Cruel Zinc Melodies (2 page)

“Probably. But he does pretend quite well.”

That he does. If he can’t sleep for a year at a time, he’d just as soon pretend. Some people are just so lazy.

We were talking about my partner. A unique sort of beast, even in TunFaire, where it’s a rare and remarkable day when we don’t see the rare and remarkable.

“Let’s go in there. My office is too intimate.” And there wasn’t enough furniture in the small front room. Which we don’t use much. It still smells like the Goddamn Parrot.

Singe headed for the kitchen.

The two unfamiliar women made frightened squeaks when they saw my sidekick.

The Dead Man is a near quarter ton of defunct Loghyr, a species now little known and almost extinct. This one looks like a dwarf mammoth minus the hair and tusks. He went around on his hind legs when he was alive. His trunk-like snoot makes his yellowish gray, wrinkled face uglier than you can imagine. There is no twinkle in his eyes.

Loghyr don’t die like the rest of us. We croak; the part that isn’t meat and bone hustles off to whatever reward is on the schedule. Or sticks around to make life miserable for the living. Usually the same living we made miserable before we assumed room temperature. But Loghyr stick around and haunt their own corpses. For centuries, sometimes.

It’s been four and a half of those since somebody stuck a knife between my partner’s ribs.

I’m double haunted. Eleanor was a ghost when I met her, too.

I told the ladies, “He’s harmless.” Though a huge misogynist. I used to be able to wake him up just by bringing in a female of this caliber.

He’s getting used to me having an occasional companion of the obstinate sex. He gets along with Singe and Tinnie. Most of the time. The redhead remains strictly “Miss Tate,” however.

Though startled and intimidated, the new girls didn’t recognize a Loghyr when they saw one. So they weren’t scared.

“Tinnie, my sweetest sweet, who might your friends be? And why do you turn up now, after weeks and weeks of sticking your tongue out and staying away?”

Tinnie said, “Bobbi Wilt and Lindy Zhang.” Without indicating which was which. Because I didn’t need to know. “Guys, this here is six feet three inches of the prettiest ex-Marine you’re ever likely to find underfoot. Look at those big baby blues. Never mind the bad hair, the pockmarks, the scars, and all that stuff. That’s just normal wear and tear.”

I’d enumerate her physical shortcomings but I haven’t found any yet. Everything is there, in all the right places, with a shine on it. Personality-wise, though, one or two sharp corners could be polished off.

“Definitely a problem,” Alyx said. Showing me her tongue between sharp little teeth, a come-hither challenge in her eye. “You find one still in good shape, he’s too immature to waste time on. You find one like this, that’s all broken in, he’s like this. All broken down.”

“You aren’t so old I can’t turn you over my knee, Miss Alyx.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Alyx!” Tinnie was not amused.

I asked, “So, how come I find myself inundated by beautiful women?” Coats were coming off. Being an observer by trade, I was observing. And I was impressed.

I was looking at Tinnie but Alyx answered. “Because I had to see you. And I thought you might not let me in if it was just me.”

The honey-tone honey drawled, “Her father wouldn’t let her come alone. And Tinnie was there when he decided that you’re the answer to our problems.” There was a twinkle in her eye. She’d be another one who enjoyed getting a dig in at the expense of her friends.

Alyx said, “Tinnie’s got you so whipped. She didn’t need to come keep an eye on me.”

Who knows? I don’t have much backbone around temptations packaged like these. I’d still be telling me what a dumb thing it was to do but be grinning from ear to ear as I went down for the third time.

Tinnie looked grim. Probably because she didn’t like that “whipped” pig wriggling out of its poke. Like it was some kind of secret.

Singe returned. Lugging a tea service. She made three of my four visitors uncomfortable. Well-schooled young ladies, they owned manners potent enough to not be rude in someone else’s house.

“So,” I said. Standing. The available chairs being filled. I didn’t go for more. Despite visions of harem girls dancing in my head.

This much glamour doesn’t descend on me without bringing bad, bad news. The kind of news that ends up with me having to go to work.

“Alyx?”

Now that she was here she didn’t want to talk about her problem.

It happens. People hire me. Then they don’t want to tell me why. Usually because they have to admit having done something incredibly stupid.

Tinnie grinned. That lit up the room. “What my friend the blond beer bimbo wants to tell you is, her daddy needs to see you. He sent her because he didn’t think you’d open the door to anybody who looked like a wannabe client.”

Too true. I wasn’t looking for work. I have a regular income from several sources. And work is so much like... well, so much like work.

But prospective clients are always bimbos. Er, make that, there’s always a woman involved. As Singe might say, because half of us are female and females are more likely to find themselves in straits nature didn’t equip them to handle.

Singe sucks all the fun out sometimes, being boneheaded, literal, and logical.

2

“Here’s the story,” Alyx said. Never an auspicious beginning. People who start that way usually plan on retailing a fictionalized account.

“I’m all ears.”

“Not quite, but they are a little ridiculous.”

Two paragons snickered. The redheaded fourth seized the named appendages from behind. “But they’re so cute!”

“Spin me your tall tale, baby Weider girl.”

“Daddy wants to build his own theater.”

“Good on Max. Theater is hot right now. He'll milk it for a ton.”

“We’re gonna be the stars. Us and Cassie Doap. And Heather Soames, maybe.”

I gave Alyx the maximum-power raised right eyebrow. The one that makes the nuns renounce their vows. “No. Not Cassie.”

Then my mouth got ahead of my brain. “Girls don’t go onstage.” Not good girls. Only girls who have something to market.

“We can if we want!” Petulant.

Alyx Weider is as spoiled a kid as ever came up in TunFaire. And that’s all her father’s fault.

Max indulged her not only because she was the baby of the family but because of his failures with her older siblings. Like he thought if he invested enough he could buy one perfect kid.

Why not? He’d been able to buy everything else he’d ever wanted since he’d gotten rich.

Alyx wasn’t half as rotten as she ought to be, the way she’d been raised.

“You’re not being nice!”

“Alyx, what I am is shutting up and listening.” Which I proceeded to do with grand determination and limited success.

“Daddy is building a theater. A big one. He already told us we could be stars. Tinnie knows somebody who can write us a play.”

I leaned back and turned. My eyebrow query failed to knock Miss Tate down. She must be developing an immunity. “Jon Salvation,” she said.

“The Remora? You’re kidding.”

“He’s good. He wrote a comedy about the fairy queen Eastern Star.”

“I was talking!” Alyx snapped. “You told me you’d be quiet and listen.”

“Being quiet, Alyx. Listening raptly.”

Miss Weider offered a halfhearted, grotesquely inappropriate head butt that would’ve taken out the lynchpin of my fantasy life if I hadn’t been a trained martial artist-type. Tinnie growled. She cuts Alyx a lot of slack because they’re ancient friends and their families are in business together, but she has her limits.

She snarled, “Goddamnit, Alyx! Cut the shit! Talk!”

Bobbi and Lindy were amused -the way bettors around a dogfight pit might be amused by the antics of future combatants.

“Daddy wants to get into the theater business. He has a theater under construction. The World. It'll put three or four different shows on at the same time.”

Max the innovator. How would he do that?

Tinnie interjected, “They'll have staggered starting times. Each play will show three times a day.”

“Tinnie, please!” Alyx whined.

So Max had found a way to move a lot more Weider beer. I gave Alyx a nudge. “The problem you need solved is?”

“Sabotage.”

Tinnie explained, “It’s actually kind of petty but somebody keeps getting in and breaking things.”

“Criminals? Trying to shake him down?” That’s how the protection racket starts.

Most crooks are smart enough to steer clear. Max Weider is rich. And doesn’t scruple in a fight. He'll play fair, businesswise, but try strong-arming him and there’s an excellent chance somebody less personable than me will help you get started on an attempt to swim across the river. With granite in your undies.

Not even the Contagues, the emperors of TunFaire crime, would risk making a run at Max Weider. Unless the payoff prospects were beyond my ability to imagine.

Near as I can tell, all hands are happy with the status quo. Possibly excepting the law-and-order extremists at Watch and Guard headquarters in the Al-Khar.

Alyx chewed her lower lip fetchingly. Reluctantly, she said, “Maybe. But there’s, like, ghosts, too. And bugs.”

“Ghosts?” Just thinking out loud. Ghosts happen, but I hadn’t run into any recently. The residual personality haunting the Eleanor painting being the last. “It’s the wrong time of year for bugs.” Unless you kept your house too warm. Which nobody can afford to do. Other than on the Hill.

Around here we can see our breath in the winter. Except in the kitchen. And in the Dead Man’s room when we have company.

“Tell that to the bugs, big boy.”

“Tinnie?”

“It’s all hearsay to me. I haven’t been to the site.”

“Ladies?” Bobbi and Lindy were content to sit quietly and elevate the temperature of the room. The Dead Man offered no remarks. Singe sat in the corner with her dim candle, working her books.

Her rat eyes do let us save on lighting costs.

Tinnie took the opportunity to apply a pinch meant to keep me focused.

Alyx admitted, “What I’m telling you is hearsay to me, too. Daddy won’t let me go to the construction site.”

Tinnie observed, “He doesn’t want her associating with the kind of guys who work construction.”

I snickered. “That’s because he started out as that kind of guy himself. So. Alyx. What do you want? Other than to indulge in one of your special efforts to get Tinnie mad at me?”

“Daddy wants to talk to you about what’s going on.”

Max has been good to me. His retainer, meant to inhibit floor loss and general misconduct at the brewery, has kept me solvent through numerous dry spells.

“Can I catch a ride?”

“We’re not headed home. We’re going to Tinnie? s. To rehearse.”

They had a play already?

Tinnie said, “No, we’re going to the manufactory. There’s more room. And more privacy. The walk will do you good.”

“I’m so pleased you’re always looking out for me.”

“You’re very special to me.”

“What if I slip on a patch of ice?” She was right. It had been a long winter and I’d spent most of it avoiding going outside.

“I'll bring fresh flowers, lover.”

Dean finally wandered in, armed with refreshments. Two steps into the room he froze. His jaw dropped.

He’s old. Around seventy, I’d guess. He’s skinny, shows a lot of bushy white hair this year, and has dark eyes that can twinkle with mischief. On rare occasions. More often they’re alive with disapproval.

“Damn!” I murmured. “The old goat is human.”

Tinnie wasn’t his problem. He sees her all the time. And he knows Alyx. He’s never anything but polite when she’s around. But the other two...

He pulled it together before he turned into a creepy old man. “Good afternoon, Miss Tate. Miss Weider. Ladies. Would you care for something sweet?”

They all said no, they were watching their figures. And doing a fine job, I have to report. I stayed busy helping them do that. As did Dean. His eyes all but bugged out when the ladies started getting back into their cold-weather duds.

3

Back from the front door, I asked, “What happened to you, Dean? You looked like you got a sudden case of young man’s fancy.”

“The one with the marvelous chestnut hair.”

“Bobbi.”

“What?”

“Her name is Bobbi. Bobbi Wilt. Tasty, huh?”

He showed me a scowl but it wasn’t his best. “It’s remarkable how much she resembles someone I used to know.”

Someone who’d had a huge impact. Dean was so distracted he was ready to walk into walls.

He has worked for me since I bought the house. In the beginning he lived with one of his brigade of homely nieces. Then it just made sense for him to move into one of the extra rooms upstairs. That kept him from bringing the nieces round, trying to fix them up. He never said much about his olden days. He was in the Cantard the same time as my grandfather. They never met. He knew folks on my mother’s side.

None of which matters now. Dean cooks for me and keeps house. And works hard at filling in for my judgmental mom.

Dean shook like a big old dog that just ambled in out of the rain. “I guess when you’re my age, everybody looks like somebody you’ve already met.”

“Who does she remind you of?”

“A girl I knew. My own Tinnie Tate. An old regret. It doesn’t matter anymore. It was a long time ago.”

Clever. He got in a dig even there.

“Must have been something special.”

“She was. She was indeed.” He drifted toward the kitchen. “We’re out of apples again.”

Pular Singe is addicted to stewed apples. Dean indulges her shamelessly. Despite ingrained prejudice.

Ninety-eight of a hundred TunFairens loathe ratpeople just for existing. They can’t help it.

“I’m not inclined to pay a premium because we’re way off season.”

“Noted. You aren’t inclined to pay more than the minimum for anything in any season.”

Sharper than a serpent’s tooth, the ingratitude of a servant confident in the security of his position.