The Falconer's Tale by Gordon Kent Page A

anticipation of Hackbutt’s welcome. He temporizedby extending a hand again, letting the dog sniff; and he wasabout to try petting it again when he heard footsteps andthe door opened.
    â€œLook who the dog dragged in,” Irene said as she openedthe door. Her face had all the expression of a runwaymodel’s. The sexual performance was not on offer. Piatguessed she was angry. Over his sudden disappearance, orfor her husband’s sake? Or was it Dave and whatever he’dbotched? Piat had too few cues to do anything but guesswildly, but since he had to guess, he suspected that Hackbutthad told her everything and she had hated it. Not a goodstart.
    He narrowly avoided the trap of asking for Hackbutt. Thatway lay Dave’s disastrous attempt—excluding Irene.
    Piat met her eyes. “I want to try again,” he said.
    Irene’s face didn’t move. “Can I offer you anything, Jack?Tea?”
    Piat nodded—not too eagerly, he hoped. “Tea would begreat.”
    Irene was wearing another shapeless bag. The slight sheenof the material and the coarse beadwork suggested that itwas an expensive shapeless bag. She was barefoot, and asshe walked off to the kitchen, he saw that she had small feetarched like a ballerina’s. Her back remained straight, hershoulders square. Nothing sexual was being shown, and hewas grateful.
    She put water on. The door to the room she called her“studio” was closed; the photographs were still up in thesame places; there was no sign that she was “working” ordoing whatever people who thought they were artists did.
    â€œHackbutt’s up on the hillside. He’s flying his young birds.”She paused, reached into a jar and pulled out a handful ofloose tea. “Herbal, or do you run on caffeine?”
    Nice to have the right answer made obvious. “I drink coffeewhen I want caffeine. Herbal, please.”
    Irene’s back remained to him. “Good black tea has morecaffeine than coffee and is better for you. I’m sorry Eddieisn’t here—but I’m not sure he’d have much to say to you.”
    â€œI fired Dave,” Piat said. It came out easily, smoothly—thefoundation lie on which he intended to build his castle.
    She was putting leaves in a tea ball. Her hand paused fora moment. “Really?” she said. Her feigned disinterest wasthe first hopeful sign Piat had detected. “Jack, I’m not surethat you know Eddie very well. He feels that—that youbetrayed him.” With her last words, she turned around, teapotin hand.
    â€œI certainly abandoned him. Yeah. I thought it was for thebest. Look, can I level with you?”
    Irene sat. In one motion, she brushed her shapeless bagunder her knees and pulled her legs up under her, so thatshe sat sideways in a wing-backed armchair. She looked likea yoga master. Her smile was social. “My father told me thatthe expression ‘can I level with you’ always means the opposite.He was a capitalist pig of the first water, but he knewpeople.” She poured tea into heavy terracotta mugs.
    He was nervous and making mistakes. He shrugged andexhaled hard. “Okay. Point made. I’m done.” He swallowedsome tea—good tea. Big gamble. She has to want the money . He must have told her that there’s money. Or I’m out the door .
    She smiled again—but it was a different smile. Secretpleasure. “So—why did you fire Dave?”
    â€œHe didn’t know how to deal with you,” Piat said, fromthe hip.
    â€œAnd you do?” she asked.
    â€œIrene, I know I have to deal with you.” He just left itthere. She wanted to be in control—being in control wasone of the things that made her tick.
    She sipped her tea demurely. “What do you want?”
    â€œDigger’s help. A contact. It’ll require hard work and somelifestyle adjustments for both of you.”
    â€œLike what?” She leaned