Though he was mad as hell Bic couldn’t get his body to move. He couldn’t do anything but flinch when my hand settled on his shoulder. “Bic, my man, here you are again. Lurking. Let’s go for a walk.”
Gonlit stood up and zombie-walked over to the house with me. I talked to him all the way, mainly in an admonitory tone. There was no need to get any other watchers overly excited.
I did blow Mrs. Cardonlos a kiss. She was out on her porch, keeping her eyes open. She needed her reward.
Mr. Gonlit is after Miss Pular again. Now on behalf of a ratman who calls himself John Stretch.
“You get the joke, Singe? John Stretch?”
“No. Why would the name John Stretch be a joke?” The notion seemed to irritate her.
“John Stretch is what they used to call the hangman, before we got civilized and started lopping off heads instead.”
“Is that true? I wonder who he could be.” Singe had almost no accent left, despite her vastly different throat and voice box. Scary how talented the girl was. But her tone was so controlled even I knew she was dancing around something. I was surprised the Dead Man didn’t get after her. Although, sometimes, he just doesn’t pay attention to anything but himself.
Mr. Gonlit does not know who John Stretch is. He does not care. One of the hard-nosed youngsters with ambitions toward Reliance’s throne, if you care to call it that. A somewhat naive youngster willing to pay part of Mr. Gonlit’s fee up front.
Mr. Gonlit enjoyed a wonderful gourmet dinner last night. He followed it with a bottle of TunFaire Gold and a deep pipe filled with the finest imported broadleaf tobacco. Probably a Postersaldt. Now Mr. Gonlit finds himself in a position where he has to deliver something that will please John Stretch.
“Hey, Bic. You know we warned you to back away from us.”
Gonlit shrugged. “People warn you off, pal. I don’t recollect you ever running away.”
That stuff is pretty obnoxious when somebody else is throwing it into your face.
“Must be the boots talking, Bic. Making you braver than you ought to be.”
“What’re you gonna do, pal? Send me to the Cantard?”
Bic tried hard not to betray his interest in the silver elf woman. Her interest in Bic, however, was both frank, blatant, and troubled. The manly posturing thing seemed both to excite and repel her. She was eager to see what happened next.
“There’s an original question, Bic. Well, I have work to do. Errands to run. I hope you took that John Stretch for a potful of gold. By the time I get back home you’ll probably be unemployed. Kip! Where the hell are you? Get your sorry ass ready. I’m taking you home.” With a side trip to The Palms along the way, of course.
I needed to see my old buddy, my pal, Morley the celery stalker and carrot killer.