Red Iron Nights (29 page)

“I doubt it. Like I said, times are changing. You’re running out of friends. I been waiting. The day I made captain, I had a special cell fixed up in the Al-Khar. I’m looking for an excuse to put you in it, hoping you make me break all your bones putting you there. I don’t know why it works out that way, but almost every prisoner who was on the Watch’s top-fifty-assholes list seems to end up committing suicide. Maybe it’s rough in there.” He winked at me, said, “Thanks, Garrett. I’d almost forgotten what I owe this butthead.”

At the same time, Crask put on his most menacing face. “You want to be dead, Garrett? You don’t mess with me like this and get out alive.”

“What do I have to lose? Weren’t you going to do me and the kingpin’s kid as soon as I found her?”

“Come on, Garrett!”

“You think I’m weak. By your standards. But do you really think I’m stupid?”

Crask was ready to skin people alive. My plan to drive him crazy had worked. Only . . . 

One of Block’s men stepped up and bopped Crask from behind, whaling on his head with a stick that was cousin to my own. Crask didn’t go down first crack. The stick man stared at his tool for a moment, astonished. Then, before Crask regained his equilibrium, Block’s man whacked him half a dozen times real fast, making sure he got the effect he wanted.

Traffic on the steps cleared back. Funny. Not one soul thought of hollering for the Watch.

Block asked, “What do you think? Shall I put him away? Let Sadler shit a few bricks trying to figure what happened to him?”

“You’re not scared what they’ll do?”

“Not anymore.” Block smiled. Relway appeared. Though I had no solid reason to think so, I feared Relway was the most dangerous creature in this New Order Watch. “We’ll lock him up for a few days. Just so he’ll know what it can be like.”

The show moved away from me then.

I worried for Block. This could cause him big trouble. He might have a cell fixed up for Crask, but I couldn’t see Crask staying in it, no matter what Rupert planned. The kingpin had friends everywhere. Once Sadler learned about Crask’s predicament, heavyweight wheels would start turning.

Still . . . 

I watched Relway.

Block was creating his own personal secret police force. Fast. Possibly with the best of intentions, but if he pulled many stunts like snatching Crask, he’d find himself riding a tiger.

55

I reported everything to the Dead Man. He was not pleased.

“You think I am, Chuckles?”

Captain Block has grown overconfident. His act is premature. His organization, however extensive, cannot challenge the syndicate even in transition. I cannot see his men remaining loyal through a crisis. Corruption has its own historical momentum.

“Historical momentum?” He starts using terms like that, it’s time to batten down. There’s about to be a big, sententious blow.

In the matter of Mr. Amato, his trepidation is understandable. Next time you see him, suggest he stop in and visit.

Just a down-home good old boy, my partner. I made a rude noise. I’d spent three days burrowing through centuries past, and he showed no interest whatsoever.

He could ignore with the best of them.
In the matter of the sorcerers Candide and Drachir, it appears that we should contact appropriate experts.

“I consulted experts already, Smiley.”

Linguists and generalists. Both names excite vague resonances but no special memories. Before my time, I fear. My opinion is that Block should have saved his special cell for our special villain.

He was racketing around all over the place. “Probably. It’ll take a tough lockup to keep whoever’s wearing the curse.”

Till we get the appropriate wizards on the case.

Suddenly the Dead Man went shy. His tenor, tentative behind a display of confidence, baffled me, if only because I couldn’t conceive of any situation in which he ought to be hiding something from his senior partner.

In the matter of Miss Altmontigo . . . 
Pause like he was fixing to feed me a line of bull so feeble he couldn’t expect a moron to buy it . . . 
Ihad a visit from her stepfather. We enjoyed a turbulent session.

“I’ll bet.” You know how fathers get.

He had to face facts.

“Meaning somebody who considers himself my partner outstubborned somebody who knew he was on this earth for only three score and ten and saw time slipping away?”

Meaning that relentless bombardment with fact forced him to assume a cooperative stance.

“You got to him by dropping the Prince’s name.” He’s not so hard to figure.

Actually, the real clincher was my observation that he no longer has any legal hold on Miss Altmontigo’s person, only on her property.

I frowned. Each time he mentioned “Miss Altmontigo” he sort of stumbled. But I turned to his point.

For reasons unclear to me, Karentine property law assumes women don’t have the sense the gods gave a goose. The law gives husbands and fathers veto powers over all transfers—even where they have no other claim on money or property. I suppose that’s meant to save those silly girls from giving everything to cults and/or con men. Only a widow can execute contracts in her own name. I guess good sense rubs off in bed.

I suggested she might get around him on the property, of which she has a great deal, inherited via his maternal grandmother, who was something of a feminist activist. He manages the property at a handsome profit to himself.

He’d hung a lantern on the loophole. A woman of legal age can marry without permission. She could marry a dying (or dead) man who had no other heirs, making herself a quick widow. This doesn’t happen too often, but when it does and there is a fortune at stake, the cases become public entertainments. Witnesses sell their testimony to the highest bidder. You can guess about the lawyers. Everything not nailed down. It ain’t nailed down if they can get it loose with a prybar.

“You’re home.” Belinda invited herself in, rolled her eyes skyward. “That woman. She may work at Hullar’s, but she has no concept of the real world.”

I frowned a question at the Dead Man.

A juvenile female rivalry. Ignore it.

Sensible advice, maybe. Though not taking sides can be dangerous too, if they’re really wound up.

Belinda asked, “Did we make any headway today?”

I told her about my day. The Dead Man didn’t grouse about hearing it all again. Was my report on Drachir all that intriguing?

Belinda became preoccupied after I mentioned Crask. Twice I had to ask, “What’s with him?” before I got an explanation of the Dead Man’s funk.

“That friend of yours, the big one, came by.”

“Saucerhead?”

“Yes. He brought some news about the Cantard. I don’t think it was welcome. Excuse me.” Belinda didn’t like military stuff.

“Bad news, Smiley?” I asked. “Something you didn’t want to hear?”

Your Marines have recaptured Full Harbor.

“I told you it would be a different story.” I felt me a big surge of pride. They really do get you.

That is the least of it. Karenta has launched a general offensive on a shoestring and a prayer. Supported by morCartha auxiliaries, Karentine forces are attacking Venageti and republicans everywhere.

“Going to be a lot of regrets going out to the mothers of a lot of Karentine heroes, then.”

A great many more will go to Venageti and republican mothers. The morCartha appear to be serving both loyally and with efficiency. If they persist, they will devour Glory Mooncalled’s ability to gather superior intelligence, by harassing his scouts relentlessly. They are assuming all the traditional cavalry roles, including raiding and screening and holding. And they are doing it through the air, where neither Mooncalled nor the Venageti can touch them. They have wrested air supremacy from Mooncalled’s flying allies already.

“So?”

Do not be thick. It may mean the war is all but over, with Karenta the winner. Assuming the morCartha remain steadfast, we will witness a slaughter. Karentine troops will be in the right place at the right time in superior numbers, supported vigorously from aloft, every time.

“And?”

The end of Mooncalled’s dream may be the beginning of Karenta’s nightmare. Victory may be defeat. Our wiser leaders may have realized that long ago. That may be why the war dragged on. When the cost of victory exceeds that of continued warfare
—

“Huh?” I was in one of my sharper states.

You have, on occasion, commented on conditions that could arise should all the soldiers come home.

“Oh. Sure.” After generations of warfare, the economy depends on continued conflict. Whole sectors are managed by nonhumans. Peace would bring on dislocations of vast magnitude, social stress, and strife. “Call it the war that’s lost by winning.”

Exactly.

“Have we done anything to steel ourselves?”

We are nonpolitical. Our services will be in demand always. Against fate, even the gods conspire in vain.

That sounded like a bowdlerized quote. I didn’t mention my suspicions. It does no good to call him on a theft. He’s shameless.

Belinda came back. “I’ve been thinking, Garrett. I need to see Captain Block.”

A scheme worthy of your father, Miss Contague. But poorly timed. I do not think I can urge this strongly enough. This is not the moment to challenge Mr. Crask and Mr. Sadler. Their side of the ledger has all the pluses. And your few reliable friends are preoccupied with this traveling curse. Even so, let me suggest a few steps we might take when the time does come.

I groaned. When we take steps, I do the stepping.

They conversed. I waited, left out. Belinda was full of bounce when she left, having delivered a potent and promising thank-you kiss.

“What was she planning?”

Her scheme involved transporting me to Mr. Dotes’s establishment . . . 

“Say what? The woman is
mad!
” I can’t move him to sweep around him, let alone push him out of the house.

There was a certain elegant evil in her plan
, he sent, rather wistfully. He did not explain.
We will explore elements of it in our free time these coming days. This will require visits from numerous outsiders. Apprise Dean.

Right. And have Dean blame it all on me even when it was obvious the whole thing was one of the Dead Man’s chuckleheaded schemes.

56

So there we were, fooling around closing out one of TunFaire’s worst-ever serial-killer deals, up to our ears in Watch and informants, and the Dead Man was trying to set up some scam to get Crask and Sadler off Belinda’s back. I got to play gofer. Grumbling gofer. When Block didn’t have anything better for me to do.

I must admit, though, that Miss Belinda Contague’s gratitude stretched the limits of imagination and, almost, those of endurance.

We had so many villains in and out, I lost count. Most weren’t your basic thug type, they were magistrates and military men and entrepreneurs and, yes, even Watch officers. Men whose vision defects had made Chodo powerful and them wealthier than they should have been. They all knew Belinda. Her birthday parties had been Chodo’s annual excuse for gathering them together.

They came. Belinda talked about Crask and Sadler and her dad while the Dead Man poked around inside their heads. Those who would line up against Belinda left with their thoughts scrambled so they’d forget having seen her.

Saucerhead and Morley and Morley’s men Puddle and Sarge hung around being insurance.

The Dead Man was sure Winchell wouldn’t go after Candy again even if we threw her out naked and gave him a big head start. Belinda offered to go dangle on the hook.

Came the night. This time I was determined to stick it out till it wrapped. Block and his all-thumbs boys weren’t going to screw it up again.

I wanted out. I’d done work enough for three cases. The only up side was, I hadn’t gotten pounded around, which happens too often in my line.

Hullar’s place was stuffed with picked Watchmen, most of them auxiliaries. More of the same were scattered around the neighborhood. The Tenderloin was lousy with law. The outside crew came and went, buying beer. We insiders bought more.

Hullar leaned against the bar, told me, “This asshole with the knife is going to make me rich, all you guys in here sucking it down. You really got to catch him?”

“We could let him do his stuff right there on your dance floor, let the mess draw the ghoul trade.”

“Touchy.”

“Can’t help it.” The hour was late. Tension was rising. The troops worked harder and harder to pretend they were ordinary slobs. I should’ve told them to lean back and take it easy. They were plenty ordinary and they had slob down pat.

“We shouldn’t be out here, Garrett.”

Hullar was right. Winchell might recognize me. Maybe the Watch was rubbing off on me instead of the other way around.

Belinda came to the back room where Hullar and Crunch and I were killing time drinking. She needed reassurance.

So did Crunch. He was put out. Relway had ousted him from behind the bar. “I could handle any whipper-snapper what went to bothering the girls, Hullar. No reason me being pushed off my job.”

“I’m sure you could, Crunch. But I’m not in charge.”

Crunch turned his glare on me. I said, “We’re talking about a psycho killer, Crunch. A total crazy. You don’t know him. The man behind the bar does.” I hoped Relway’s disguise would hold up. “If you were out there, he could walk in and cut your throat before you knew it was him. It’s for your safety.”

This had played before. I was tired of it. I gave Belinda a peck on the cheek, squeezed her hand. “Getting close. Hang in there. Break a leg. All that.”

“He should’ve made some kind of move already, Garrett.”

I was afraid she was right. Somebody should’ve come to check her out, maybe tried to pick her up. I was worried too.

An hour later the consensus had spread to the street. Something had gone wrong. Our fish hadn’t bitten. Somewhere a woman was dying because . . .