he was when he was here before. Way I hear it, he made him some enemies back then what nobody wants to piss off.”

I gave Morley a look. Some people might consider him major bad news, but he wasn’t big enough bad news that his displeasure would intimidate thugs working for somebody he didn’t like. I didn’t think. “Chodo,” I said. Call it intuition.

Morley nodded, “There was a little brother who died badly. Chodo was way down the ladder then. He couldn’t get the go-ahead. But he didn’t forget.”

Not once in his life had Chodo Contague let a debt go unpaid. “But...”

“You and I know. No one else does.”

He and I knew that Chodo had become a vegetable after suffering a stroke. These days, his daughter was the power in the outfit. She only pretended to take instructions from her father.

“Crask and Sadler.” Those two knew, too.

Morley inclined his head slightly. “They might explain a few things.”

Crask and Sadler had been Chodo’s chief bone-breakers before they turned on him, caused his stroke, tried to take over. They disappeared after Chodo’s daughter outmaneuvered them.

Coincidentally, there’d always been some doubt about their commitment to masculinity, despite the fact that they were two human mountains on the hoof.

I described them. Lucky’s discomfort made it obvious he had met the boys. I shot Morley a look. “I don’t need any more complications.”

Morley prodded Lucky. Lucky admitted, “You won’t see them guys around here. Grange, he’s got a straight look to him back home. Didn’t want them guys turning up in his public life. Figured they’d be lightning rods for trouble around here. So he gave them jobs in Suddleton.”

Where, I had no doubt, they spent their spare time scheming revenge on me. “Morley, you get the feeling pal Lucky is holding out? He knows an awful lot about the Rainmaker’s business.”

“I noticed that.”

Lucky protested. “I just heard his regular guys gossiping. You know how it is, guys sitting around, killing time drinking.”

“Sure. Tell me, Lucky, where you going to run when we cut you loose?”

Lucky checked the old folks, shrugged. He was scared. They weren’t, though the old woman had chattered. I wondered if they were something special to the Rainmaker.

I was about to ask about Zeke when Morley remarked, “We’ve spent enough time here, Garrett. Help could be on its way.”

Yes, indeed. It could be.

31

“You just walk along with us, answer a couple more questions,” I told Lucky and the old folks, “and we’ll be done.” I gestured, a comealong. “There was a guy named Zeke...”

The Goddamn Parrot did the only worthwhile thing I ever saw him do. He flailed out of the darkness shrieking, “Save me! Oh, save me, mister.” His tone suggested he wasn’t just being obnoxious.

He wasn’t.

There were eight of them. Wasn’t hardly fair to them, even considering they were all big, experienced villains. Sarge and Puddle pounded our captives, then vaulted the leftovers and began twisting limbs. There was something evilly fascinating about them at work. It was kind of like watching a snake swallow a toad.

I didn’t have time to be fascinated. I was up to my crotch in crocodiles. I held them off till help arrived.

Morley and Spud flew around like they were part of some absurd combat ballet. Mr. Big flapped and squawked. He made more racket than a herd of peafowl. His vocabulary achieved new lows. Puddle, Sarge, Slither, Ivy, and Cleaver’s thugs tried to help him expand that but had nothing to teach him.

Four brunos took quick dives.

I’ve heard people that’ve never been there claim it’s impossible to lay somebody out with your fists. That’s true for your average drunken amateur who gets into it with his brother-in-law at the corner tavern but not so for the unrestrained violence of professionals.

Puddle developed a bloody nose. Spud managed to get kicked in the funny bone. He leaned against a wall clutching his elbow, face pale, language vile. Such a look Morley gave him.

“Kill them, damnit! Kill them all!” The girlish voice slashed through the mayhem. “Stop playing with them and kill them!”

I spotted a short guy screaming from what he thought was a safe distance. Cleaver? The Rainmaker himself?

Morley spotted him. Cleaver’s brunos were coming to the conclusion that it was not a bright idea to piss off guys who could handle them so easily. They didn’t follow orders. Morley grinned and headed for the Rainmaker.

I was on my way already.

The Rainmaker, however, did not care to join the party.

That little bastard could run!

Naturally, our whole crowd dropped everything and lumbered after us, with predictable results. The Rainmaker vanished down the same rabbithole that had swallowed Zeke. His people grabbed up each others’ parts and headed for the exits. Suddenly, we had us nothing but one big empty building and one hysterical parrot. And, according to Morley, “The Guard’s on its way.”

“You could be right.” These days, people actually called for official help. These days, the police forces sometimes actually responded.

Morley snapped, “Narcisio, catch that faggot pigeon and shut it up.” Mr. Big was no joke right then.

I checked to see if all our people could leave under their own power. No major injuries. Workable legs were available. It was brains that were in short supply.

Slither and Ivy helped round up the GDP. Mr. Big made it easy. He flew into a wall full speed, cold-cocked himself.

Pity he didn’t break his neck.

I considered wringing it and blaming it on the bird’s own erratic piloting, but Spud kept too close an eye on the beast.

As we hustled into the street, I asked Slither, “That short guy was Cleaver, wasn’t it? The shrimp with the girl voice?”

Morley seemed intensely interested in Slither’s reply. Could it be he’d never seen Cleaver before?

“Yeah. That was him. That hunk a shit. I’da caught the little turd I’da turned him into a capon. Put me in the bughouse. I’da used my bare hands. Twisted’em off. I’da fixed him.” But he was shaking. He was pale. He was sweating. Rock-throwing range was as close to Grange Cleaver as he wanted to get.

Cleaver must be some swell guy.

I checked Ivy. Ivy didn’t have an opinion. Ivy was all wrapped up in his feathery buddy.

Morley opined, “Cleaver is going to turn scarce now.”

“Think so?”

“His being in town is no secret now, Garrett. A lot of people who don’t like him will hear. And he’ll have a good idea how many enemies he has once he gets together with Lucky.”

“Think he’ll leave town?”

“No. But he would if he had the sense the gods gave a goose. You going to have another chat with Winger?”

Guess who was hiding in the shadows outside when we came thundering out. “You saw her, eh?”

“I saw her.”

We cleared the area before the Guard arrived. Safely away, I checked our surroundings more carefully. No more sign of my oversize blond friend. Maybe she wasn’t interested anymore.

“You need to get her to talk, Garrett.”

“I know. I know. But I want to let her come in when she’s ready.” I wondered why Winger wasn’t off looking out for Chastity Blaine.

Morley made no mention so I supposed he’d missed the other watcher, the character who’d followed me to Maggie Jenn’s place.

I was confused. Nothing made sense.

It wasn’t going to get any better.

“Don’t wait too long,” Morley told me. “Two tries in two nights means the Rainmaker is serious.”

“Seriously disturbed.” Cleaver’s enmity made the least sense of all. “Yeah. With that thought in mind, I’m going home and get some shut-eye.”

Spud had the Goddamn Parrot. He kept whispering to the fancy pants little drunk. I tried to ease away before anyone noticed. Morley grinned and shook his head. “No, you don’t. Narcisio.”

My luck stays stuck in the same old rut.

32

Slither surprised me. He was a decent cook, which I learned when I stumbled down for breakfast, after having been rousted out by Ivy, who must have caught something Dean had left behind.

“You have to loosen up, Ivy,” I grumbled as I toddled into the kitchen. “This isn’t the service. We don’t have to haul out before the goddamn crack of noon.”

“My daddy always told me a man’s got no call lying in bed after the birds start singing.”

Inertia more than self-restraint kept me from expressing my opinion of that perverted delusion.

One songbird was wide awake up front, rendering chorus after chorus of such old standards as, “There was a young lady from...” I wondered if Dean still had some of that rat poison that looked like seed cakes. The rats were too smart to eat it, but that bird...

“You’re working on a job, aren’t you?” Slither was
still
vague about what I do.

“The mission,” Ivy mumbled. “Old first rule, Garrett. Even a jarhead ought to know. Got to follow through on the mission.”

“Watch that jarhead stuff, Army. All right. All right.” Good old attitudes from the bad old days. But was the mission more likely to be advanced at sunrise than at high noon? Excuse me for entertaining doubts.

I wondered if they had noticed the changes in TunFaire. Probably not. Neither was in close touch with the world outside his skull.

I surrendered. “I guess we can hit Wixon and White.”

At the moment, the occult shop was my only angle. Mugwump had not yet materialized with the promised list of contacts.

Slither’s cooking would have appalled Dean and sent Morley into convulsions. He fried half a slab of bacon while baking drop biscuits. He split the biscuits and soaked them in bacon grease, then sprinkled them with sugar. Poor people food. Soldier food. Food that was darned tasty when it was hot.