Whispering Nickel Idols (gf-1) by Glen Cook

Author:Glen Cook [Cook, Glen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_detective

16

Melondie Kadare plopped onto my shoulder. Her aerial navigation was erratic. “You been nipping the Gold, Bug?”

“Just a little. They’re watching too close. I thought this was supposed to turn into a big brawl.”

“Everybody did. What’s up?”

“There’s a situation shaping up outside. Those ugly men who tried to break into our house are prowling around, looking for trouble.”

“They’re here?” Too many puzzles for one night.

“Yup.”

“Why would they want to get into it with this bunch?”

“Garrett, none of them look smart enough to put on a hat when it rains. They don’t know what’s going on here. They don’t care. They might not care if they did know.” Then she confided, “I think they’re after that girlie boy. That Penny. She was skulking around out there, too. Maybe they followed her.”

“Did they?”

“We maybe haven’t been paying enough attention. Blair and Russ figured out how to get some wine.”

“The rats aren’t drinking, too, are they?”

“I don’t know about the little ones. The big ones got a taste or two.”

I wanted to bark and howl and go spank Singe. Instead, I said, “Melondie, slide back out there and keep an eye out. I’ll send help if I can.”

She needed three tries to line up the window well enough to buzz through the gap.

Tharpe and his cohorts were now enjoying their own little party within the party. I went to visit. “Saucerhead.”

“Man, Garrett, here you come in one of your moods. What’s up?”

“There’re some guys in green pants outside, looking for trouble. The drivers might not be able to handle it themselves.”

“You lank-shank sack a camel snot…”

I left too soon to appreciate Tharpe’s full list of my horrible shortcomings. I know what they are, anyway. Tinnie keeps me posted.

I got back to my table just as the guest of honor came out.

Belinda had gotten Chodo looking presentable. He appeared to be asleep in his chair, not incapacitated.

That impression lasted only briefly.

Silence filled Whitefield Hall. Although there had been rumors, they’d been disregarded because the Outfit retained its Contague edge. But here was proof that Chodo Contague wasn’t the Boss anymore. Clearly, he hadn’t been in charge for a long time.

A neatly arranged blanket covered his lap and legs. His bony talons lay in his lap, right on left. His bare forearms were purplish. His chin rested on his chest. He drooled.

Hard men there were appalled and repelled.

Belinda said, “The guest of honor. My father. Chodo Contague. Celebrating his sixtieth birthday. Let’s toast the man responsible for our prosperity.”

The shock waned under the weight of wine and good cheer. Some shill burst into song. Others picked it up. A few wondered what this meant to the overall organization.

I caught snippets. Some saw this as a chance to improve themselves. But they couldn’t concentrate, even though they kept talking about trying.

I was ten feet away when Chodo came to life, though only just barely. He raised his chin three inches, the effort herculean. His whole body shook. His gaze found me momentarily.

A kitten leaped desperately toward his lap.

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