Cruel Zinc Melodies

13

John Stretch and his crew began unloading cages.

I frowned at the World. Construction had stopped. ‘‘Am I missing a holiday? Did the weekend sneak up on me?’’

I went looking for Handsome. I found a pair of Civil Guards instead. They were all shiny and self-important in the new, pale blue uniforms. They wore red flop hats and brandished tin whistles.

They ambled over. One eyed the rat cages, horrified. The other looked away. ‘‘Who’re you, ace?’’

He tweaked that nerve. ‘‘Deuce Tracy. Who’s asking? And why?’’ I didn’t feel hard-ass enough not to fish out my note from the Boss, though.

The Watchman considered exercising his right to be obnoxious. He accepted the note instead. He looked at it upside down, then passed it to the man who could pretend to read. After surveying Playmate and Saucerhead, the red tops opted for manners. For the moment.

They did have those tin whistles.

Playmate and Saucerhead are intimidating just standing around picking their noses. Especially Tharpe. He looks exactly like what he is, a professional bonebreaker of considerable skill. One who wouldn’t scruple about busting the skull of a tin whistle if the mood took him.

The second Watchman said, ‘‘It do look like he’s got business here, Git. This is from Weider himself.’’

I use Watch and Civil Guard interchangeably. There is a distinction, mainly of importance to Colonel Westman Block. The Civil Guard is supposed to be the new order of honest lawmen. The old Watch is supposed to wither away. When the new order gets as corrupt as the old, they’ll hire some new thugs and change the name again.

Git rumbled, ‘‘Just trying to do the job, Bank.’’

‘‘Sure. So. Mr. Chief Security Adviser. We still need to ask you a few.’’

‘‘Fine by me. Right after you answer me just one. What’re you doing here? John, you guys go ahead. Get after it.’’

Git answered for his partner. ‘‘There was a murder. We’re supposed to find something out. If there’s anything to be found.’’

That startled me. ‘‘A murder? Here?’’

Bank said, ‘‘An old man named Brent Talanta. Usually called Handsome. You knew him?’’

‘‘I met him yesterday. I came over after getting the assignment from Weider.’’

‘‘About?’’

‘‘You read it in the pass. He thinks there’s sabotage. I’m supposed to make it stop. What happened to Handsome?’’

The Watchmen eyeballed Playmate and Tharpe. Not recognizing them, except as seriously dangerous.

Git said, ‘‘He got dead.’’

Bank added, ‘‘Messily. How ain’t clear. Something tried to eat him.’’

I lost my inclination to be disagreeable.

We watched the ratmen take cages into the World. I said, ‘‘That puts us on the same team. Did feral dogs get him?’’

‘‘That mean wild?’’ Git asked.

‘‘Yeah.’’

Feral dogs are a problem. They’ll hit a corpse but I’ve never heard of them killing anybody.

‘‘Definitely not dogs,’’ Bank said. ‘‘And what tried to eat him ain’t what killed him. There wasn’t no sign of a fight. But what tried to eat him could be in cahoots with what killed him. If he didn’t die in his sleep. Or commit suicide.’’

We swapped questions for a while. Then Bank quizzed me on the financial side of being a freelancer. Grousing, ‘‘This racket ain’t what it was in my father’s day.’’

I couldn’t help myself. ‘‘And that’s the point of all the reform.’’

Neither Git nor Bank liked that. Which told me they were holdovers from the old regime. It also told me they must be reasonably honest guys or they’d be out looking for work in a bad postwar job market.

‘‘Handsome dying the reason nobody’s working?’’

Bank said, ‘‘You’d have to ask the people who didn’t show up.’’

Which made sense. I’d get an employee roster if the case dragged on.

It shouldn’t. Though Handsome’s death could be a complication.

Time passed. We talked about the war. Git had done his five in the Corps, too. He hadn’t heard of me there—or here, either—but he’d heard of my outfit.

I did remember to ask what became of Handsome’s remains. In case I wanted a look later. They had him over at the Al-Khar, for now.

Saucerhead grunted, ‘‘Singe is coming.’’

Playmate added, ‘‘She don’t look happy, Garrett.’’

She didn’t. Sufficient unto the moment the ferocity thereof. I said, ‘‘Over there on that pillar by where they found the dead guy. There’s a mark the tin whistles missed. Take a look and tell me what you think.’’