She headed for my old office.
Block appeared to have gotten an early start on White Day, the romantic holiday. Lovers give each other candy. But so do friends. I grimaced at the thought. White Day could get expensive if I fetched up friendship boxes for all the girls in my life. Ha! One for Mrs. Cardonlos! That might be fun.
I made a mental note to ask Dean to see if he could get a job lot rate on a dozen boxes.
Block was a solid one sheet to the wind and maybe closer to two. He needed Singe's assistance to get settled. "It's an ugly world out there, Garrett. An ugly world."
Jon Salvation nodded agreement.
I said, "No doubt you're right. But I'm the kind of guy who loves to hear the miserable details." I sent a questioning look Singe's way. Block had been her excuse for dragging me out so early. She shrugged.
Did Block have anything to share? Or was he just here in hopes of scoring some more free booze?
There was plenty of Bird fuel around.
Block asked, casually, "Any ardent spirits left from the other night?"
Singe produced a half gallon of the finest, smoothest sipping water-of-life ever distilled in Karenta, along with a sizable mug. She filled that for Block. For Jon Salvation and me, there were little sipping cups holding about two ounces.
What was she up to? She would have Block passed out and puking on the rug.
I did not let wondering distract me from enjoying my own drink.
This skullbust tasted like smoked medicine. But I sipped along, just to be sociable.
Block failed to expand upon his contention that the world was less than beautiful. He was too busy spooning with his ardent spirits.
Belinda joined us, evidently satisfied that Morley would live. "Give me a big-ass mug of that shit, Garrett. I'm in a mood to get wasted."
I asked, "You all right?"
"I'm better after seeing him, but, are you stupid? Of course I'm not all right. My idiot lover is still down and there isn't a godsdamned thing Belinda Contague can do to make things better."
"Actually, he was awake, aware, and functioning till a little while ago. He wore himself out. He's doing fine, Belinda. But how about you?"
She looked grim, downed water-of-life like it was small beer. "I'm so damned frustrated, I'm thinking about starting a war just to make people pay attention."
"Whoa, girl! That's not a good idea."
"Just to make them pay attention, Garrett. Just to make them pay attention."
She must have been drinking before she got here.
This side of Belinda hadn't come out for a long time.
"How did you turn up at the same time as the General? And, before you get all old-time hardcore, we have made some headway." I told her what Saucerhead and Jon Salvation had told me.
Salvation himself remained silent and motionless, hoping not to be noticed.
Block said, "There's talk that Shadowslinger doesn't own those properties despite her name being on the deeds."
Belinda slurred, "Clever, going after the costume suppliers."
She wouldn't be with us long.
"I have some other odd angles going. And I've gotten possible identifications of the people whose portraits we put together."
Tipsy, bloodthirsty excitement on Belinda's part. Block was less nasty but equally thrilled.
I said, "There is a problem. The bad guys are people who should have been out of it years ago." I explained what Playmate and Barate Algarda had told me.
Block mused, "The guy's name stays the same. Hmm? Do we have ghosts, like at the World? Or a father-son-grandson thing? Or the undead? You have a theory, Garrett?"
"We haven't yet seen any of them out in the daytime."
"Vampires?"
That would have seemed silly a week ago. Now, though. "The bodies they're rebuilding could be those of their victims."
"Problem," Block said. "We got forty or fifty zombies but no missing persons. We took out nineteen but that leaves thirty to go. We for sure haven't had that many people the right age die."
Belinda was well toward becoming inarticulate but, stumbling and bumbling, she managed, "Roger keeps whining about his business getting so awful. His customers don't want to be embalmed. They just want a ride to the crematorium."
Poor Cap'n Roger.
How does a resurrection man stay in business if all the dead get burned? "What's the story in the refugee shantytowns? They wouldn't be honest with the red tops since they think you're persecuting them."
"We would know," Block said. "Deal would know. His intelligence gathering has improved since your day." He sighed. He took a long, forlorn look into his mug. I could not believe he was still speaking coherently. Belinda had started talking to herself. She could not understand a word she said. "Garrett, our problem is that we're drowning in intelligence. We have so much we can't pick out the important bits."
"What?"
"Occasionally, lately, we've found that everything we needed to know to prevent or solve a crime was in the system but the information just didn't get to the right people."
"Uhm?" I hoped he was making excuses, not fishing for suggestions.
Singe had some. She held us spellbound while she brain-stormed an analytical hierarchy that would sort reports on arrival, evaluate them, then move them to people whose job it would be to determine connections or threats. Those folks would pass information to the people who would take action. The process depended on individual responsibility, with the hierarchy built so that shifting blame would be difficult. Penalties for failure by pettiness or indifference would be rough.
Block was awed. "Magnificent! Pure intellectual genius, Miss Pular! I see just one flaw."
"Sir?"
"Human nature. Even with penalties built in not everyone will strive to achieve the common goal."
Singe was deflated. "Oh. Humans. Right."
"It's still the best idea I've heard. Definitely something to build on. We'll dedicate a holding cell in your name." Which, grinning, he said to her back. She was up and moving into the hallway. "Uh. . Did I hurt her feelings?"
79
Singe's feeling were not bruised. She had heard a knock that eluded the rest of us. She was back in a minute with Kolda, the poisoner.
Damn! Now I was doing it.
The company made Kolda nervous. He refused a seat when Singe offered it. "I can only stay a minute. I just wanted to drop off some medicines. This bottle, with the green powder in it, is for Mr. Dotes. It will help his body flush poisons. Have him use it till it's all gone, no matter how good he thinks he feels. And this bottle, with the stuff that looks like ground amber, is for the man with the cancers. Very expensive but very effective. It's exuded by an exotic tropical beetle. Give him a pinch with every meal. No more than a pinch. More could kill him. Even a pinch may leave him feeling so nauseous that he might try to talk you out of giving him any more. Make him stick it out."
"Kolda, thank you, man. You've gone beyond the call. What do I owe you?"
"This is on me, Garrett. But I figure it makes us even. I'll charge you next time."
"Something to drink?" Singe asked.
"I shouldn't. It's a bit early."
"You sure? Not even one beer?"
"Well. . One can't hurt."
Singe headed for the kitchen.
Kolda glanced around, decided to sit after all. He leaned toward me. "There was one more thing."
"We're all friends here."
Kolda shrugged. "When I was going around the trade looking for something to fight tumors several chemists and apothecaries hit me up for Jane's mint seed. I don't have any. Not to wholesale. It's rare. After I'd been asked a few times I started asking back, about why."