somebody’s startled, sharp cry cut off on a sudden high note as . . . something unpleasant happened to somebody who hadn’t expected serious difficulties.
Then I had a feeling, supported by no physical evidence, that some huge and terrible bane was headed my way.
My navigation was less than perfect. I tripped over something, plunged through the fog, scraped my face against the side of a building, fetched up with my nose between an expensive pair of small brown shoes capping the bottom ends of little girl legs in white stockings.
A little girl voice announced, “And here we have proof that being lucky sometimes trumps being smart.”
A meat hook bigger than my head caught me by the scruff, set me on my feet.
The girl said, “You have to start taking this seriously. Otherwise you are going to die.”
Then her mouth opened into a large O of surprise. I looked behind me.
Tin whistles filled the entrance to the alleyway. There was a fight going on somewhere else. It made a lot of noise. These red tops, perhaps envious, appeared to be looking for a fight of their own.
Two came forward.
A volcanic rumble came out of Mr. Big Thing. The girl said, “Yes. We should.”
Then I was looking up as that thing towed the girl up the side of a building using one hand and his feet, which were bare and apelike. They vanished in an instant.
“What the hell?” I said. “What in the hell?”
The red tops backed me in chorus. We were the Alley Cats doo-wop crew for several seconds.
A rebel soul broke off to ask, “Are you all right, sir? I’m sorry we were so slow getting here.”
“Huh? I got some abrasions. Hands. Right knee. Right cheek. Got my funny bone rung. Otherwise I’m hunky-dory. You were slow, how?”
“We had to hang back so we weren’t noticed by the bad guys, sir. So we could strike unexpectedly, like. The trade-off was, they got a little time to work some mischief before we could begin the roundup.”
I wished the light was better. I couldn’t tell if the guy was having fun or was just one of those people raised with a stick up his butt.
One fact that I did get quick was that the Guard had used me for bait. They wanted Garrett stomping around knocking things over and ambling into traps, whereupon they could drop from the sky and sweep up the trash.
A studly move fully worthy of the secret police. Or of the commander of the Guard.
I took a last glance skyward and was startled. Little blond doll was silhouetted against the overcast, by herself. The light wasn’t good. I could not make out her expression. She was holding a stuffed bear.
The tin whistles prowled the alley in search of something useful. One runty type wore a forensics wizard badge on the side of his beret.
Relway had believed me. The Guard were rolling it all out. No doubt Relway smelled a chance to gain some leverage on the Hill crowd.
The talking red top asked, “Do you know the child or her companion, sir?”
“I do not. I have seen them before, the night before my wife was killed.”
How was that for a new Garrett strategy? Utter, complete, total, devoted cooperation, with nearly full disclosure.
The tin whistle shrugged. “We’ll find them. People with their skills can’t help leaving traces just by being themselves. Let’s go see what Karbo caught.”
Karbo proved to be the leader of the squad involved in the other ruckus, which hadn’t gone well for the ambushers. Three men in cuffs sat on the cobblestones looking thoroughly miserable. Morley was doing the same a few yards away, without cuffs. A medic type attended him. He had some scrapes, nothing serious. He hadn’t opened any old wounds. My team leader, Stickman, told the medic to do me next, then went to consult a guy who looked like somebody named Karbo. He was thick, wide, and ugly.
Two men lay stretched out by the three in cuffs. They had the deflated look of the newly dead.
Morley said, “They got downwind of the Specials.” Specials being the shock
Then I had a feeling, supported by no physical evidence, that some huge and terrible bane was headed my way.
My navigation was less than perfect. I tripped over something, plunged through the fog, scraped my face against the side of a building, fetched up with my nose between an expensive pair of small brown shoes capping the bottom ends of little girl legs in white stockings.
A little girl voice announced, “And here we have proof that being lucky sometimes trumps being smart.”
A meat hook bigger than my head caught me by the scruff, set me on my feet.
The girl said, “You have to start taking this seriously. Otherwise you are going to die.”
Then her mouth opened into a large O of surprise. I looked behind me.
Tin whistles filled the entrance to the alleyway. There was a fight going on somewhere else. It made a lot of noise. These red tops, perhaps envious, appeared to be looking for a fight of their own.
Two came forward.
A volcanic rumble came out of Mr. Big Thing. The girl said, “Yes. We should.”
Then I was looking up as that thing towed the girl up the side of a building using one hand and his feet, which were bare and apelike. They vanished in an instant.
“What the hell?” I said. “What in the hell?”
The red tops backed me in chorus. We were the Alley Cats doo-wop crew for several seconds.
A rebel soul broke off to ask, “Are you all right, sir? I’m sorry we were so slow getting here.”
“Huh? I got some abrasions. Hands. Right knee. Right cheek. Got my funny bone rung. Otherwise I’m hunky-dory. You were slow, how?”
“We had to hang back so we weren’t noticed by the bad guys, sir. So we could strike unexpectedly, like. The trade-off was, they got a little time to work some mischief before we could begin the roundup.”
I wished the light was better. I couldn’t tell if the guy was having fun or was just one of those people raised with a stick up his butt.
One fact that I did get quick was that the Guard had used me for bait. They wanted Garrett stomping around knocking things over and ambling into traps, whereupon they could drop from the sky and sweep up the trash.
A studly move fully worthy of the secret police. Or of the commander of the Guard.
I took a last glance skyward and was startled. Little blond doll was silhouetted against the overcast, by herself. The light wasn’t good. I could not make out her expression. She was holding a stuffed bear.
The tin whistles prowled the alley in search of something useful. One runty type wore a forensics wizard badge on the side of his beret.
Relway had believed me. The Guard were rolling it all out. No doubt Relway smelled a chance to gain some leverage on the Hill crowd.
The talking red top asked, “Do you know the child or her companion, sir?”
“I do not. I have seen them before, the night before my wife was killed.”
How was that for a new Garrett strategy? Utter, complete, total, devoted cooperation, with nearly full disclosure.
The tin whistle shrugged. “We’ll find them. People with their skills can’t help leaving traces just by being themselves. Let’s go see what Karbo caught.”
Karbo proved to be the leader of the squad involved in the other ruckus, which hadn’t gone well for the ambushers. Three men in cuffs sat on the cobblestones looking thoroughly miserable. Morley was doing the same a few yards away, without cuffs. A medic type attended him. He had some scrapes, nothing serious. He hadn’t opened any old wounds. My team leader, Stickman, told the medic to do me next, then went to consult a guy who looked like somebody named Karbo. He was thick, wide, and ugly.
Two men lay stretched out by the three in cuffs. They had the deflated look of the newly dead.
Morley said, “They got downwind of the Specials.” Specials being the shock
Similar Books
