go head. Enjoy the slide. I won’t get in
your way.
Nope. I won’t hand you a bucket of grease, either.
You’ve got to do it on your own.
----
----
22
“What’s the drill?” I asked as we turned into
Macunado east of my place. I spoke for the Goddamn Parrot, in case
the Dead Man needed to let me know about any special plans.
Saucerhead and Winger thought I was asking them. They were unaware
of the special relationship between the character with no mind and
the one with way too many.
Winger said, “We walk you to your door and make sure
you’re safely inside. You pay us.”
“Pay you? That’s going to come out of the Dead
Man’s side of the business. I didn’t ask for
baby-sitters.”
His Nibs didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t want
anybody to know he used the parrot.
Saucerhead said, “Will you look at them kids, Garrett?
That’s disgusting.”
He meant several youths of preconscription age gathered on a
street corner. They were baiting a covey of adolescent elf girls
who were way out of their own neighborhood, not to mention out
after dark. Their fathers would have whipped their bottoms purple
had they witnessed what was happening. The boys were
uncomplimentary in the extreme, their vocabularies heavily
racist—although the clothing they affected was borrowed
directly from elven styles. The girls giggled at the boys and dared
them to do something. Anything. Because then they would make the
boys look as stupid as they were talking.
“You want me to go tell them to mind their manners?”
I asked.
“Huh?” Tharpe responded, baffled. “Manners?
What’re you talking about, Garrett?”
“No. What’re
you
talking about? If not
their behavior?”
“Their hair, man!” Tharpe eyed me like he wondered
if I was going blind. “Look at their hair.”
“They’ve got a lot of it.” Most of them
had it up and artificially curled and it looked like hell, but so
what? It was obvious already that they didn’t mind being the
butt of mockery.
Saucerhead never outgrew his military haircut. He grumbled,
“What kind of parents would let their kids go around looking
like that? You want to know why Karenta is going to
hell . . . ”
I did but I didn’t think Saucerhead’s theory would
hold much water.
Hair had nothing to do with those boys’
behavior—though behavior and hair might be two symptoms of
the same disease. And the girls bore an equal responsibility.
Hardly anybody, human or elven, would argue that there are any
women more beautiful or sensual than the elven—and these
girls were blessed additionally with the glow of youth. And they
flaunted every weapon they had to get those boys to humiliate
themselves.
The boys were too naive to realize they were going to lose no
matter what they did. That’s a hard lesson for even a man of
my mature years. I’m past standing on street corners and
howling at the unattainable but I suspect no woman ever gets
entirely beyond belittling you, however subtly, for finding her
attractive.
I was stretching Saucerhead’s mind to its limit trying to
explain what was going on across the street when Winger opined,
“You’re really full of shit, Garrett.”
“Tell you what, Winger. You tell me about the women you
hang out with.”
“Huh? What’s that got to do with
anything?”
“You’re going to tell me how women really think. But
you hang out with me. You hang out with Saucerhead when he
doesn’t have a girlfriend tying him down. You hang out in
lowlife taverns trying to get into fights with guys who remind you
of your husband. You hang out with thieves and thugs and confidence
men and none of them are women so I don’t think the fact that
you squat to pee qualifies you as an expert on female culture as
practiced in our great metropolis.”
“Shee-it. There you go cutting me down again ’cause
I come from the country.”
This could go on for hours. Winger always has a comeback, even
if it doesn’t make much sense. Lucky for me, we
your way.
Nope. I won’t hand you a bucket of grease, either.
You’ve got to do it on your own.
----
----
22
“What’s the drill?” I asked as we turned into
Macunado east of my place. I spoke for the Goddamn Parrot, in case
the Dead Man needed to let me know about any special plans.
Saucerhead and Winger thought I was asking them. They were unaware
of the special relationship between the character with no mind and
the one with way too many.
Winger said, “We walk you to your door and make sure
you’re safely inside. You pay us.”
“Pay you? That’s going to come out of the Dead
Man’s side of the business. I didn’t ask for
baby-sitters.”
His Nibs didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t want
anybody to know he used the parrot.
Saucerhead said, “Will you look at them kids, Garrett?
That’s disgusting.”
He meant several youths of preconscription age gathered on a
street corner. They were baiting a covey of adolescent elf girls
who were way out of their own neighborhood, not to mention out
after dark. Their fathers would have whipped their bottoms purple
had they witnessed what was happening. The boys were
uncomplimentary in the extreme, their vocabularies heavily
racist—although the clothing they affected was borrowed
directly from elven styles. The girls giggled at the boys and dared
them to do something. Anything. Because then they would make the
boys look as stupid as they were talking.
“You want me to go tell them to mind their manners?”
I asked.
“Huh?” Tharpe responded, baffled. “Manners?
What’re you talking about, Garrett?”
“No. What’re
you
talking about? If not
their behavior?”
“Their hair, man!” Tharpe eyed me like he wondered
if I was going blind. “Look at their hair.”
“They’ve got a lot of it.” Most of them
had it up and artificially curled and it looked like hell, but so
what? It was obvious already that they didn’t mind being the
butt of mockery.
Saucerhead never outgrew his military haircut. He grumbled,
“What kind of parents would let their kids go around looking
like that? You want to know why Karenta is going to
hell . . . ”
I did but I didn’t think Saucerhead’s theory would
hold much water.
Hair had nothing to do with those boys’
behavior—though behavior and hair might be two symptoms of
the same disease. And the girls bore an equal responsibility.
Hardly anybody, human or elven, would argue that there are any
women more beautiful or sensual than the elven—and these
girls were blessed additionally with the glow of youth. And they
flaunted every weapon they had to get those boys to humiliate
themselves.
The boys were too naive to realize they were going to lose no
matter what they did. That’s a hard lesson for even a man of
my mature years. I’m past standing on street corners and
howling at the unattainable but I suspect no woman ever gets
entirely beyond belittling you, however subtly, for finding her
attractive.
I was stretching Saucerhead’s mind to its limit trying to
explain what was going on across the street when Winger opined,
“You’re really full of shit, Garrett.”
“Tell you what, Winger. You tell me about the women you
hang out with.”
“Huh? What’s that got to do with
anything?”
“You’re going to tell me how women really think. But
you hang out with me. You hang out with Saucerhead when he
doesn’t have a girlfriend tying him down. You hang out in
lowlife taverns trying to get into fights with guys who remind you
of your husband. You hang out with thieves and thugs and confidence
men and none of them are women so I don’t think the fact that
you squat to pee qualifies you as an expert on female culture as
practiced in our great metropolis.”
“Shee-it. There you go cutting me down again ’cause
I come from the country.”
This could go on for hours. Winger always has a comeback, even
if it doesn’t make much sense. Lucky for me, we
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