One of the men lifted an uncertain hand in greeting.Even gloved, the hand was thin and long-fingered, and the arm that stuck out of the coat sleeve was skinny.Like a spider he was, sitting in a dark blob up on the seat of his carriage, his long legs and arms dangling.Stepovich walked up to him slowly, giving him full time to assess his uniform. The other cabby tipped his hat,lifted his reins and clucked his team into motion. Good. The spoked wheels of his carriage grated on the pavement as his team drew him away, leaving Stepovich alone with Spider.
"Whatsamatter?" Spider demanded suspiciously as Stepovich drew near.
"Nothing. Nothing yet, anyway. I just want to ask you a few questions about the man who drove for you last Sunday."
"Oh, shit," Spider breathed fervently. "Not again,man. I tole you guys, none of it was my fault. Man's good with horses, I wanted to take a day off, have a little free time with my old lady. So I let the guy drive sometimes, we split the fares. How was I to know he'd get weird?"
"We just want to get clear what happened." Stepovich drew out his notebook and pen, tried to look as if he already knew it all. "So, one more time, if you don't mind. When did it start?"
Spider looked pissed. "How do I know? I wasn't here, remember, I took a day off. Ask the guy whose car got kicked. Ask the joggers who say he almost ran them over. Ask those guys that was riding in the carriage when it happened. Hell, it was half their fault,anyway, offering him extra money to go off the carriage trails, and then daring him to make the team gallop. They were all drunk; they probably gave Coachman the booze,"
"Okay. I see your point. Maybe the thing for me to do is to talk to the relief driver himself. Give me his name and number again."
"Hunh? I tole you I don't know it. This some kind of cop trick, or what? Coachman don't have no name.Coachman don't have no address. All he's got is booze. How come you're-?"
"I just-"
"What is this, anyway? Who are you?"
Stepovich thought quickly. "Sorry. No, the idiots at precinct screwed up again and I got the wrong info." He stopped and gave Spider a sizing-up. "All right, I'll be straight with you. Can you keep something under your hat?"
"Hunh? Yeah, sure. What is it?"
"There may be more involved in this."
"Like what?"
Stepovich shook his head. "Did you ever see Coachman with a knife?"
Spider stared at him, and Stepovich recognized the look of the witness who wants to be part of something interesting. "A knife? Well, he had a hoof pick. That's how we met. Bunny was throwing her leg a little funny, not limping, really, and this guy walks right in front of the team and reaches up and grabs their heads and stops them. Before I can say more than Shit, he picks up her foot and pops a nasty little piece of gravel out of the frog."
"Frog?"
"Her foot. That was what was making her walk funny. So, a hoof pick, yeah."
"No, I mean a sheath knife with a bone handle."
Spider looked disappointed. "Naw. Once, maybe,I saw him cutting his nails with an old clasp knife that might've had a bone handle. I don't know. Maybe.Hell, maybe it was someone else. You want me to,uh, keep my eye out or anything?"
"The department would appreciate it," said Stepovich. "And if you should happen to find his address, let us know."
"Hey, you bet. What did he do?"
"Nothing directly. It's part of something else. When everything's settled, I'll see if I can let you know."
"Hey, thanks."
"The least I can do," said Stepovich, and returned to his car.
Well, that had turned out for shit. Except that there might be more information on this Coachman on one of the witnesses' statements, if he cared to try and dig through them. If only he'd turned in the knife as evidence in the first place, put the extra charge of concealed weapon, none of this would have happened.
As he was getting into his car, a Chevy very much like Durand's heap drove past. Stegovich stared after the blue car until it faded into the fog. He was sure he was mistaken. Damn, he was getting paranoid.
He found the table where Timmy D. sat
And settled in like he wanted to stay,
Put his money out on the board
And said, "Hey, boy, teach me to play."
"THE GYPSY"
And around it went, like the steps of the csardas,always back to the same place, only different, with anew tension. He was in front of Tiny's, almost exactly twenty-four hours later. What had he done? He tried to remember, and a headache came on. Where were his pills? A walk to an apartment, a conversation, a debt fulfilled, sleep, a meal, a walk in the park, a wolf,and now back here. What had he gained? What had he lost?
Two girls came out of a bar down the street and walked past him, complaining about the "prick"who had thrown them out. Too young, he thought.
They stopped and turned back. "What was that?"He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. The one who queried him had blonde hair with dark roots and wore a very short leather skirt and stockings. The other,dark of hair and taller, with a fuller body though a younger face, was dressed in tight-fitting jeans with grey splotches on them. They both wore very short jackets that didn't look like they would keep snow or cold out.
"I said, too young," repeated the Gypsy.
"Who asked you?" said the blonde.
"There is a time to be in the adult world, and a time to be in the child's world, and you will cheat yourself if you leave the one too soon."
They looked at each other and giggled. "What a weirdo," said the dark one. As she spoke, the Gypsy shivered. Something about her voice resonated within him, seemed familiar.
He shrugged and said, "The road will be there,whenever you set foot on it. But you won't be the same after. You can't go back."
"Ooooo," said the blonde. "Heavy stuff, huh?"She looked at her friend and giggled again. Then she said, "Wanna get lucky, big guy?" and laughed some more.
The dark one said, "Chrissy!" in a tone that mixed shock and amusement.
"Oh, he won't do anything. If he does, we'll scream. Right, big guy?"
The Gypsy looked away, and said, "If you give all you have to the Fair Lady, what will be left when She's finished?" When he turned back, they were staring at him, wide-eyed.
"How do you know about the Fair Lady?" whispered the one called Chrissy. Groups of people walked by, ignoring them. The police could go by any minute, but he couldn't leave these two unwarned.
"There are three worlds," he said. "Each held in place by a tree, each with its sun and moon, each with its own sky full of stars. The top branches of the tree of our world reach to the roots of the next,the roots of our tree reach to the branches of the world below. The Fair Lady comes from the world below, which She has covered in darkness, for She wishes to be the only brightness in the world. She has climbed the tree of Her world and come to ours,and now wishes to cover ours in darkness. To some,She brings gifts, hoping they will serve Her. Others She directs by fear, or by casting their minds in darkness so She is all they see clearly, I am the one sworn to return light to Her world, but first She must be cast out of ours. She is Luci, the seductress,who brings the diseases that waste. Do not listen to Her. She will draw the light from your youth and cast you into the darkness that will ravage your soul."