Exercised Spirits by Alice Duncan

Author:Alice Duncan [Duncan, Alice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!

Nineteen

“Say, can I come in for a few minutes?” Harold asked. “I’m glad I caught Sam, but does he really think Luciano’s thugs kidnapped Vi? Why would they do such a thing?”

“We can talk out here,” I said. “Mr. Prophet is afraid of Mrs. Rattle—”

“I ain’t afraid of her!” Mr. Prophet barked. “I just don’t want no old lady cozying up to me.” He shuddered quite eloquently for a man with a bullet graze on his left upper arm and only one leg. His sling still dangled around his neck with no arm in it.

Therefore, I said, “Mr. Prophet doesn’t want Mrs. Rattle to seduce him—”

“Hellkatoot,” grumbled Mr. Prophet.

Harold laughed.

Mr. Prophet frowned at him. “It ain’t funny. That old lady has designs on me.”

“I don’t want to start an argument or anything,” Harold lied pleasantly, “but you’re not precisely a young chicken yourself. Rooster, rather.”

“Don’t care,” said Mr. Prophet sullenly. “I like me more tender meat.”

“He means like the meat down the street from us,” I told Harold.

“Yeah,” agreed Mr. Prophet with what I can only describe as a devilish grin. “Like her.”

“Who’s her?” asked Harold ungrammatically.

“Miss Li Ahn.”

“The Chinese lady who works for the scarlet woman?” Harold beamed. “Good for you, Lou! She’s gorgeous.”

“She is, ain’t she?” said Mr. Prophet, preening.

“Men,” I snarled. “They only care about a woman’s looks.”

“Gen’ly,” agreed Mr. Prophet.

I shot him a scathing glare. He appeared remarkably unscathed. It figured. “Well, since we can’t go inside the house because Mr. Prophet is scared of Mrs. Rattle, let’s sit on the porch steps. We can all fit.”

Mr. Prophet growled something incoherent. I paid him no mind.

Before plunking himself on the top step, Harold surveyed our front porch. “You ought to get some porch furniture, Daisy. Your porch is big enough, and it might be pleasant for your folks and Vi to sit out here on a balmy evening.”

“You’re right. It is big enough, and they would definitely enjoy it. Just haven’t done it. I’m not sure why. We needed the space when we had to maneuver Billy’s wheelchair around. Didn’t want to be bumping into porch furniture.” A lump filled my throat again, and I tried to clear it. Moderately successful in the endeavor, I continued, “We finally took down the ramp Pa built in the front. We still have one leading to the back deck.” Because I had to, I ceased talking.

“Makes sense,” said Harold, patting me on the shoulder before taking his seat.

Mr. Prophet sat to the north of us, several feet away. Noticing this, I said, “What’s the matter, Mr. Prophet? Don’t you like us?”

“Like you just fine. But I wanna build a quirley, and you probably don’t want smoke blowin’ in your face.”

“Thoughtful,” said Harold.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Huh,” said Mr. Prophet.

“So, Harold, what did you mean about…Curse it. Why can’t I ever remember that man’s name?”

“Luciano,” said Mr. Prophet as he stuck his quirley into his mouth.

“Yes. He’s the one. What did you mean about Mr. Luciano poking his nose into the motion-picture studios?”

“Just what I said.

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