Red Iron Nights

41

Like old times. Chodo greeted his company in the pool room.

It was called that because there was a huge indoor bath in there. I've seen smaller oceans. The bath was heated. Usually—though this time was an exception—the poolside was decorated by a small herd of unclothed beauties, there just to lend that final touch of decadence.

While we waited, I asked, "Where are the honeys? I miss them."

"You would. Chodo didn't want them around while his daughter was staying here. He never got around to bringing them back."

What did that mean? That the daughter wasn't staying here anymore?

Patience, Garrett. All will come clear.

The man himself arrived, looking little changed. He was in his wheelchair with a heavy blanket wrapped around his lap and covering his legs. Hands like tallow claws lay folded upon his lap. I couldn't see his face. His head had fallen forward. It swayed back and forth.

Sadler stopped him at the far end of the pool, fiddled with his chair, tilted him back so his head stayed level. I'd never seen Chodo in anything approaching good health, but now he seemed way worse than ever before. He looked like somebody had poisoned him with arsenic, then he'd suffered severe anemia till the vampires got him. His skin was almost translucent.

He was dressed and groomed as though for dinner with the King—and that only made the sight of him more horrible.

I started forward. Crask caught my arm. "From here, Garrett."

Sadler bent to Chodo's right ear. "Mr. Garrett is here, sir." He spoke softly. I barely heard him.

Nothing shifted in Chodo's eyes. I saw no light of recognition. I saw no evidence that he could see at all. His eyes didn't move and didn't focus.

Sadler leaned forward as though to let Chodo speak into his ear. He listened, then straightened. "He wants to know about his daughter." No pretense about her now. "Whatever you know. All your speculations."

"I already told you—"

"He wants to hear it. With everything you left out."

Bullpucky. Maybe I wasn't supposed to notice. Maybe they didn't care if I did. Chodo's lips hadn't moved. He hadn't done anything but drool.

I flashed back to the night we tried to scribble the end of his story. We—Crask, Sadler, Winger, and I—had had him cornered, along with a witch he'd been chasing. The witch did get herself elevated to a higher plane before Winger and I cut out, but she'd made a final gesture before checkout. She'd given Chodo a fist in the face. She'd been wearing a poison ring filled with snake venom.

So. Rather than killing Chodo, the venom had induced a stroke.

How nice for Crask and Sadler. They must have thought themselves beloved of the gods when that happened. Their original plan had been to do Chodo and grab control of the outfit before anyone realized what was happening. That was the historically preferred solution to the problem of the transition of power in the underworld. But it meant a long shake-out period while potential challengers were eliminated.

This way there was no problem with the succession. Chodo was alive. They could pretend he was still in charge while they gathered the reins slowly.

It was grotesque.

I played along.

Not playing along would be a capital crime, I suspected.

Much of the time I function well in tight situations. I didn't betray my thoughts. I pursued a conversation with Chodo, through Sadler, as though I sensed nothing unusual.

I gave them a thorough briefing on the serial killer and young women frequenting the Tenderloin. Sometimes it's best you don't shield people from the truth.

"Seen her lately?" Sadler asked.

"Not since that day at Hullar's."

"You didn't try to trace her?"

"Why? No. I lost interest once I knew who she was."

"You're not as dumb as you look," Crask observed.

"Like you. Protective coloration."

Sadler gave me the fish-eye. "You would've known who she was after seeing her at Dotes's place."

"Speaking of Morley, the reason I asked him to contact you is the girl might know something that would help stop this killer. And I didn't figure hunting her up personally would—"

Sadler cut in, "You said the killer was dead." He was determined to trip me up.

"Maybe. We hope. But he's been dead before. The killings didn't stop."

"You don't think they're going to?"

"The ritual knives disappeared. A Watchman who was around the corpse and who had access to the knives has disappeared. That may not mean anything, but why take chances? I've identified two women who fit the victim profile. I'll see them covered like a blanket." Did I sound like I was making sense?

Sadler bent, stayed bent a long time, though Chodo's lips never moved. "Yes, sir. I'll tell him that, sir." He straightened. "Chodo says he has a job for you, Garrett. He wants you to find his daughter. He wants you to bring her home."

"The resources he has, he can't find her?"

"Not without everybody knowing he's looking."

Crask said, "He can't go looking himself, Garrett. That would be like admitting he can't control his own family."

Yeah. And folks might even wonder why she'd run away. "I see." I turned away, pretended to pace, finally stopped. "I can handle it. But I could use a little something to get started with. I mean, I don't even know her name, let alone anything about her."

"Belinda," Crask said, "She won't be using it."

Teach your mama to suck eggs, boy. "Belinda? You're kidding. Nobody's named Belinda anymore."

"After Chodo's old granny." The man didn't crack a smile. "She raised him up until he was old enough to run the streets."

Crask had a faraway look. I hoped he didn't wax nostalgic about the old days. Chodo had a decade on him, so they couldn't have run the bricks at the same time, but Crask and Sadler, like most of Chodo's inside boys, had come into the business from the streets, with time out for special education at Crown expense, in the University of the Cantard.

"I can handle it," I said again. I seldom demur when dealing with the kingpin face-to-face. A weakness of mine, being fond of breathing.

Sadler leaned down as though startled, listened. "Yes, sir. I'll see to it, sir." He straightened. "I've been instructed to advance you a hundred marks against your fees and expenses."

Maybe it was the season, all these people throwing money my way. "I'm on the job," I said. "Only I hope I don't have to walk ten miles home." Hint, hint. But I wouldn't press the issue. I wanted out of there bad. Soon. Before there was anything more.