Wicked Bronze Ambition: A Garrett, P.I., Novel by Glen Cook Page A

troops of the secret police. “And didn’t get their hands up fast enough.”
    One of the two had been a killer wizard and doubtless the first to die.
    I let the medic check me out and salve my scrapes. He gave me rote advice about treatment and how I could expect to have bruises in the morning. He mistook me for a special client but didn’t let himself get carried away with the VIP treatment.
    I asked Morley, “We know who they are yet?”
    “People who don’t like you.”
    “Amazingly enough, there are some of those out there. Don’t seem right, a big old harmless, lovable fuzz ball like me. I usually recognize them, though. Dead or alive, these guys are strangers.” I nodded then, upwind, to let him know I had gotten his hint about being downwind. These people were out of business, but Lurking Fehlske was still out there.
    Just for grins, I asked, “You wouldn’t have a jealous husband or disgruntled girlfriend out to get you and I’m collateral damage?”
    “I have become seriously monogamous.” He had powerful health reasons for doing so, since his main lady these days was Belinda Contague. He had made the grand blunder of breaking his own first law of relationships by getting involved with a woman crazier than him. That beautiful psychopath didn’t have much forgive and forget built in.
    Better him than me. And it had been me in the once-upon-a-time.
    Stickman came back. “We haven’t learned much yet, sir. The survivors will be questioned, but the way things work, the ones who give up easiest are the ones who know the least.”
    “The hired hands.”
    “Exactly, sir. I do know that the Director has a strong interest, so I’m sure he’ll keep you posted as information develops.”
    “I appreciate that.” Look at me, playing the politeness game.
    “This incident appears to be closed, sir. There seems to have been no connection between these people and those in the alley. I would urge you, sir, to be more aware of your surroundings. You should get off the street, into a safe place, as soon as possible. You should stay there till the Guard unravels this antisocial behavior.”
    Morley must have done some growing up himself. He kept a straight face, too.
    I said, “Thank you,” again, and, “I do appreciate your help. I’ll do my best to follow your advice.”
    Good old Morley kept right on with the blank face. He has skills. But he did look at me like he was wondering who the hell was wearing the Garrett suit.
    We made it to Macunado Street without further misadventure.

26
    Dean served supper in Singe’s office. She and Old Bones had guests: John Stretch and Belinda Contague. They were in related businesses, so some of that might have gotten done during the socializing. Belinda fussed over Morley like he was a toddler with a serious ouchie. The display was revoltingly mushy.
    I downed some shepherd’s pie and a pint of beer before I told Belinda, “You might not want to roam around on your lonesome, the way things are going around me lately.”
    She asked, “Why should I worry? You’re the target.”
    John Stretch agreed. “I put the word out to my people when I heard about Strafa.” He was yet another soul that my sweetie had conquered.
    John Stretch is handy to know. His people go everywhere, doing the dirtiest work, and people pay no attention. They should worry about protecting their secrets.
    “Nothing?”
    “Not yet. There is a hole in the tapestry. Many on the Hill would like to know who attacked her. None of them do know, or even have strong suspicions.”
    “That’s odd.”
    Singe added, “I get the feeling that they are not planning anything, they just want to know if there is a danger to them.”
    That made sense. There have been doctrine-driven insurrections directed at sorcerers before.
    Soon I was feeling full enough, mellow enough, and safe enough to collect myself and go to the Dead Man’s room—after a side trip to my old office, the broom closet next to the space