"Dad's probably grumbling about you taking so long. I'll let you know what these two have to say. If they don't talk, they'll be looking for work."
The unknowns were headed for the street already, partly under their own power. Those boys would have a fine crop of aches and bruises in the morning.
Not me, though. I'd saved myself all that by moving fast and hitting hard, first. Just what Morley has been preaching for so long. Pretty soon I'd be leaving them with their throats cut.
Ty muttered, "I'm going to be late again." He worked his chair around until he was right in there with the brewery employees, both of whom were conscious now. "Lance. We'll question Hanbe first. No sense upsetting Skibber Kessel if we don't have to."
The Goddamn Parrot dropped out of the gloom, satisfied that it was safe to show his ugly beak around me again.
Ty started. Then he grinned. "Put one on the other shoulder, too, Garrett. Add a tricorner hat, a bad limp, some facial scars, and an eye patch. You could pass yourself off as Captain Scarlet." He smirked.
The Goddamn Parrot brings out the worst in everybody. Except me.
"I'll just go see your dad now."
" Yo ho ho."
18
Manvil Gilbey was waiting for me. I barely finished cranking the bell handle before he stuck his bleak face outside. I was surprised. A stiffneck named Gerris Genord usually answered the door.
His nose rolled up instantly. "What in the world?... Are you aware of the state of your apparel?"
"Plenty. I was headed over here. I got ambushed in the stable. I'll want to talk that over with the boss, too. But first, why don't I go around back, shuck out of all this horse flavoring, and wash down? If you've got somebody who can bring me a towel and something else to wear."
"Thoughtful of you, Garrett. Take care you don't fall afoul of any pigs or cattle on your journey."
"Careful is my new middle name."
The Goddamn Parrot decided that was his cue to laugh. He sounded like a donkey braying.
I strolled around to the tradesman's gate. I waited there for ten minutes. I started talking to myself, or maybe thinking out loud to the Goddamn Parrot. Gilbey himself finally showed up to open the gate and let me into a large paved courtyard that would have been the shipping point had the mansion actually become a brewery.
"You get lost backstairs? Or are you just the only one home who'll risk—"
"I ran into Alyx. I had to discourage her from supervising your ablutions personally."
That might have been interesting. "Must be this glamorous life I lead."
"I wouldn't get too interested in Alyx."
"Me neither. Max is my bread and butter." Oh, did it hurt to say that and actually try to mean it. The more I thought about how wonderfully Alyx had grown up the more—
"And I understand you're taken."
"Awk!" Chuckles in parrotese.
"This bird and me, we're a hot number. Nothing is going to come between us."
"I expect Miss Tate will be devastated."
Manvil is business all the time. He took himself and life and everything else much too seriously. "You should relax, Gilbey. Take a night off. Go out somewhere where nobody knows you, get fucked up and party your ass off."
Gilbey's eyes widened a skillionth of an inch. "Sound advice, no doubt. It's certainly done you well. I'll consider it."
"Go after it the way you did when you were young and in the service."
"I was in the Judge Advocate's office."
"Wouldn't you know." He probably prosecuted guys for smiling on the job.
"I don't recall ever having criticized the way you live your life, Mr. Garrett."
"Ouch!" Despite his obvious disapproval. "Point taken, Mr. Gilbey. And that makes you a treasure. Everyone else is critical, including my partner, my housekeeper, my girlfriend, my best friend, even this ludicrous buzzard."
The Goddamn Parrot cracked an eyelid and went to all the trouble of interjecting an "Awk" as bitterly cold as any corpse.
For a second I thought Gilbey might crack a smile.
He didn't but I knew how to get to him now. With the unanticipated. With the kind of humor that blindsides you with the unlikely.
"A troll, an ogre, and a barbarian walk into a tavern. The elephant behind the bar says, ‘We don't serve—' "
"Mice are never amusing."
"You've heard it." I hadn't finished the setup.
"I hear them all. Kittyjo collects them. The more off-color the better. I have to listen to them. Here we are. I had several buckets of hot water brought around. Use them as you will."
"Can I ask you something, Gilbey?"
He waited, neither offering permission nor denying it.
"You're a right guy. You're Max's pal. His sidekick. But half the time you talk like some kind of butler or something."
"We are what we are, Garrett. You should find soap, towels, and fresh clothing inside. Rinse down the floor when you're done. Courtesy to the next bather. When you're ready, meet us in Max's study."
"Thanks. For everything and whatever."
I stepped into the place he had made available. The floor was zinc. So were the walls. The staff were allowed to bathe there. Horses got scrubbed down there, too.
A selection of clothing, soap, a brush, and three steaming buckets all sat on a bench. A doorway without a door in it opened into a chamber about five feet by nine, also floored and walled with zinc. The floor sloped to a central drain. A bizarre apparatus consisting of a barrel and lead pipes hung overhead. You filled the tank by climbing a ladder in the outer room.
I figured it out because it resembled a contraption we'd built from a hardtack barrel in the islands, using bamboo for pipes.
I scrubbed up as good as I have in years.
The clothes were not the sort you'll usually find on one of Mama Garrett's boys—mainly because Mom and all her boys together couldn't afford them. Nor were they a choice I would've selected, given a choice. They were too dressy, formal, dull, too dark, more suited to the funeral racket. Also, there was a waistcoat. And ruffles. Not a plethora of ruffles. Not ruffles like you see when Morley dresses up. But ruffles.
Ruffles aren't me.
The Goddamn Parrot resumed station on my shoulder. He made no effort to control his snickers.
The clothing smelled like it had been stored. Maybe it had belonged to one of the Weider boys. In happier times. Not Ty, though. He was smaller than me. Probably the only one who hadn't come home. I couldn't remember his name.
The tools were there so I shaved. I don't know why I didn't seize the opportunity to cut the Goddamn Parrot's throat. It was one in a thousand. And nobody was looking.
19
Old Man Weider stands about two hairs over five and a half feet tall but he has a much bigger presence. He's a round-faced, ruddy-skinned guy with close-cropped white hair, most of which has migrated to the sides of his head, I suppose to escape the direct impact of sunshine and rain. His mustache is doing much better, thank you. Maybe it gets more fertilizer. It's a huge gray bush with flecks of yesterday's brown still hanging on stubbornly.
Weider smiles readily but his smiles seldom take up residence in his eyes. It's like he's really glad to see you but the moment you're actually there he starts calculating all the angles.
He grabbed my hand, pumped it. His fingers were plump little sausages. He grinned as he said, "I hear you had an adventure over in my stables." He has remarkably good teeth for his age. "Ty sent Ike Khame over. He told us what happened while you were cleaning up."
"Ah. An adventure. That don't capture it. I was lucky Ty and Lance turned up when they did."