"Definitely outside the box," Morley said. "Not an angle that would have occurred to me."
"I take it you came up with something, 'Head, on account of you've been wearing such a big shit-eating grin."
"I got to admit I never found who made the stuff for the zombies. Maybe the folks that build them have them make their own outfits. But I did find a guy that made stuff for the hot witch."
"Do tell."
"Here's the part that's got me feeling smart. This guy ain't no theater costumer. He makes custom stuff for the fetish trade."
"Really? I'm starting to think that we've been underestimating you, 'Head."
"People got a habit of doing that."
True enough, though usually only in regard to estimating how much abuse he can suffer and go on living.
"How come you thought of this fetish person?"
"I was passing by his place. I had this friend once, she liked to play dress up. I knew where she got her stuff. So I went in and got a little pushy, pretending like I was working for Relway. The tailor guy went all white and shaky and told me about this custom order for a bunch of black leather outfits that had to sync up with six different wigs. He got his gig through the wigmaker. And he got hands-on with the woman when she came for fittings."
"All right. Good story. Who was she?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. She never told him. But I guarantee you, she got to that tailor. He had stars in his eyes. His hands shook when he showed me how her body curved. And him as nancy as you can hope to find down there."
"Excellent," I said. "Just excellent. What about the wigmaker?"
"I got the name. He should be the next target."
Morley observed, "This is like taking over for the Dead Man, Garrett, us at the heart of the web while minions do the legwork."
Saucerhead frowned. He wasn't thrilled about that minions remark.
Singe said, "Mr. Tharpe, you do recall the name of that special tailor, don't you? And the wigmaker?"
Tharpe understood. Singe wasn't questioning him. She wanted to get the information committed to paper so it wouldn't get lost.
Morley said, "I meant it about just sitting around like the Dead Man."
"I know. And I'm thinking that maybe he gets frustrated, too, because he can't get out and snoop for himself."
"You? Frustrated about having to lay around and do nothing?"
"It's different when it isn't your own choice."
75
Jerry the beer guy turned up while Singe was winkling critical information out of Saucerhead. I helped bring the kegs in. Dean had gone for an extra, a standard-grade tavern beer good enough for our endless stream of guests.
Saucerhead was the first benefactor, though what he got was the last partial pitcher off the cripple in the cold well. I took half a mug. Morley got nothing but he doesn't drink. Singe got a taste off Saucerhead's pitcher.
Dean and Penny came back as Jerry and I were loading the empty kegs on his wagon. Dean had bought so much stuff he'd had to hire a cart to haul it. I did a brief apprentice stint in the porter trade.
It's good to develop new skills.
Dean's purchases didn't inspire me.
He was concerned about our finances-especially after having bought three kegs of beer and paid the deposit on the extra.
While lugging apples and potatoes, I took a look around. The complement of watchers had become disrespectfully small.
Folks thought the tale had moved on. Morley and I were not considered factors anymore. Or, maybe, the powers on the Hill had grown fangs so long and green that people formerly inclined to hang on my adventures had chosen discretion as their expression of valor.
Yeah. That felt better than thinking I wasn't worth watching anymore.
Having made sure the fresh kegs felt at home I scuttled back into the Dead Man's room. "All right, Mr. Tharpe. You've done an admirable job so far. What next?"
"I don't know." His tongue had gotten a little thick already. He was thinking about his next pitcher. "I figure somebody else should take over. I asked so many questions people was starting to believe I was one of Relway's Runners. One of the ones so dumb he don't know how to hide it."
"They act scared?"
"Of course they did. Everybody is afraid of the Unpublished Committee, excepting you and me and maybe your napping friend across the way." He meant Morley, who had gone back to his cot while the beer barrel population was being restored to glory.
"Any threats?"
"You know anybody stupid enough to threaten Relway's thugs? Anybody still running around loose, I mean. There's probably a shitload helping drain Little Dismal Swamp."
"You're right. I don't. Anybody serious about bucking the Director better be smart enough to keep his big damned mouth shut."
Tharpe said, "So I was thinking, since I couldn't find the people who made the masks and outfits for the zombies, maybe the next step would be to look the chain back a link and find out who made that ugly cloth. And who came up with the stuff to make them stupid helmets. Did you save one of them from the other night?"
"The red tops took everything."
"That General Block, he's smarter than he lets on. I wonder if he's been thinking the way I been."
I doubted it. "Did you run into any real Runners when you were poking around?"
"No."
"You were ahead of them." I should give Block a heads-up. He could swamp that district with investigators able to scare a stone into spilling its guts.
"I'm thinking you're onto something, 'Head."
"I got one more thing. Then I'm gonna head into the kitchen and get me another pitcher. I'm gonna enjoy that. Then I'm gonna curl up in a corner and sleep for about two days."
"Sounds like a plan. What's your one more thing?"
"Get the Remora to take over where I left off. He pokes around down there, them people will lay down and spread their legs. They'll do anything for him if it might get them a shot at connecting with one of his shows."
"Saucerhead, you drink all the beer you want." I felt like the peasant boy who's just been handed the magic sword. Big things were coming.
Tharpe showed me his biggest, goofiest grin, headed for the kitchen. I went over to discuss it with Singe. She was recording Dean's purchases in her books.
76
"Saucerhead came up with an original idea." I explained.
"That is an interesting angle. Somebody has been feeding him smart pills. Let's hope Mr. Salvation feels amenable." She brushed aside my suggestion that we send for him. "He'll ignore us if we appeal to him. He needs to think things are his idea. Wrangling him takes craft."
"Did Old Bones craft him into doing something for us?"
"He did. I don't know what. Certainly something the Dead Man told him only he could manage."
I shook my head. Jon Salvation. I couldn't get used to a Remora with airs.
Focused on her books, Singe told me, "You need to put your prejudices aside when you think about that man, Garrett. He is a near complete waste of flesh in ways you consider important, but he is also the best and most powerful playwright working. And, in his mind, he is one of your inner circle."
"I got you. But do you realize how ridiculous that is to anybody who knew Pilsuds Vilchik?"
Singe asked, "Answer the door. I still have entries to make and Dean's notes look like he kept them in code."
"The door?"
"Someone is knocking."
"Damn, your ears are better than mine."
"I'm young. I'm pretty. And I'm not human."
No way could I respond to that and have anything good come of it.
She snickered as I left the room.