Red Iron Nights

46

I was about to head out and see what Block had accomplished. Or had not, as was more probable—though the fact that he hadn't been back did seem promising. Belinda came bounding upstairs. "Can I go?"

"No."

"Hey!"

"There're people out there looking for you. I don't think your continued good health is uppermost in their minds. And the way you look, we'd be in trouble before we got two blocks."

"What's wrong with the way I look?"

"Not a damned thing. And that's the problem. Was I to walk out of here with you right now, my neighbors would hate me for life. Also, anybody Crask and Sadler might have watching the place would be sure to recognize you. It isn't like they trust me to dig my own grave unsupervised."

"Oh, hell!" She stamped a foot, a neat move you don't see that often. It felt rehearsed.

"If you were a redhead, nobody would pay any attention. I mean, the uglies wouldn't. My neighbors would hate me even more. And I don't know if I could stand it if you were everything you are now and a redhead besides."

Dean leaned out of the kitchen, behind Belinda, gave me a look that said he thought I was laying it on with a trowel.

Belinda said, "You're laying it on with a trowel, Garrett. But I love it. I hate being cooped up. I'll see about becoming a redhead. Or maybe a blond. Would you like that?" Breakfast was forgotten.

"Sure. Anything. I'm easy. Just don't put on a hundred pounds and grow a mustache."

She winked. My spine turned to water. But I wasn't a complete dummy. I wondered why she was getting so nice. I suggested, "You might change your look while you're at it. Especially if the black is like a trademark."

"Good idea." She blew me a kiss.

I looked at Dean, who looked back and shrugged, shook his head. I couldn't tell if he meant he didn't know or didn't want to be blamed.

I started toward the door again.

Garrett.

The story of my life. I can't go anywhere or do anything without everybody in range nibbling at my time.

I stalked into the Dead Man's room. "Yes?"

Tell Captain Block that, on consideration, I feel last night's abduction to have been that only. The Candy woman will not be murdered until tonight, at the necessary hour. If the captain has, as seems likely with him, given up searching and is waiting for a body to surface, then he is —

"I'm on my way."

I hit the street. I made the tail within a block. I took him for one of the outfit's boys, not chosen for his skill at remaining unobtrusive. Crask and Sadler wanted me to know they were watching. The really good tails would stay away till they thought I'd had time to do some serious searching.

I'd fool them. I wouldn't look at all.

Block wasn't hard to find.

I went to his headquarters hoping to get word where to look and, behold! There he was, right there in the shop. "What the hell you doing hanging out here?" I demanded.

"We didn't get anywhere last night. I had five hundred men on the street. They found squat. I called it off after midnight. Didn't seem there was much chance we'd do any good then. All the killings took place before midnight, near as we know."

"You're waiting for somebody to find the body for you. The Dead Man said you would be."

Block shrugged. "I'm open to suggestions. Unless you think you need another thousand marks just to open your mouth."

"On the house this time. The Dead Man said tell you the girl is alive. They won't do her till tonight. The killer never breaks his schedule. He just grabbed her last night because he knew we'd be watching later."

"Still alive?" Block grabbed his chin with his left hand and started kneading while he thought about that. "Still alive." More silence, more thought. "I've had all the men Winchell knew trying to guess where he'd go to hide, who he'd get to help him."

"Probably wouldn't need anyone but Ripley."

"Maybe not. Laudermill!"

A staff sort of sergeant materialized. A classic of the type, his butt was twice the width of his shoulders. "Sir?"

"Anything yet on Winchell or Ripley?"

"Winchell hasn't contacted any family or friends. They're still checking on Ripley, but he's a negative so far too."

I had a thought, which has been known to happen. "Maybe we could try looking on the inside." When this happens, it always startles people. This one surprised even me. "What was Winchell working on?"

"Huh?"

"Case-wise. Look, Block, I've been close enough to know you've been going a little farther than you're telling anybody except maybe the Prince. Looking to make a splash when they cut you loose, I figure. Whatever. I don't care. But some of your guys have been making some serious efforts to do real police work lately. Was Winchell? What was he doing? Maybe—"

"I got you." Block held a debate with himself, showing expressions that suggested he was reluctant to let a cat get out of a bag. Finally, "Laudermill. Get me Relway and Spike. In here. Soon as you can."

Laudermill departed with astonishing quickness for one of his bulk. He was a twenty-year man for sure, growing anxious about his pension.

Block said, "These guys Relway and Spike were teamed with Winchell and Ripley on a decoy thing I wanted to test. They're irregulars. They're off shift now, so it might take a while to find them. I never thought to check the auxiliary operatives."

The irregular Watchmen appeared sooner than Block expected, and way too soon for me where peace of mind was concerned. Neither was human. Relway was some unlikely breed that was half dwarf and fractions of several other things. He was ugly. Also, to my surprise, he seemed to be decent and pleasant, less scarred by his ancestry and appearance than I'd have guessed. He was committed to the mission of the new Watch, an apparent fanatic.

Likewise Spike, who was a ratman. I don't like ratmen. My dislike verges on being a prejudice. I couldn't believe this ratman was for real. An honest ratman is a contradiction in terms, an oxymoron.

Block told me, "Relway and Spike are volunteer auxiliaries till I get my budget approved. I already have a verbal commitment for funds sufficient to add four hundred undercover operatives. These two will direct one of the companies, down where they'll be taking you."

Scary stuff, secret police. Great crimestoppers to begin, maybe, but how long before Block's ambitious Prince discovered that they could be employed to root out persons of doubtful political rectitude?

Sufficient unto the day... "So let's find out about our boys."

Block questioned Relway and Spike. They did know of a place where Winchell and Ripley might be hidden. It was a hole they'd scouted while scoping out their operation. They hadn't used it, but that wouldn't keep Winchell away now.

Block snapped, "Garrett, you go with these two. Cover the place. Scout it out. I'll be right behind you with reinforcements." Away he flew.

Relway and Spike eyed me expectantly, probably figuring me for a Watch officer. They were excited. They were going to be part of something big and real before they were even officially policemen.

I jerked my head toward the door. "Let's do it!"