Leaving Playmate’s stable, we walked about a mile toward the river, skirting Prune Tastity, to reach the southwestern-most fringe of the garment district. Which actually takes up less land area than Prune Tastity. It was on the fringe that we found Kip’s mom.
Kayne Prose was doing seamstress work in a small coop operated round the clock by teams of women whose situations were all much the same. They were all dirt-poor, with children, without husbands, without other salable skills, and most with too many miles on them to compete as prostitutes or taxi dancers. I found the atmosphere inside that place oppressive. The walls had become impregnated with despair.
But every woman there had an air of grim determination. They were survivors, those women, doing what they had to do. Same as me, back when it was crocodiles on the one hand, Venageti rangers on the other, and poisonous bugs, snakes, spiders, and bats everywhere else. Neither we, then, nor these women, now, would let the despair work its seduction. These ladies would battle on until doom sounded its final bell.
Give them the supreme compliment. They would’ve made good Marines.
There were eight women sewing when we arrived. I picked Kayne Prose out immediately. There was a lot of her in Kip. Only . . .
“Damn, Play. She’s a looker. You sure . . . ? That woman’s got three kids, one of them nineteen years old?” No doubt the weak light did her a favor but she didn’t look much older than me. If that old. She could have competed in the flesh markets. And would’ve done pretty well, I’d guess.
Maybe it was the long blond hair that shone like that of a girl half her age. Maybe it was her skin, which seemed far too smooth for a woman of mature years. Maybe it was her face, which the hardships of poverty hadn’t etched nearly as deeply as I would’ve expected. Maybe it was some sort of inner fire. There are those one-in-a-thousand people who just never seem to get old.
I guess I stood there stunned, maybe dribbling from the corner of my mouth, for a while, because I heard this whisper: “That’s exactly how everyone reacts when they meet her for the first time.”
Everyone male, I figured.
Kayne Prose’s sparkling baby blues met mine. The twinkle there told me she could read my mind as surely as the Dead Man could. A tiny smile told me she didn’t mind my sort of thinking, either.
Oh, the gods had been generous when they’d shaped Kayne Prose. And some real artists had gone in on the architecture. Nor had childbearing been unkind. There would be plenty of women ten, even fifteen years younger who’d just plain hate Kayne Prose for existing.
Seven of that sort were planted right there in that room.
“Hello, Play,” she said. And, oh my, her voice was as deep and husky and sensual as Katie’s. It turned my spine to water. And I was there on business. Feeling guilty because I’d let her son get spirited away. And she was fully aware of the effect she was having. It was an effect she’d been having on men for twenty-five years, probably.
I was willing to bet there was elven blood in her, no further than a grandparent away.
She said, “I can’t get up. I fell behind yesterday. Who’s your friend?” She looked me over like she was checking out vegetables at the market, yet from her it was flattering rather than offensive.
And the same from me right back.
She definitely liked being looked at. Which was probably a symptom of her problem.
Playmate’s expression soured. Proof that there was substance to my earlier suspicion. I tried to rein in my boyish charm.
Playmate said, “Kayne, this’s Garrett. The man who was going to help Kip. Now he’s going to help us find Kip.”
For a moment Kayne Prose turned entirely into a worried mother. She turned up a look I remembered from childhood. Which left me nose to nose with the scary speculation that my mother might have been capable of that other, nonmotherly behavior, too.
No. Never. She was Mom.
“Whatever I can do to contribute, I will, Mr. Garrett,” she said. All business now, I’m afraid. Well, almost all business. Kayne Prose was incapable of stifling her sensual side.
Man.
I said, “I’m here because I don’t know where else to start. Can you talk while you work?” The place wasn’t a sweatshop, it was a co-op, but none of the women were pleased to have Playmate and me upsetting their routine. Though a couple of them eyed Playmate like they were measuring him for a wedding suit.
It being a co-op there wouldn’t be killer piecework quotas but, still, for the women to make much income they’d have to put in fourteen-hour days. They’d have some formula for a fair division of the co-op’s income.
“Talk away. But there ain’t much I can tell you. If I knew anything I probably wouldn’t’ve lost my kid. Those two goofballs don’t mean anything to me.”
“Noodiss and Lastyr?”
“We know any other goofballs in this mess?”
“The four who weren’t those two, that took your son. And the three who tried and failed earlier.” I didn’t think the two crews were the same. But I hadn’t seen Playmate’s female elves. Then, inspired, I said, “Tell me about Bic Gonlit.” If Kip knew the guy, then so might she.
Pay dirt.
Her needle slowed for a moment, possibly snagging somehow. She studied her last stitch for half a second. Then she glanced up at Playmate. Her stitching fell back into rhythm. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” There was something here. Maybe nothing I’d find useful but definitely a connection.
Again she glanced at Playmate. So I did the same, only to have him shrug in response, then ask, “Will you be more comfortable if I go outside, Kayne?”
Kayne Prose winced.
I doubted that the woman was long on sensitivity. Life wouldn’t have afforded her the luxury. But she had something on her mind. She thought Playmate would be disappointed or hurt. She cherished his good opinion. Or maybe needed it as an emotional foundation stone. Whatever, she could see some value in a man who was too good to become an active accomplice in her game of self-destruction.
Playmate is one of those guys who is just too damned nice for his own good. And everyone in the place recognized that Playmate felt that his good could be the woman who looked like she had made a pact with the agents of darkness. Except for Kayne Prose herself, of course.
Kayne Prose told Playmate, “You don’t need to go, Play. If I’m embarrassed by something I tell Mr. Garrett, then I deserve the full impact. Mr. Garrett, I enjoyed—for want of a more appropriate description—a brief relationship with Bic Gonlit not long ago.” Her fingers flew, sewing a sleeve onto something for a child maybe six years old. Something for a little girl who would never suffer the miseries and indignities so intimately known to the woman who had assembled her dress. “I don’t believe he saw it in the same light as I did, though.” With an intonation implying that they never do.
“Interesting.” The Dead Man hadn’t mentioned this tantalizing tidbit. Did he want me to find out for myself? Or wasn’t there anything interesting there? Or maybe Bic hadn’t remembered because it wasn’t important to him. “Was this anytime recently?”
Kayne nodded. “I ended it three days ago. When I realized he was using me.” Damn! The woman made the act of breathing a sensual promise. No wonder old Bic took her wrong.
The rest of the women adjusted their positions as Kayne finished, each commenting without saying a word. Possibly unfairly. I didn’t get the feeling that Kayne Prose made herself a public utility, only that she really enjoyed men but always conspired with her own inner devils to make sure she picked the ones who would be bad for her.
“I see. This was a good idea, Play. I’ve learned more in the last three minutes than I did up till then. Kayne, did it get physical? Did he ever take his boots off?” Rumor suggested that Bic might not.
Kayne Prose turned bright red, something her co-op pals probably found amazing. I wondered if that would have happened had Playmate not been with me.
“He . . . He had a problem. He said . . . What do you mean about boots?”
“Bic Gonlit’s big legend revolves around his custom-made, hugely ugly, possibly magical boots. They’re boots a ratman wouldn’t steal. They’re white with fake gems all over them. They have thick elevator soles. You’re probably a good four inches taller than Bic in his bare feet.”
“He’s as tall as me. And I never noticed any special boots. Or shoes. Or anything else.”
I exchanged glances with Playmate.
“What?” Kayne demanded.
I told her, “That wasn’t the real Bic Gonlit, then. That was one of the elves who’re looking for Kip’s friends. He uses some kind of sorcery to make people think they’re seeing Bic Gonlit. But the illusion doesn’t include the boots. Or enough of the short.”
“You know, you’re right. I never thought about it before. When we were kids Bic always had a thing about his shoes.”
“You’ve known him a long time?”
“Not well. But since I was Kip’s age. We grew up on the same street. I saw him around sometimes. We said ‘Hi.’ I never paid him much attention. And he never paid me any. I thought that was because he might be a little . . . fey. Like maybe he didn’t know what he wanted to be. And he was always kind of a jerk. But a month ago he started coming around and acting like he was really interested. He’d gotten a case of the manners and he could talk a pretty good game. But he never did nothing else. Sooner or later, and mostly sooner, the conversation got around to Kip and his friends. He was always asking questions. A man who never does nothing but talk about your kids don’t stay real interesting and ain’t much fun.”
You hear that, Play? I thought. This one has a “me” streak. And it’s what keeps causing her problems. Clever men would play to it. And would think less of her because they were able to.
“I stand cautioned. But I do have to bring the brats up some in order to get my job done.”
One of the women groaned dramatically.
Playmate blessed the lot with a righteous glower. He drew himself up stiffly erect, like he was about to go on a rant about hellfire and sin and chucking first rocks.
I asked, “Kip did know this Bic, too?”
“Better than I did. He figured out right away that Bic just wanted to get next to the two spooky critters.”
“Lastyr and Noodiss.”
“Still the ones, buddy.” The furnace wasn’t burning nearly as hot as it had.
I’d managed to work myself down off the A list.
“You have any idea how I could find this Bic Gonlit? Could you get ahold of him somehow if you wanted?”
She thought about her answer for a while. I’d begun to suspect that her lights didn’t burn too bright and that the woman was something of a flake besides. More factors contributing to her string of failed relationships.
The substance behind the beauty and the intense sensuality was thin. Which I wouldn’t find all that big a handicap most of the time. But, businesswise, it makes for endless problems.
From the corners of my eyes I noted the other women watching to see how long it would take me to catch on—and if it would matter. Maybe with a touch more malice toward me than toward Kayne Prose. In some ways they might live vicariously through Kayne. Kayne wasn’t afraid to indulge herself.
She let me look and think for a while, probably so I could reflect on what I was talking myself out of, before she said, “Yeah. Play, take Mr. Garrett over to my place. Rhafi can show you guys where Bic used to hole up. And if the creep is still there, break a couple limbs for me. All of them if he don’t give Kip back.”
I was about to explain that it wasn’t likely the false Bic Gonlit had the boy. Playmate nudged me. That was irrelevant. It was time to go.
Good idea, too. Because, atop everything else, Kayne Prose had a kind of narcotic quality to her. I could see myself sliding into addiction. Just like my dusky pal.
I kept thinking that, if she hadn’t had so many incompatible personality quirks, she could’ve set herself up for life by getting into the mistress racket. In a prime position.
That she was where she was, looking as good as she did, never having done better, was one more warning flag about the woman inside that marvellously attractive shell.
A long time ago, almost a whole day now, Playmate had told me that Cypres Prose’s mom was different and had pointed to his temple. Based on information gleaned, I’d say the man was right. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to turn right around and go back and try to score some points for the future.