Tomorrow, the Killing

6

I was picking at the end of my chop steak when the girl on the picture in my front pocket walked into the bar. She scanned her surroundings before fixing on me, then approached with the sort of air that suggested her greeting would be less than cordial.

‘I’m Rhaine Montgomery,’ she said. ‘What the hell do you want?’

Well, that was pretty fucking easy, I thought, and pushed aside my plate.

My tobacco pouch sat on the counter. I thumbed out a sheaf of paper and a few tufts, playing for time. The portrait painter had taken liberties, but then I guess that’s what they’re paid for. The woman in front of me was a far cry from the vision in miniature I had been given. Her face lacked any trace of softness, of the plump vitality that draws the male gaze. She was too sharp, too angular, her body a reflection of the belligerence her reputation spoke of and our short acquaintance confirmed. A crueler man than I might have called her boyish, and I imagined her childhood had contained no shortage of pimpled wits happy to plague her with similar epithets. Still, her scarlet hair was as striking in person as in oil, a vivid contrast with the blue of her eyes.

The longer the pause lasted the narrower these got, till they were little more than slits in a sea of freckled pink. ‘Well? I asked you a question.’

‘You look like your brother,’ I opened.

Excitement spilled across her face, but she killed it quick, tightening her mouth into a sneer. ‘You knew my brother?’

‘I served under him during the war. I saw him around a little after that.’

She cocked her head as if to spear me. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘All right then. You look like your mother.’

Now she was thoroughly confused, so much so that for a moment she forgot even to be angry. Her face was more pleasant when it wasn’t radiating antipathy. ‘You knew my mother?’

‘No, never met her,’ I said, flagging down Adolphus. He sidled over from the other side of the bar and refilled my glass.

‘Who’s this?’ His smile would have been charming if it hadn’t been attached to the rest of him.

‘She’s our new bar keep. I’m sick of watching you drag your ass over here every time I need a beer.’

Adolphus looked her up and down. ‘Not sure she’s big enough,’ he said. Then, to her, ‘You think you could carry a half-cask up from the basement?’

‘I’m not a bar back!’

‘No need to get huffy about it.’ Adolphus winked his one good eye and drew off, chuckling.

I took a shallow drag off my cigarette while she composed her fraying nerves. ‘Why are you looking for me?’ she said again.

‘Why do you think?’

‘It’s Father, isn’t it?’ She shook her head angrily. Petulantly, if you were inclined to be judgmental about it. ‘Tell him he can stop worrying. Tell him I can take care of myself.’

‘Can you?’

‘I’m here, aren’t I? I’ve made it this far.’

‘So did he,’ I pointed at a drunk passed out in the corner, his snoring interrupted by the occasional involuntary belch. ‘But if we were kin I’d be concerned to hell.’

She had primed herself for a screaming match, and my refusal to offer a fight left her unsorted. Her shoulders slumped, pinned down by the day’s length. ‘What does he want from me?’

‘The general? I think he’d like you to outlive him. It’s a common hope of parents, I’m told.’

‘And what of Roland?’

‘I imagine your father would have liked him to do the same.’ The longer the conversation lasted the more it was becoming clear I was not the ideal candidate to reconcile the Montgomery family, never having had a family myself, nor entirely understanding their purpose.

‘You say you knew my brother.’

‘I said that.’

‘How well?’

‘How well does anyone know anyone?’

‘Did you think him the sort of man to end his life face down in the gutter, outside of a Low Town whorehouse?’

‘I’ve known better men who died worse.’

That was close enough to an attack to allow her temper free reign. ‘You can tell Father I’m not some child to get fetched by the help. You tell him I’ll stay in Low Town till Roland gets justice, since he’s not man enough to see it done himself.’

As she turned to walk away I closed the tips of my fingers around her wrist. ‘Let me tell you something about the dead, as someone who’s seen a few of them. They don’t care what we do. They don’t yearn for vengeance, and they don’t hope for redemption. They rot.’ I tightened my grip slightly. ‘Stick around Low Town and you’ll find out I’m right.’

She ripped her arm away with enough force that I worried she might have injured herself. Then she shot me a look that could have curled paint, and stalked off into the night.

I finished the rest of my drink and told myself to stay out of it, knowing I’d be too stupid to listen.