And it was hard to keep track of how much sipping I did when I was a little distracted, off and on, by Tinnie and her wicked cousin Rose.
I said, "I'll have a sitdown with all the principals as soon as I arrange for Morley to make space available."
I would take Morley on a nostalgic voyage into his past, returning The Palms to the days when it was The Joy House and neutral ground for meetings just like the one I planned. He was a good friend. He deserved to get the business.
Excellent. And though I do begrudge admitting it, I believe you have suffered one of your better ideas this time.
"Did Singe get back yet?"
More than an hour ago. All went well. She ate and drank like a lumberjack, then went to bed. That child has an amazing capacity for beer.
"If she's going to keep sucking it down here, she'd better start showing an amazing capacity for bringing in cash. What about the jungle chicken?"
Still out there. Watching the al-Khar now. To see how the Guard responds to your message.
"There's only one response possible. Don't tell me they haven't done anything."
Nothing dramatic. There have been comings and goings but, not being familiar with the routine around the jail, I do not know if they are unusual. And it would behoove us to recall that we live in a political world. What Colonel Block should do and what he is allowed to do might not be identical —if someone important upHill happens to be an investor in Reliance's undertakings.
"I know. I know. It's a blackhearted world. I'm going to go put away some beer myself. Then I'm going to sleep till noon."
A man's fondest dreams and dearest ideals often become storm-tossed wrack upon reefs of reality.
I wakened to find myself already deeply involved in some extremely heavy petting.
Evas had decided school was in again. Only... It took a few moments of exploration to determine that tonight's pupil wasn't Evas. Perhaps Fasfir had pulled rank.
Fasfir was a dedicated student, give her that. Her focus matched Evas'. It seemed she wanted to practice till she got it right. She didn't go away until people started stirring around the house.
Good thing I'd announced that I meant to sleep in.
69
Dean didn't get the word. Or didn't care. He wakened me. His stern look of disapproval was the one he reserved for my sloth, brought out on occasions when he felt he couldn't state his opinion aloud. He would've employed an entirely different and much uglier scowl had he known about Evas or Fasfir.
He told me, "You need to get up. There are messages awaiting your attention. And Miss Winger is in the street outside, apprising the world of all your shortcomings."
"I doubt that. She hasn't had a chance to catalog them. Unless you've signed on as her adviser."
He plowed ahead. "And the workmen have arrived." He said that last quickly and softly, as though it was a minor, mooshy afterthought of no consequence whatsoever.
I didn't think about it. Which was the point.
John Stretch had cut Winger loose. Good for him. Good for her. Maybe not as good for me if she was going to roam the streets accusing me of being in cahoots with those ugly fraternal twins, Mal and Mis Feasance. Although I certainly had trouble imagining why she might do that, considering she slept in their bed herself, most nights.
"None of that sounds all that pressing to me," I grumbled, knowing he was going to be disgruntled simply because I was in bed when it was light outside already.
Dean shrugged. His usual, aggressive morning attitude seemed to have abandoned him. He was intrigued by something on the floor. Something he might possibly have last seen hanging off Fasfir. He frowned deeply as he tried to get a mental grasp on the facts.
I saw the change when he decided he was imagining things.
I said, "I'll be down in a few minutes."
On instructions from the Dead Man, Dean let Winger into the house. She stormed from the front door directly into the kitchen, where I was working on breakfast while surrounded by my harem. "Have a cup of tea, Winger." Then I said, "If you insist on being abusive I'll just chuck you right back out in the street. Where you can keep on entertaining the secret police spies who watch this place every minute."
Winger was wound up. She blistered the air with her extemporaneous remarks. However, mention of Relway's gang got her stuttering fast. Unfortunately for her immortality, I wasn't paying enough attention to recall her exact words for posterity. Which was probably just as well. She hadn't been doing a whole lot of nun-style talking.
"You're running around loose, aren't you?" I wedged the question in while pouring tea for myself and Evas, who seemed astounded that something like Winger existed. "Imagine that. And you didn't get one single precious little hair on your pretty head harmed, either. Amazing." I wasn't responsible but she didn't need to know that.
Winger thought some. The implications made her stumble some more. She decided to sit down and enjoy an eating contest with Singe—at least until she'd worked herself up for a fresh round of accusations.
Once she had her mouth full, I asked, "How did those ratmen manage to capture you? I expected something to happen. Morley was supposed to send some men to back you up. Didn't they show?"
"Those pussies?" I think that's what she said. Her mouth was still full of dribbling crumbs. "Those assholes ran out on me."
I sighed. That wasn't that hard to translate. It meant she'd been such a bitch that Morley's guys had decided that the job wasn't worth it, that Winger deserved whatever she got. Morley would back them up. And would demand that they be paid for their suffering. And he'd have the moral right of it, probably.
Winger remains her own worst enemy.
Maybe she ought to try a little adult education with Sarge.
Some crashing and banging started up front. "What the hell? Sounds like somebody's beating on the side of the house with a sledgehammer." For a moment I envisioned Doris doing to my house what he'd refused to do to Casey's place.
Nobody told me anything. But Dean's attitude suddenly seemed evasive.
I recalled his having said something about workmen.
I drained my teacup and headed for the front door, noting that I wasn't hurting much of anywhere this morning. Which was wonderful. And surprising. I ought to have some cramps, or something, considering the rigors of my instructional duties.
The racket got the Goddamn Parrot going. "Help! Help! Oh, Mister, please don't... " I leaned in to tell him, "Aw, shut yer ugly beak, ya little pervert," before I went on to the door. "Ain't nobody here who ain't heard it all before."
Wait.
"Huh?"
I believe we are about to have a caller.
"But somebody's trying to wreck the outside of the house."
Masons are removing a couple of bricks to permit the pixies access to the hollows in the middle course of the wall.
The outer walls of my place are three-course brick masonry, a very dark, blackish rough red brick. Typically, the center course of that sort of construction includes a lot of voids.
So some genius had gotten the notion that those voids could be turned into pixie apartments. Gah! Now I'd have them squabbling inside my walls, day and night.
I supposed chances were excellent the guilty genius spent most of his life making and unmaking messes in my kitchen.