Wicked Bronze Ambition

108

Mud Man had trailed Vicious Min to one of the rooftop hideouts belonging to the little blonde and her friend. Dollar Dan had trailed the other big people and the Black Orchid to the same place. Nobody paid attention to rat people.

The blonde and her friend left Orchidia with injured Min, the slow youth, and the crippled elder.

I said, “I hope Orchidia isn’t in a black mood when she wakes up.”

Dan said, “She was awake before they got her to the place where they meant to keep her.” Before I asked, he volunteered, “An unconscious human gives off a different odor than one who is only pretending.”

“Good to know.” Might even be useful, someday.

Singe made a chuckling noise. “You smell different when you are faking sleep, too.” A trick I employ often when I don’t feel like getting out of bed.

“I see. Good to know again.” Then I yelped and jumped about a yard straight up. “What the hell was that?”

“Fireworks. Premature fireworks. It is the Day of the Dead. We should start seeing costumes once the moon comes up.”

There was always a huge orange full moon, assuming the overcast let it be seen. And, as midnight approached, there would be fireworks.

Yes. Fireworks. But later.

Morley said what I was thinking. “Costumes and fireworks would make great camouflage for serious villainy.”

People wouldn’t pay much attention, would they? Weird and unusual were supposed to happen tonight.

Shadowslinger had anticipated that, and something else she felt compelled to go the whole mystery route about.

A second rocket went up. This one exploded huge, presenting a globe of gold and pink sparks. The dogs pulled in close, made uncomfortable by the boom and subsequent crackle of secondary explosions.

Morley laughed. “You know what that’s all about, don’t you?”

“I know exactly what it is. Some enterprising kid found a way to get into the fireworks magazine. He liberated some of the bigger shells.” Boys try every year. It’s a tradition. “The summer before the summer I went off to boot camp, Mikey and I got three star shells.”

So there I was, thinking about my departed brother on an evening when you were supposed to do exactly that. Mikey and I had had a great time that summer, but the shadow of the future had begun to loom. I would be off soon, on a road that had proven cruel for so many Garrett men already.

Till the information officers brought Ma the news and Mikey’s medals, I never considered the possibility that he would be the next Garrett not to come back. I’d been sure that I had a lock on a one-man lie-down six feet under in the land of the giant snakes and spiders, if I didn’t turn to croc shit first.

I’m not sure what brought Mikey so strongly to mind. I mean, yes, it was that night, but I’d gotten through Days of the Dead and All-Souls untroubled for several years. Why should this one be different?

I launched a general question. “Should we consider rescuing Orchidia? She’d be handy to have around if we end up slow-dancing with a magister of the Church.”

Dollar Dan opined, “It is likely that she will rescue herself when the time seems right. She may have done so already.”

“Singe, for the gods’ sake, lie to this guy. Tell him you’ll marry him. Or tumble him blind. Or something, because he’s starting to make me feel inadequate, he’s working so damned hard to show off his smarticals.”

“Smarticals? A new word for that special occasion when one of the Other Races amazes you by being able to tie his own shoes?”

That was kind of saying sideways that no way was she, the inimitable Pular Singe, going to be impressed by anything done by Dollar Dan Justice. He was just doing what he was supposed to, as far as she was concerned. Publicly.

But she was impressed. She was my little girl. She had grown up in my house. I knew her better than anyone but maybe the Dead Man. Dollar Dan was wearing her down.

John Stretch intercepted us soon afterward. “I stopped by your house on my way.” Talking to Singe, not to me. “Those girls are not happy. Penny thinks she is going to miss the fireworks. The other one has her feelings hurt because she has not been able to spend any time with Garrett, and that is her whole reason for being with us.” He turned slightly, to me. “You should give her more attention.” As though I knew exactly what he meant and why.

I did not, and I tried to make that clear. “Why? She’s a cute little thing. . But she’s just another stray. .”

I’d said something wrong. I had no idea what, but all four dogs growled and showed me their teeth. I got wicked, irritated looks from some of the others.

“Godsdammit! Tell me!”

Morley was not one of the irritated. He answered with a shrug. He didn’t get it, either.

“Well?” I demanded of Singe.

“I cannot help you. I should not. It cannot work that way.”

“I do believe that I am about to lose my temper.”

“This is one of those thing you have to work out for yourself, for good or ill. It is a moral bridge. No one can cross it for you, nor should anyone ease your way. It is all on you. And you are running out of time.”

“And patience!” No shit.

I knew Singe wanted to help. She owed me. I had made it possible for her to become the prodigy that she was. But there were witnesses.

It must be true that she wasn’t even supposed to offer a clue.

Irked, I imagined the Dead Man needling me with some remark to the effect that I had every clue I needed already. I should put in a little effort.

Oh, sigh. This had the feel of one of those face-offs with a moral tilting point that make life so damned uncomfortable.

I bet Belinda never suffered such quandaries. She never met a problem she couldn’t solve by breaking something or killing somebody.

It sucks, this “figure it out on your own or it has no value” crap. The real truth is, people are covering their asses so they take no blame if you make the sinister choice.

Paint me cynical. Very, very cynical.

“I’ll get you all, someday. You’ll have the shit raining down. You’ll be begging for a steel umbrella. And I’ll sit there in my rocking chair humming ‘God Save the Queen.’” Which is a particularly filthy drinking song about a cross-dressing fellow who has mad skills as a streetwalker but often gets into trouble because what he keeps hidden under his skirt has a mind of its own.

Singe told me, “You being deliberately disgusting changes nothing.”

It made me feel better, though not much.