He wasn't offended. "That's how a lot of men react. You a little faster than most, but that's just you being you. And after years of studying Kayne Prose I think it's all because of what's going on inside her. She doesn't just hurt herself in these doomed relationships. And the harder it is on the guys, the harder they try to make it work."
We were strolling. Playmate needed to air out some thoughts. It was clear that he was a Kayne Prose addict and willing to risk destruction. And maybe Kayne Prose thought too much of Playmate to give him a hit of poison.
People are the strangest creatures.
"What's it all mean?" I asked, just to keep open the windows of his mental house.
"I think it means that Kayne has a low-grade form of what the Dead Man has. The mind thing." Which could mean another wizard in the woodpile, a generation further back. "Just enough to read you faintly and to touch you just as weakly. Without knowing it on a conscious level. But using it all the time when men are around. In such a way that whatever is going on inside her will be reflected right back at her from outside. And maybe it'll feed on itself if it starts running into something dark."
I considered. "You could be right." I started trying to compare, in my head, Kayne Prose's impact with the jolt my friend Katie could deliver. Katie can reduce this man to jelly with just a look. When Katie gets interested there are no distractions. Katie is the closest I've ever come to having had a religious epiphany.
I'd just considered that to be a matter of focus. But maybe it was something more. Maybe there was a weak, crude mental connection involved.
Playmate said, "It's just a hypothesis." With a tone so defensive that an apology was implied.
"A damned good hypothesis, I'd say. You ought to get completely alone with her sometime, no distractions whatsoever, and test it out."
He sputtered.
"Play? You're embarrassed?"
"I'm not that kind of guy, Garrett."
"Maybe you ought to be. Tell me about Kayne's other kids. Are they problem folks like their mother and brother?"
"Not like their mother and brother. But problems enough. You'll like Cassie."
He didn't tell me much more. But he was right about Cassie. Cassie was a very likeable child indeed.
25
Cassie Doap was nineteen. Physically, Cassie was her mother a decade and a half younger, with the overpowering sensuality less controlled. Cassie Doap would break hearts just by going out where men could see her and understand that they would live out their years never having gotten any closer than they were at the moment when first they spotted her. Cassie Doap filled up a room with her presence but didn't spark the confusion that came with being around her mother.
Cassie Doap was smarter than Kayne, too. She understood the impact she had on men but had no intention of letting that define who and what she was. If Kayne Prose had done one useful thing for her daughter it was to set an example of how not to live her life.
All that I understood before Cassie Doap and I exchanged a word. Because Cassie Doap was an easy read. She wanted it that way.
I wondered what hidden, horrible flaw had a poor woman as gorgeous as this still living with her mother at her age. A hyperactive sense of self-worth?
Playmate performed the introductions. I managed to shake hands while avoiding stepping on my tongue, distracting myself by concentrating on business. I'm able to do that occasionally, though there're some who would have the world believe otherwise. It's just that the Kaynes and Cassies of the world make it so hard.
With Cassie there I almost overlooked her brother Rhafi. He wasn't the sort to attract much attention.
I told Cassie, "We're trying to find Kip. We think... "
"If Play hadn't guaranteed it was the real thing I would've bet the little twerp staged the whole damned thing."
"Why would you think that?" I noted that, unlike her mother, Cassie did nothing to make sure I understood just how much woman she was.
"Because that's the way his evil little pea brain works." Brother Rhafi nodded his head vigorously. "He lives inside his own imagination. Everything in there is high drama. Perilous chases, deadly duels, narrow escapes, beautiful princesses, and monstrous villains."
Playmate chuckled. "Sounds like your life, Garrett," he quipped.
"Except for a severe shortage of princesses, beautiful or otherwise. You wouldn't be a long-lost princess, left in a basket on your mother's doorstep, would you, Cassie?"
"Long-lost, anyway. If that was intended to be a compliment you get points for being a little more subtle than the usual, ‘Gods, you're beautiful. Lie down because I think I love you.' "
"Must've been army type guys. Marines are all smooth and crafty." Had we just gotten a hint of why Cassie Doap hadn't wriggled her way into the sweet life? Everybody knows that's a girl's easiest way out of the poor side of town. Or was she in a constant rage because Fate had decreed she should be so beautiful that everybody wanted her? I don't recall ever having run into a woman who resented her own appeal, only women who hated their sisters for having more of it than they did. But I could understand the notion, in principle. In someone who could, genuinely, separate self from body.
Possibly Kayne's past behavior had loaded Cassie up with outside expectations as well. Perhaps the whole neighborhood figured like mother, like daughter. That's the sort of ignorant thinking you can expect from human type beings. And the sort that would park a big old chip on somebody's shoulder.
Playmate said, "Kayne told us you could show us where Bic Gonlit stayed when he was coming around here." His tone was strained, neutral. And Cassie heard that. And she understood.
"I can't. I stayed away from that creep. He was always trying to get me to go somewhere with him when Kayne wasn't around."
But Kayne had told us that Bic hadn't shown any physical interest in her. If he hadn't gone for the mom why would he take a run at the daughter?
Make the assumption he wasn't a good, red-blooded Karentine boy and you might think he could want something else. Maybe he'd had a notion that snatching Cassie would give him a lever he could use to get Kip to tell him what he wanted to know.
Hard to imagine just wanting Cassie as a hostage. She was the kind of girl you have to keep away from the old men. Or you'll have them dropping like flies from strokes and heart attacks. Hell, I was having palpitations myself and I was just there looking for her nimrod brother.
I had trouble seeing anything else. Especially not brother Rhafi, who vanished in Cassie's glare. That poor kid didn't even have Kip's unpleasant character traits. He was just there, a gangly six-footer with unkempt dark hair, brown eyes, a ghost of a mustache, the beginnings of a set of bad teeth, and no meat on his bones. I got the impression that he'd rather be somewhere else. That, like his brother, he had a preference for the habitués of worlds of his own devising.
Physically, it was obvious that Rhafi did not share a father with Kip. Cassie... She might pass as Kip's full sister if anybody wanted to pretend. But she did have that different last name.
No matter. As pleasant a task as it was staring at Cassie and drooling, I was in the business of rescuing obnoxious teenagers. "Rhafi, I'm Garrett." Like maybe he'd forgotten. But I'd decided to deal with him the way I dealt with Singe. Carefully. He seemed of an age to be volatile. "I specialize in finding things that get lost." Or about anything else that needs doing, that clients don't want to do for themselves, and that I don't think is wrong.
"Like Bic Gonlit."
"Well, sure. Though the reason I want to find him is because he may know where to find your brother."