Gilded Latten Bones (30 page)

“The reason I came by — I wanted to let you know, I just launched a special operation.”

I took a long sip. “I’m all ears.”

“The stink of corruption in that warehouse had to be unique. And something like it would be strong wherever the zombie makers are building their monsters now.”

He looked expectant.

“I imagine so.” I looked expectant right back, sure he had a point to make. “Yes?”

“Ah.” Pleased with himself. “I put out word to ratfolk across the city. Sniff out places that stink of death and chemicals.”

“Brilliant!” How could the people who wanted the thing left alone object? “Everybody is thinking more clever than me.”

“Everybody?”

“Saucerhead Tharpe came up with the notion of looking for the people who made the costumes, then to work back from them.”

“That would be interesting, too. But my method has more promise.”

“You’re right. Find the monster manufactory and back-tracking won’t be necessary.”

He wanted more pats on the back. Some parts of his life must not have been going as well as he would like.

I said, “Enjoy your beer.” Which must not have been the perfect sentiment at the moment. He looked puzzled.

The day went downhill from there. The world kept intruding.

All the folks sent out by the Dead Man would come back to plague me.

77

Jon Salvation turned up first, glowing. He shook my hand. “I don’t know what you did, Garrett, but, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“All right. Good for me. What are you talking about?”

“Tinnie. She’s going to take the part. She turned up for first readings this morning. She was an angel.
And
she nailed her character first try. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Any time. But do me a favor. Tell her my dividend is late. Way late.”

“Eleven days late!” Singe said, managing a fierce growl.

“All right. I’ll pass it on. To business. The Dead Man asked me to talk to people I know about who holds the deed to the warehouse where they were making zombies. The owner is Constance Algarda, better known as Shadowslinger.”

“Wasn’t she one of the people the Bellman killed when...? No. I remember now. He busted her up but she lived.”

“I report, sir. I don’t do analysis. If she’s dead she still manages to be active in the real estate world. She owns other properties around town. I brought a list.” He produced it. Singe snagged it, began copying it to make sure the information got put away safe before I could contrive to lose or destroy it.

Salvation added, “Just as a bit of practical information, I wasn’t the only one asking questions. People from the Palace, people from the Guard, and some scary-looking people off the Hill all poked into the same stuff before I did.”

“That might not be good.”

“You think?”

“There’s something else you could do to help. You being uniquely qualified.” I explained the costume angle.

“I can handle that. Easy. I have a big lever. We need lots of costumes and sets for
The Faerie Queene
.”

I couldn’t tell the man he wasn’t half the waste of human flesh that I’d always thought. But I could think it and maybe he could sense it.

Singe finished copying the list. She handed the copy to her brother. John Stretch scanned it, took a drink, bobbed his head, and left the room with Singe right behind. He was less under the weather than I thought, and more literate.

Singe returned, began making another copy. I asked, “When did he learn to read?”

“While you were away. He’s slow and he has trouble with script but he understands that literacy is the most useful skill you can have in life.”

“What’s he going to do with that list?”

“Have his people sniff around.”

“He’ll need to be careful if those others are doing the same thing.”

“Give the dumb rat some credit, Garrett. He heard. He’ll be careful — in the unlikely event that anybody does notice ratpeople.”

Ouch! She was in a mood again. But she had a point.

“I understand. Now tell me something. What are you so busy writing all the time? You can’t possibly need to do that much bookkeeping.”

“I keep a record of everything that happens to us.”

Odd. That sounded like one of those truths that have more than one face. Like a carefully crafted answer kept on the shelf for the moment when the inevitable question arose.

Jon Salvation chuckled. He knew something.

Of course he did. The past few weeks even kids like Crush and Kyra knew more than me about almost everything.

“Jon, about the girl who was here the other night.”

“Crush?”

“Yeah. She’s a good kid.”

Singe made a whuffing sound, maybe startled.

“I’m sure she is. And I wasn’t at my best.”

I showed him a raised eyebrow.

“It’s so frustrating. They all have the same dumb questions. Which they can’t articulate because they’re starstruck. I try to remember that their questions seem unique to them. But I’m not used to all this. Sometimes I lose patience.”

I gawked. I asked Singe, “What did they do with my friend the Remora?”

He laughed. “People change when the earth shifts under their feet, Garrett. I’m not Pilsuds Vilchik anymore. Nor the Remora — though that has had a hard downside for Winger. I’m all Jon Salvation, now. Which isn’t always a great thing, even though Jon Salvation is living the fantasy that rocked Pilsuds Vilchik to sleep every night.”

All I could say was, “Wow!” But I kept it to myself.

He said, “I’ll do something to make it up to Crush.”

I got all daddy.

Singe made a noise before I said anything.

My little Hellbore was a working girl with ample experience looking out for herself.

Salvation promised, “I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

I must have looked skeptical.

“I am aware of her background, Garrett. Though I’d never bring it up. If she pretends to be a lady I’ll pretend to be a gentleman.”

Singe left her desk. “You’re both sentimental, idiot romantics in a world where only pragmatists survive.”

She left the room.

I said, “I just wanted something nice for Crush that she could have without having to lie down. She’s a good-hearted kid. She deserves a minute when she doesn’t have to be a whore.”

The famous playwright gave me a goofy grin and a thumb up. “I’ve got it. But I’ll need some help since we’re going to pretend that all I know about her is that she’s a cute teenager.”

78

Singe deserted us to answer the door. She returned with an unlikely duo: Belinda Contague and Westman Block, both in disguise. Block was convincing as an aging hoodlum. I don’t know what Belinda hoped people would see. She was dressed more conservatively than usual and wore a curly chestnut wig that changed the shape of her face. She could have passed as my sexy younger sister.

She headed for my old office.

Block appeared to have gotten an early start on White Day, the romantic holiday. Lovers give each other candy. But so do friends. I grimaced at the thought. White Day could get expensive if I fetched up friendship boxes for all the girls in my life. Ha! One for Mrs. Cardonlos! That might be fun.

I made a mental note to ask Dean to see if he could get a job lot rate on a dozen boxes.

Block was a solid one sheet to the wind and maybe closer to two. He needed Singe’s assistance to get settled. “It’s an ugly world out there, Garrett. An ugly world.”

Jon Salvation nodded agreement.

I said, “No doubt you’re right. But I’m the kind of guy who loves to hear the miserable details.” I sent a questioning look Singe’s way. Block had been her excuse for dragging me out so early. She shrugged.

Did Block have anything to share? Or was he just here in hopes of scoring some more free booze?

There was plenty of Bird fuel around.

Block asked, casually, “Any ardent spirits left from the other night?”

Singe produced a half gallon of the finest, smoothest sipping water-of-life ever distilled in Karenta, along with a sizable mug. She filled that for Block. For Jon Salvation and me, there were little sipping cups holding about two ounces.

What was she up to? She would have Block passed out and puking on the rug.

I did not let wondering distract me from enjoying my own drink.

This skullbust tasted like smoked medicine. But I sipped along, just to be sociable.

Block failed to expand upon his contention that the world was less than beautiful. He was too busy spooning with his ardent spirits.

Belinda joined us, evidently satisfied that Morley would live. “Give me a big-ass mug of that shit, Garrett. I’m in a mood to get wasted.”

I asked, “You all right?”

“I’m better after seeing him, but, are you stupid? Of course I’m not all right. My idiot lover is still down and there isn’t a godsdamned thing Belinda Contague can do to make things better.”

“Actually, he was awake, aware, and functioning till a little while ago. He wore himself out. He’s doing fine, Belinda. But how about you?”

She looked grim, downed water-of-life like it was small beer. “I’m so damned frustrated, I’m thinking about starting a war just to make people pay attention.”

“Whoa, girl! That’s not a good idea.”

“Just to make them pay attention, Garrett. Just to make them pay attention.”

She must have been drinking before she got here.

This side of Belinda hadn’t come out for a long time.

“How did you turn up at the same time as the General? And, before you get all old-time hardcore, we have made some headway.” I told her what Saucerhead and Jon Salvation had told me.

Salvation himself remained silent and motionless, hoping not to be noticed.

Block said, “There’s talk that Shadowslinger doesn’t own those properties despite her name being on the deeds.”

Belinda slurred, “Clever, going after the costume suppliers.”

She wouldn’t be with us long.

“I have some other odd angles going. And I’ve gotten possible identifications of the people whose portraits we put together.”

Tipsy, bloodthirsty excitement on Belinda’s part. Block was less nasty but equally thrilled.

I said, “There is a problem. The bad guys are people who should have been out of it years ago.” I explained what Playmate and Barate Algarda had told me.

Block mused, “The guy’s name stays the same. Hmm? Do we have ghosts, like at the World? Or a father-son-grandson thing? Or the undead? You have a theory, Garrett?”

“We haven’t yet seen any of them out in the daytime.”

“Vampires?”

That would have seemed silly a week ago. Now, though. “The bodies they’re rebuilding could be those of their victims.”

“Problem,” Block said. “We got forty or fifty zombies but no missing persons. We took out nineteen but that leaves thirty to go. We for sure haven’t had that many people the right age die.”

Belinda was well toward becoming inarticulate but, stumbling and bumbling, she managed, “Roger keeps whining about his business getting so awful. His customers don’t want to be embalmed. They just want a ride to the crematorium.”

Poor Cap’n Roger.

How does a resurrection man stay in business if all the dead get burned? “What’s the story in the refugee shantytowns? They wouldn’t be honest with the red tops since they think you’re persecuting them.”

“We would know,” Block said. “Deal would know. His intelligence gathering has improved since your day.” He sighed. He took a long, forlorn look into his mug. I could not believe he was still speaking coherently. Belinda had started talking to herself. She could not understand a word she said. “Garrett, our problem is that we’re drowning in intelligence. We have so much we can’t pick out the important bits.”

“What?”

“Occasionally, lately, we’ve found that everything we needed to know to prevent or solve a crime was in the system but the information just didn’t get to the right people.”

“Uhm?” I hoped he was making excuses, not fishing for suggestions.

Singe had some. She held us spellbound while she brain-stormed an analytical hierarchy that would sort reports on arrival, evaluate them, then move them to people whose job it would be to determine connections or threats. Those folks would pass information to the people who would take action. The process depended on individual responsibility, with the hierarchy built so that shifting blame would be difficult. Penalties for failure by pettiness or indifference would be rough.

Block was awed. “Magnificent! Pure intellectual genius, Miss Pular! I see just one flaw.”

“Sir?”

“Human nature. Even with penalties built in not everyone will strive to achieve the common goal.”

Singe was deflated. “Oh. Humans. Right.”

“It’s still the best idea I’ve heard. Definitely something to build on. We’ll dedicate a holding cell in your name.” Which, grinning, he said to her back. She was up and moving into the hallway. “Uh... Did I hurt her feelings?”

79

Singe’s feeling were not bruised. She had heard a knock that eluded the rest of us. She was back in a minute with Kolda, the poisoner.

Damn! Now I was doing it.

The company made Kolda nervous. He refused a seat when Singe offered it. “I can only stay a minute. I just wanted to drop off some medicines. This bottle, with the green powder in it, is for Mr. Dotes. It will help his body flush poisons. Have him use it till it’s all gone, no matter how good he thinks he feels. And this bottle, with the stuff that looks like ground amber, is for the man with the cancers. Very expensive but very effective. It’s exuded by an exotic tropical beetle. Give him a pinch with every meal. No more than a pinch. More could kill him. Even a pinch may leave him feeling so nauseous that he might try to talk you out of giving him any more. Make him stick it out.”

“Kolda, thank you, man. You’ve gone beyond the call. What do I owe you?”

“This is on me, Garrett. But I figure it makes us even. I’ll charge you next time.”

“Something to drink?” Singe asked.

“I shouldn’t. It’s a bit early.”