Cook, Glen - Garrett Files 12 - Cruel Zinc Melodies by Cook Glen

Author:Cook, Glen [Cook, Glen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Private investigators, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Mystery & Detective, Fantasy fiction, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Fantasy - General, Fiction - Fantasy, Fiction, Fantasy, Garrett (Fictitious character), Hard-Boiled, General, Mystery & Detective - Hard-Boiled
ISBN: 9780451461926
Publisher: Roc
Published: 2008-05-06T07:30:14.259000+00:00

52

‘‘I forgot to ask last night. Did Winger show up?’’

You were distracted. She did. She and her biographer are on the payroll. I offered each a challenge suited to his or her pride.

What did that mean? ‘‘You split them up? How clever are you?’’

An appeal to pride and ego, presented with sufficient subtlety,ofttimes will do where even bribery is futile.

‘‘You did split them up.’’ Word was, that hadn’t happened for months. Even when Winger herself wished it would. It was why Jon Salvation was called the Remora by those who played his game. Those who just saw an obnoxious little geek still called him by his real name, Pilsuds Vilchik.

Both were motivated at the time but that may not last.

‘‘What are they supposed to do?’’

Jon Salvation will execute the library search you were unableto complete, assisted by Penny Dreadful.

‘‘Definitely wouldn’t want Winger along on that.’’ That woman loose in a building full of rare books? She’d burn them to keep warm.

Miss Winger will round up persons I wish to interview, inasmuch as you are unable to find time.

Ouch! But he was right. ‘‘Oh, for those slower, lazier days of yesteryear.’’ And, ‘‘But I’m up irrationally early today.’’

I ate while we talked. Multitasking, Tinnie calls it. Didn’t matter if I talked with my mouth full. Old Bones knew what I wanted to say before I said it.

I wondered what Tinnie was up to. I hadn’t seen her for hours and hours.

Himself disdained the opportunity for a disparaging remark, offering instead an observation about my unnatural wakefulness. Which affords you the opportunity to pursue some basic work at and around the World.

He filled my head with chores, the most immediate of which was to have the construction workers build a shack so Saucerhead and his troops could get in out of the weather without having to be haunted. He thought I ought to add a stove so they could keep warm, make tea, and cook a little something.

‘‘You expecting winter to last forever?’’ I was thinking, if I gave them someplace warm, then they wouldn’t go out where it was cold.

You will see. Then: Fuel. They will need fuel to heat the shack. You may have to go to the waterfront to arrange a delivery. Because all of TunFaire’s fuels have to be barged in from up or down the river.

Yet one more chore. And one I didn’t know how to execute. That’s Dean’s area of expertise. We’re profligate with fuels here. We’re too prosperous. Except in the Dead Man’s room, of course. Wood, coal, and charcoal all are delivered. At some expense. The delivery folk have to travel with armed guards.

Not many villains will go for a load of firewood accompanied by guys with crossbows. That’s a quick way for a dimwit to commit suicide. Though stupid is as plentiful as air.

Make good use of the time available to you today.

That sounded portentous.

Tomorrow will be your turn at the shovels.

‘‘Oh, don’t tell me!’’

It is about to come down. It could go on for days.

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