Old Tin Sorrows

"You could call me a diplomat."

"A diplomat?" Surprised.

"Sure. I straighten things out. I get people to change their minds. Kind of like the Corps, only on a small scale. Personal service."

Peters shot me a warning look.

I said, "I enjoy good conversation as much as the next guy. But I'm hungry. And you folks got a jump on me. How about you let me catch up?"

They all looked at me oddly. Cook more so than the others. She was wondering if maybe she'd missed the mark with her earlier guess.

I stoked the fires some, then asked, "Where's everybody else, Sarge?"

Peters frowned. "We're all here. Except Tyler and Wayne. They have the night off."

Kaid said, "Snake."

"Oh. Right. Snake Bradon. But he never comes in the house. Hell. He may not be around anymore. I haven't seen him lately. Anybody seen Snake?"

Heads shook.

Cook said, "He come for supplies day before yesterday."

I didn't want to ask too many questions too soon so I let Snake Bradon slide. I'd get Black Pete alone sometime and get a rundown on everybody. I said, "That doesn't add up. I heard there were eighteen in the house besides me."

Everybody looked puzzled except Cook. Chain said, "Ain't been that many people around here in years. You got us guys, Cook, Tyler, Wayne, and Snake trying to keep this barn from falling apart."

I ate some. I don't know what it was. As good as lunch but less identifiable. Cook was fond of stuff she could do in a pot.

After a while the silence got to me. I had a feeling it wasn't just for my benefit. These people wouldn't talk much more without me there. "What about the blonde girl? Who's she?"

That got them looking perplexed. Peters asked, "What blonde?"

I looked at him for about ten seconds. Maybe he wasn't yanking my leg. "About twenty, gorgeous. As tall as Jennifer, even slimmer, hair almost white that hangs to her waist. Blue eyes, I think. Timid as a mouse. Dressed in white. I caught her watching me several times today." A recollection. "Dellwood. I saw her when you were there. You told me she was Jennifer."

Dellwood made a face. "Yes sir. But I didn't see her. I assumed it was Miss Jennifer."

"I didn't wear white today," Jennifer said. "What kind of dress was it?"

I tried my best, which isn't bad. The Dead Man's big accomplishment is that he's taught me to observe and recollect.

Jennifer said, "I don't have anything like that," trying to sound bored and failing. They all exchanged glances. I took it none of them knew who I was talking about.

I asked, "Who's taking care of the General? If you're all here?"

"He's sleeping, sir," Dellwood said. "Cook and I will wake him for supper after we're finished."

"Nobody with him?"

"He doesn't want to be coddled, sir."

"You sure as hell ask a lot of question," Chain said.

"A habit I've got. I'm working on it. There any beer around the place? I could use some dessert."

Dellwood explained. "The General doesn't approve of drink, sir. He doesn't permit it on the property."

No wonder they were such a cheerful bunch. I looked at Peters hard. "You didn't mention that." If he'd done his homework, he would have known I liked my beer. He smiled and winked. The son of a bitch.

"Not a bad meal, Cook. Whatever it was. You need a hand clearing away?"

The others looked at me like I was crazy. She said, "You ask for trouble, you get it. Grab a load and follow me."

I did. And by the time I got back for a second load, the rats had scattered.

I was going to have to ask Peters about the disparity between Cook's head count and everyone else's.

8

After supper I wandered up to my quarters. As I approached the door, digging for the key Dellwood had left in the primitive lock, I noticed the door was a quarter inch ajar. So.

I wasn't surprised. Not after Jennifer's bold peek into my duffel bag and the trick at the old workers' barracks.

I paused. Go ahead like the cavalry? Or exercise a little caution? Caution didn't go with the image I wanted to project. But it did contribute to an extended life. And nobody was looking.

I dropped to my knees by the doorframe, examined the lock. There were a few fine scratches on the old brass plate surrounding the keyhole. As I said, a primitive piece of hardware, pickable by anyone with patience. I leaned forward to see what I could glim through the keyhole.

Nothing. It was dark in there. I'd left a lamp burning. Trap?

If so, a dumb one. Especially not getting the door all the way shut. These old boys weren't pros but I didn't see them making that basic a mistake. And if not a trap, but just a search, I doubted they'd snuff the lamp. That was a dead giveaway.

The word disinformation trotted through my mind. From the spy game. Provide not just false information but more information than necessary, most of it untrustworthy, so that all information received came under the shadow of doubt.

I backed off, leaned against a wall, nodded to myself. Yeah. That felt like a good intuition. I was going to be allowed to find out all kinds of things, most of which were untrue, useless, or misleading. Hard to put a puzzle together when you've got three times too many pieces.

Which still left me faced with a decision what to do right now. It was still possible there was some clumsy idiot hiding in the dark waiting to whack me. So why not play the game right back? The hall was a good twelve feet wide, oversize like everything else in that house, and cluttered up with the usual hardware. Not twenty feet from me was a suit of armor. I got it and lugged it over in front of the door, pushed it up close, backed off, snuffed the nearest hall lamps so whoever was inside wouldn't see anything but a silhouette. Then I got behind the tin suit, gave the door a nudge, walked the armor ahead a couple of feet, stopped like I was startled.

Nothing happened. I backed out and got one of the hall lamps and took it inside.

Nobody there but me and my decoy. I checked the closets and bedroom and dressing room. Nobody there and nothing obviously disturbed. If the place had been tossed, it had been done by an expert so good he'd noticed and replaced the little giveaways I'd rigged.

So what did we have here? Somebody had gone to the trouble of picking the lock just to snuff a lamp?

I closed the door, patted the armor's shoulder. "Somebody's playing games, old buddy. I think I'll let you stick around."

I lugged it over and shoved it into a cloak closet just big enough to contain it, lighted my lamps, took the hall lamp back, lighted the lamps there, went inside, locked up, sat down at the writing table to let my dinner digest.

Didn't work too well. I need a beer or two to get the most out of those occasions. I had to do something about the shortage. In fact, it might be a good idea to vanish for a while and consult some experts.

There was ink and paper and what not in the drawer under the table. I got it out and started making notes. I put down the names of everyone I'd met and hadn't, and a mystery woman to the side. Peters, Dellwood, the General, Cook, Jennifer. Hawkes, Chain, and Kaid. Tyler and Wayne, who had the night off, and somebody named Snake Bradon, who was antisocial and wouldn't come in the house. Somebody named Candy who, theoretically, didn't count because he'd been fired long ago. And Harcourt, who used to sneak his girlfriends in, but who had left six months ago.

Eighteen people here, according to Cook. By my count, eleven, plus the mystery blonde. We had us what the Marines call a manpower shortfall. Someone tapped on the door. "Yeah?"

"Peters, Mike." I let him in. "What's up?"

"I brought you a list of the missing stuff. Can't guarantee it's complete. Not the kind of stuff you see everyday and notice is gone right away." He handed me a wad of papers. I sat down and looked it over.