Angry Lead Skies

29

"That was clever, Garrett," Playmate said after we hit the street.

"I thought so myself. But, knowing my luck, the Dead Man will be sound asleep when Casey shows up tomorrow."

Playmate chuckled.

I stopped the parade half a block from the yellow tenement. "Rhafi. What did you take?"

"Take? What do you mean? I didn't take... "

I had been fishing because it seemed in character. His response betrayed him. "I saw you. I want it. Right now. And no holding back."

"Aw... "

Playmate explained, "Look, if you make Casey mad he might not help us get Kip back."

There followed an exchange during which Playmate almost lost his temper because he couldn't make the kid understand how Casey could guess that he had taken anything that turned up missing.

Rhafi hadn't gotten the brains or the looks.

Rhafi began to look like he wanted to cry. But he held it in. He produced three small gray objects, two dark and one light, in varying shapes and sizes, though none had a major dimension exceeding four inches. Except for colored markings on their surfaces all three items looked like they had been cast from some material that resembled ivory or bone when it hardened. All three items had slightly roughened surfaces.

We stood in a triangle, facing inward, examining Rhafi's loot. I handled everything with extreme care. There was almost certainly some kind of sorcery involved with those things and I had no desire to wake it up. I concealed them about my person carefully. "Good. Now I have a job assignment for you, Rhafi. I want you to stay right here and watch that yellow brick tenement. See if anybody who might be our friend Casey ever leaves. Keeping in mind that he'll be wearing some kind of disguise. You saw the clothes and stuff he had."

"You want me to see where he goes?" As I'd hoped, he was all excited.

"No. No. Don't do that. I don't want you to end up like Kip. You just stay here till a man named Saucerhead Tharpe shows up. You'll know him by how big he is and because he has bad teeth. If Casey does leave, make sure you can give Saucerhead a good description of his disguise. Whatever, once Saucerhead shows up, you go home. I want you to tell your mom that we don't think Kip is in any physical danger, that we're on the trail, and that it looks like we might get them back as early as tomorrow. Got all that?"

"Sure, Mr. Garrett."

"Excellent. You make a good operative."

As soon as we were out of earshot, Playmate asked, "Do you believe that? That Kip's not in any real danger?"

"I think our new pal Casey believes that. I'm not sure how come but I could tell what he was feeling. Maybe it's because of all the time I spend around the Dead Man. Then I get close to somebody who probably communicates the same way and I just kind of cue in. I'll ask His Nibs."

"Uhm. Darn. I've got to find somebody to watch the stable. I can't keep walking away like this. The horses need attention. Somebody has to be there to deal with customers."

"Not to mention thieves."

"That's not a problem in my neighborhood." He stated that with complete conviction. I hoped his optimism wasn't misplaced.

"You ought to get yourself a wife."

"I'm reminded of an old saw about talking pots and black kettles."

He would be. "I'm doing something with my bachelorhood. I'm laying in memories for those long, cool years down the road. Look, I've got to send Saucerhead down to relieve Rhafi. Saucerhead will know where to find Winger. I can have him tell her to come over and cover for you."

Playmate made growlie noises. He grumbled. He whined. Winger has a million faults but her country origins qualified her to baby-sit a stable. And she'd probably do a decent job as long as she was getting paid. Assuming Playmate had sense enough not to leave any valuables lying around. Winger has a real hard time resisting temptation.

It was the getting paid part that had been giving my large friend problems throughout this mess. He'd made commitments without first considering the fact that somebody would have to part with some money to see them met.

Winger would expect to be paid. Saucerhead would expect to be paid. Garrett the professional snoop might be gouged for a favor or two but you couldn't expect him to pay his own expenses. And he was out of pocket already for help from several people, including Mr. Tharpe, Pular Singe the tracker, and the generous assistance of the Morley Dotes glee club and bone-breaking society.

Hell, even my partner, who didn't have much else to do and didn't require much upkeep, might insist on some sort of compensation, just so the forms of commerce were observed.

He can be a stickler for form and propriety.

Sometimes I suspect he isn't aging all that well.

Playmate said, "There isn't any money in this, Garrett! You saw Kayne and her kids."

"We could always auction off a few horses. They're begging for them down at Kansas and Love's, way I hear."

Playmate was so aghast he couldn't even sputter. From his point of view my simple mention of a slaughterhouse was so far beyond the pale that he found it impossible to believe that such words could have issued from a human mouth.

And I just couldn't resist needling him. "Which is hard to understand, what with all the surplus horses there ought to be these days."

"Garrett!" he gasped. "Don't. Enough. Not funny, man."

"All right. All right. You'll wake up someday. And I'll sing a thirty-seven-verse serenade of ‘I Told You So,' outside your window."

He just shook his head.

"I'll get Winger headed your way. Maybe we can work out a deal where we'll all take a percentage of the profits from Kip's inventions."

That actually began to sound like a good idea once it got away. I might talk to the Dead Man. And to Max Weider at the Weider brewery, where I'm on retainer, next time I ran a surprise check on floor losses for him. Max Weider has a good eye for what people might want to buy and plenty of practical knowledge about how to get them together with your product so they have an opportunity to realize just how much they can't live without it.

Moments after Playmate and I parted my head was awash in grand schemes that would make me one of TunFaire's great commercial magnates.