What was this? I’d worked so hard to discourage customers that I didn’t get this many visitors in a week anymore. Dean made like he was too snowed in cleaning up, so I took care of it myself.
Hoping for some randy sex goddess, I got Barking Dog Amato. I’d forgotten him completely.
“You forgot all about me, Garrett,” he accused, pushing inside, forcing me back with his personal chemistry.
“No,” I lied. “I figured you hadn’t had time to get anything ready yet.”
“Been raining. Not much else to do. Making signs and handbills gets old.”
You’d think a drenching would wash the grunge away. Not so. Water just brought it to life. I considered propping the door open, maybe opening a few windows so the wind could blow through. If I’d lived on the Hill, I might have tried it. In my neighborhood you wouldn’t dare. Even during a typhoon there would be some opportunist ready to accept the challenge. Besides, I only had one downstairs window.
Once past me, Amato halted, dripped, reeked, looked around. “You got that thing, that whatsit they call the Dead Man. I’d sure like to take a gander at that, you know what I mean?”
I tried shallow breaths. I don’t know why we bother. It never helps. “Why not? You’re a man he ought to meet.” I wished Old Bones had him a working sniffer. I’d lock them in together till Amato sold him his whole zany conspiracy collection.
I opened the Dead Man’s door, held it for Amato. Saucerhead, in my chair, half-turned, saw Barking Dog.
His face scrunched up into a world-class frown. He didn’t ask, though.
He got a whiff, that’s why. He gasped, “I see you got a client I’d better go good-bye,” all in one long exhalation. He slid out the door almost before I got through. He tossed me a look that told me he wanted to hear all about it. Later. A lot later, after the miasma cleared.
I winked. “Make sure the front door is closed.”
Barking Dog said, “My God, it’s an ugly sucker. Got a hooter like a mammoth, don’t it?”
Another missionary, Garrett?
“This is Kropotkin Amato. You recall the arrangement we made.”
You know what I mean. You still intend to harass me? You will recall that your previous effort met with a singular lack of success.
“Me? No . . . ”
Nor did you bother mentioning any arrangement, though I discern the details in your mind. We did not contract to have the man watch himself.
“We didn’t contract anything, Smiley.”
Barking Dog looked baffled. I would have too, hearing only half the conversation. I changed subjects. “You can understand why I did it.” I didn’t want to bruise Amato’s feelings. The Dead Man could peek inside his head, see why we didn’t have to mount a major campaign.
You are correct, Garrett. This time. However unlikely, he believes his theories. Which, you will understand, make them the reality in which he lives. I suggest you do meet our principal, try to ascertain why he deems it worthwhile to keep tabs on Mr. Amato.
Good morning, Mr. Amato. I have been anxious to make your acquaintance since Mr. Garrett first undertook to trace your movements.
The rat was going to lay it off on me.
“Uh . . . hi.” Barking Dog was at a loss for words. Maybe I ought to check to see if this was really him.
One breath and I knew I didn’t have to check. “Look here, Chuckles, don’t you go—”
Mr. Amato and I have a great deal to discuss, Garrett. I suggest you visit Mr. Hullar and see if you cannot unearth a reason for his interest.
“Yeah, Garrett. What you been doing, anyhow? You was supposed to . . . ”
I fled, defeated. Would Barking Dog care that I’d neglected him only to save TunFaire from a vicious serial killer? He would be sure they had bought me off. Even though he was the subject I was supposed to investigate for them.
I gave the stairway one longing look, then got into my rain gear. I checked my pockets to see how much cash I had. Maybe I could rent me a room and catch a few winks.
I made a sudden sally into the small front room before I left, thinking I’d snatch Dean’s cat and drag it along. But the cat wasn’t in evidence, only the scratches it had left on my furniture.
Then I realized that I had nothing to report to Hullar. I trudged back and pried Barking Dog’s report away from him. He and the Dead Man were weaving drunken spiderwebs of conspiracy theory already.