Deadly Quicksilver Lies



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72

I lost the election. My place got picked for the human
reassembly party. Morley hinted that he didn’t want word of
his injury getting out right away. He didn’t want the wolves
smelling blood before he was ready.

I bought it. He has his enemies.

I had trouble getting comfortable. My home contained too many
reminders of Slither and Ivy.

“It wasn’t right,” I told Eleanor. “They
didn’t deserve it.” I listened momentarily. My kitchen
had become an infirmary. Saucerhead had recruited a defrocked
doctor who imagined himself a crusty town character. He reeked of
alcohol and hadn’t stumbled against soap or a razor for weeks
so I guess he qualified.

“Yeah, I know,” I told Eleanor. “Life
don’t make sense, it ain’t fair and don’t ever
ask the gods for dramatic unity. But I don’t have to like it.
Got any idea what I should do with the girl?”

Emerald was confined in Dean’s room. She hadn’t
delivered a word yet. She wouldn’t believe me when I said I
wasn’t on her mom’s payroll.

Could be she didn’t care if I wasn’t. You snatch
some people, they never do warm up.

Eleanor had no suggestions. I said, “I’d cut her
loose if there weren’t people out there who’d jump all
over her.” Eleanor did not disapprove. “Speaking of
whom, I wonder how long it’ll be before Winger turns up with
one of her outstanding stories?”

I was looking forward to that.

Morley howled. There was a crash. I headed for the kitchen.
Dotes began threatening bloodshed. “Not in my kitchen!”
I yelled. I stopped to check on the Dead Man.

A bug darted across his cheek, hid behind his proboscis. If Dean
didn’t get home soon, I was going to have to clean him up
myself. Maybe I’d bring him some flowers. He used to like
bouquets.

The Goddamn Parrot started yelling louder than Morley. I told
the Dead Man, “You’re not earning your keep.”

It wasn’t pretty in the kitchen. All that whimpering and
whining. The doc had finished, though. He was under an inverted
wine bottle, using a half pint to clear his palate. I made a face.
Even ratmen shunned the stuff he was swilling. “You all going
to live?”

“No thanks to that butcher,” Morley snarled.

Saucerhead asked, “You ever see him act like such a
baby?”

“You oversized . . . If brains were
fire you couldn’t burn your own house down.” He jumped
up on a chair and started ranting like some Holy Roller
soul-scavenger.

I asked Sarge, “The doc give him something?”

Sarge shrugged. “Come on, boss. Give Doc a break. He fixed
your arm. And he ain’t been getting much work since they cut
him loose from the Bledsoe.”

No wonder he was drinking bottom of the barrel. He was
bottom stuff himself . . . I glanced at
Saucerhead. Doc must be some relative of his new lady.

Surly but silent, Morley paid his fees. Spud didn’t look
much happier. I decided to get the old boy out while Dotes was
feeling generous. I got hold of Doc’s arm and pulled.

“You really get the boot at the Bledsoe?” Hard to
imagine that as possible, yet I’d met two such in just a few
days.

“I drink a bit, son.”

“No.”

“Steadied my hands when I was young, chopping off arms and
legs down in the Cantard, couple lifetimes ago. Don’t work
anymore, though. Barley kills the pain now.”

He stepped outside, cloaked himself in what dignity he retained,
started down to the street, stumbled, fell the last two steps. On
her stoop, Mrs. Cardonlos paused to glare and nod to herself. I
blew her a kiss. I studied the street.

It was hard to tell, but I thought I saw a few folks who
didn’t ring right.

Again? Or still? I eyed Mrs. Cardonlos again. Her being out on
point might mean she expected further proof that Garrett was a
peril to the neighborhood.

I shut the door, thoughtful.

I had an idea.

I headed for the kitchen. “Saucerhead, want to run an
errand?” I showed him some shiny copper.

“Talked me into it, you smoothie. What?”

“Give me a minute. I need to write a letter.”



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