Red Iron Nights

38

It was like nothing in my experience. I couldn't fathom it. The Dead Man was frothing with ambition. He had hold of the case like a starving dog a bone. He wouldn't let go.

It was easier to get out of the house, into the drizzle, and do legwork than it was to stay in and argue. Especially with Dean taking the Dead Man's side.

It might be time to think about an apartment.

The Dead Man still had Block digging through the records too. Block was our best buddy now. We'd turned him into the Prince's fair-haired boy. He was the hero of the Hill. His name was at the top of the short list to head the new, improved, serious, and hopefully useful Watch. What we hadn't been able to get him to do was pay his bill. He meant to stiff us.

He said he'd pay up just as soon as he was sure we'd given him the permanent solution he'd wanted to buy. Right. He meant to stiff us.

I didn't care if he was the Dead Man's buddy. I didn't care if he was tight with Prince Rupert. I had him on my list to turn over to the Saucerhead Tharpe collection agency.

Meantime, amidst all else, I maintained my thrilling surveillance of that ferocious threat to the peace, Barking Dog Amato, mainly by collecting his reports, skimming them, then passing a few appropriate comments to Hullar so he could give something to the daughter. Barking Dog's autobiographical ambitions dwindled as he foresaw the advent of better weather. I was grateful, especially after he went into rehearsals for his new, more forceful act, designed with the help of the Dead Man.

Days hurried past. I lumbered around town trying to get some line on the old-time killings. I got nowhere. If there was any glory to be had, Block wanted his boys to get it. I wasn't allowed access to any public records.

Evenings fled too. I made and lost friends in the Tenderloin. People down there were appalled by what had been done to those girls—but they were more appalled by what making potential future targets safe might do to business.

The consensus was, you got the guy. Don't bother us.

The Dead Man fell back on an ancient and adolescent device for getting some of the women out of the Tenderloin. He sent anonymous notes to their families.

Six days after my amazing coup involving Downtown Billy Byrd, I told the Dead Man, "I've found the girl. In fact, I've found two of them. One of them would have to be it."

Candy, at Hullar's place, of course. And the other?

"Dixie Starr. She works Mama Sam's Casino."

Dixie Starr?

"Really. Call it her business name. Barbie was the only victim who came close to using her real name." The most recent victim had been one Barbra Tennys, daughter of a viscount with obscure connections to the royal family, said family including Prince Rupert. Barbra's mother was a stormwarden on duty in the Cantard. No proofs would convince her father that his daughter had been selling her favors at auction, for kicks, before reality slithered dread tentacles into the fantasy. "Dixie's name came up before, at the Masked Man. This is a girl with problems. Candy, on the other hand, is a real innocent on the street. I don't think it'll be hard to find out who she is. I doubt she'd notice if I just followed her home."

And the identity of the Dixie woman?

"I have it already. She's Emma Setlow. Her father and grandfather are meat packers who found a better way to preserve sausages. They made their mint off army contracts."

And you have gotten nothing useful from your search for information from the past?

"Block's made sure I can't get near any official records. From what I can see, though, he's not doing much looking himself. Whatever he says. He's too busy making political hay and spreading his influence throughout the entire Watch."

I suspect he will change his attitude.

Damn if I didn't think he knew something he wouldn't share.

There came a dawn when there was an actual break in the rains. Dean became so excited that it was still dawn when he wakened me. I cussed and threatened, but he won out. He got me interested. What did daylight look like without rain? My body whined and dragged, but I hauled out and headed for breakfast.

Dean had the kitchen curtains back and the window open. "Place needs airing out."

Probably. I shrugged, sipped tea. "Streets are going to be crazy."

Dean nodded. "I need to do some shopping."

I nodded back. "Barking Dog will launch his new show, the rain doesn't start up. I can't miss that."

Everyone in town would find some excuse to get out, even knowing everyone else would be in the streets.

"At least the city will be clean," Dean observed.

"It will. The rains lasted long enough for that."

"Now, if people would just keep it that way." He delivered a plate of biscuits, steaming, straight from the oven. Drooling, I left him to do the talking.

I didn't hear it, which meant I'd grown distracted. That had been happening more and more as more and more the women of my heart became the women of my imagination. Anyway, I looked up and found the old boy absent. Puzzled, I started to get up. Then I heard him coming down the hall, talking. He'd answered the door. He'd let someone inside.

Going to have to have a talk with him.

"Someone" just had to be Captain Block.

"Not again," I muttered loudly enough to be heard.

Dean set another place, poured tea. Block settled, went to work daubing a biscuit with honey. I ignored his existence.

"Not sure yet, Garrett," Block said around a mouthful of biscuit. "May be trouble again."

"Ain't my problem. Ain't going to be my problem. Only problem in my life is deadbeats."

Block got hot, sudden and major. He thought we were trying to exploit his misfortune. He was right. But he'd set the terms. And I figured he was getting off cheap, considering the alternative.

Block cooled down before he risked speaking. "Garrett, do you recall the knives from the Hamilton place?"

"The ritual tools? What about them?"

"They've disappeared. We got them back when we went after Spender." Spender having been the accursed bum in the abandoned brewery.

"Huh?"

"They was locked up in the barracks armory. I got space there for keeping evidence. I saw them there day before yesterday. Last night they was gone."

"So?"

"Tomorrow night is the next time the killer would strike."

"Wow. That's right." I laid on my most sarcastic tone, like I was amazed a Watchman could work that out.

"A Corporal Elvis Winchell, who was part of the raid force the other night, disappeared yesterday sometime. He had access to the armory. Apparently he and a Private Price Ripley were isolated with the killer's corpse for about seven minutes during its trip to the oven."

"And you're afraid Winchell will—"

"Yes. I need your help again, Garrett."

"It's wonderful to be appreciated. It really is. But you're talking to the wrong guy. You need to see my accountant."

"Huh?"

I'd lost him. "The Dead Man. But he's put out with you too. With me, it's money, with him, it's information."

"Oh. Back to that."

"Back to that. It's the bottom line. I have a feeling that if you talk him into anything, he'll insist on payment up front."

Block didn't argue. He didn't dare. We were about to discover how desperate he really was. I passed him on to the Dead Man.