John Stretch and two ratwomen were on the stoop. I figured his henchrats had witnessed the beer delivery.
The so well-to-do lord of the ratfolk underworld joined me in with the Dead Man. His women joined Morley. "This cool air is wonderful."
I had worked up a sweat doing porter work so I was in complete agreement. "I'm scared to ask Singe how much we pay for the heat exchange spells but on these warm days it seems worth it."
"There must be some kind of climate change going on. Ratpeople aren't usually bothered by hot weather but this much heat, this early, worries me. What will it be like when we hit the blazing heart of summer?"
"Blazing heart, eh?"
"Not original, I admit. It is from a street corner rant I heard the other day. Though he actually said, 'The blazing heat of summer. ' His point was, the hottest day of summer would seem refreshingly cool once we found ourselves in hell."
"A street theater guy. You got to love them. Life would be less fun without them."
"Too true."
He had a reason for being here beyond a hope for free beer. I put on an expression of eager curiosity. I drank some beer myself.
"The reason I came by-I wanted to let you know, I just launched a special operation."
I took a long sip. "I'm all ears."
"The stink of corruption in that warehouse had to be unique. And something like it would be strong wherever the zombie makers are building their monsters now."
He looked expectant.
"I imagine so." I looked expectant right back, sure he had a point to make. "Yes?"
"Ah." Pleased with himself. "I put out word to ratfolk across the city. Sniff out places that stink of death and chemicals."
"Brilliant!" How could the people who wanted the thing left alone object? "Everybody is thinking more clever than me."
"Everybody?"
"Saucerhead Tharpe came up with the notion of looking for the people who made the costumes, then to work back from them."
"That would be interesting, too. But my method has more promise."
"You're right. Find the monster manufactory and back-tracking won't be necessary."
He wanted more pats on the back. Some parts of his life must not have been going as well as he would like.
I said, "Enjoy your beer." Which must not have been the perfect sentiment at the moment. He looked puzzled.
The day went downhill from there. The world kept intruding.
All the folks sent out by the Dead Man would come back to plague me.
77
Jon Salvation turned up first, glowing. He shook my hand. "I don't know what you did, Garrett, but, thank you, thank you, thank you."
"All right. Good for me. What are you talking about?"
"Tinnie. She's going to take the part. She turned up for first readings this morning. She was an angel. And she nailed her character first try. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Any time. But do me a favor. Tell her my dividend is late. Way late."
"Eleven days late!" Singe said, managing a fierce growl.
"All right. I'll pass it on. To business. The Dead Man asked me to talk to people I know about who holds the deed to the warehouse where they were making zombies. The owner is Constance Algarda, better known as Shadowslinger."
"Wasn't she one of the people the Bellman killed when. .? No. I remember now. He busted her up but she lived."
"I report, sir. I don't do analysis. If she's dead she still manages to be active in the real estate world. She owns other properties around town. I brought a list." He produced it. Singe snagged it, began copying it to make sure the information got put away safe before I could contrive to lose or destroy it.
Salvation added, "Just as a bit of practical information, I wasn't the only one asking questions. People from the Palace, people from the Guard, and some scary-looking people off the Hill all poked into the same stuff before I did."
"That might not be good."
"You think?"
"There's something else you could do to help. You being uniquely qualified." I explained the costume angle.
"I can handle that. Easy. I have a big lever. We need lots of costumes and sets for The Faerie Queene."
I couldn't tell the man he wasn't half the waste of human flesh that I'd always thought. But I could think it and maybe he could sense it.
Singe finished copying the list. She handed the copy to her brother. John Stretch scanned it, took a drink, bobbed his head, and left the room with Singe right behind. He was less under the weather than I thought, and more literate.
Singe returned, began making another copy. I asked, "When did he learn to read?"
"While you were away. He's slow and he has trouble with script but he understands that literacy is the most useful skill you can have in life."
"What's he going to do with that list?"
"Have his people sniff around."
"He'll need to be careful if those others are doing the same thing."
"Give the dumb rat some credit, Garrett. He heard. He'll be careful-in the unlikely event that anybody does notice ratpeople."
Ouch! She was in a mood again. But she had a point.
"I understand. Now tell me something. What are you so busy writing all the time? You can't possibly need to do that much bookkeeping."
"I keep a record of everything that happens to us."
Odd. That sounded like one of those truths that have more than one face. Like a carefully crafted answer kept on the shelf for the moment when the inevitable question arose.
Jon Salvation chuckled. He knew something.
Of course he did. The past few weeks even kids like Crush and Kyra knew more than me about almost everything.
"Jon, about the girl who was here the other night."
"Crush?"
"Yeah. She's a good kid."
Singe made a whuffing sound, maybe startled.
"I'm sure she is. And I wasn't at my best."
I showed him a raised eyebrow.
"It's so frustrating. They all have the same dumb questions. Which they can't articulate because they're starstruck. I try to remember that their questions seem unique to them. But I'm not used to all this. Sometimes I lose patience."
I gawked. I asked Singe, "What did they do with my friend the Remora?"
He laughed. "People change when the earth shifts under their feet, Garrett. I'm not Pilsuds Vilchik anymore. Nor the Remora-though that has had a hard downside for Winger. I'm all Jon Salvation, now. Which isn't always a great thing, even though Jon Salvation is living the fantasy that rocked Pilsuds Vilchik to sleep every night."
All I could say was, "Wow!" But I kept it to myself.
He said, "I'll do something to make it up to Crush."
I got all daddy.
Singe made a noise before I said anything.
My little Hellbore was a working girl with ample experience looking out for herself.
Salvation promised, "I'll be the perfect gentleman."
I must have looked skeptical.
"I am aware of her background, Garrett. Though I'd never bring it up. If she pretends to be a lady I'll pretend to be a gentleman."
Singe left her desk. "You're both sentimental, idiot romantics in a world where only pragmatists survive."
She left the room.
I said, "I just wanted something nice for Crush that she could have without having to lie down. She's a good-hearted kid. She deserves a minute when she doesn't have to be a whore."
The famous playwright gave me a goofy grin and a thumb up. "I've got it. But I'll need some help since we're going to pretend that all I know about her is that she's a cute teenager."
78
Singe deserted us to answer the door. She returned with an unlikely duo: Belinda Contague and Westman Block, both in disguise. Block was convincing as an aging hoodlum. I don't know what Belinda hoped people would see. She was dressed more conservatively than usual and wore a curly chestnut wig that changed the shape of her face. She could have passed as my sexy younger sister.