Free Book 09 - Faded Steel Heat by Glen Cook

best men I ever knew.
What the crocodile didn’t eat we buried in a swamp on an
island down south.”
    “I know that pome.”
    “I’d better head for the big house.”
    “Sure. Something I wanted to ask you, though.”
    “Yeah? What?”
    “That bird. It’s stuffed. Right?”
    “You got a bet on? It’s alive. It’s just
doped.” On idiocy-suppressing thoughts from the Dead Man.
“If I don’t dope it, it cusses worse than old Matt
Berry. Usually at somebody who could yank off both of my arms with
one hand tied behind his back.”
    “Oh.” Sparky seemed disappointed. He must have lost
the bet.
     
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17
    I dropped off the dock, strolled toward the stables. Going
through was the fastest way to the big house.
    I was halfway through, stepping carefully, when I found myself
at the heart of a sudden triangle of guys who didn’t look
very friendly.
    Morley’s oft-given advice was sinking in. Or maybe I was
just in a bad mood. Or maybe I was just impatient. I didn’t
ask what anybody wanted.
    I spun. My oak headknocker tapped the temple of the guy moving
up behind me. The pound of lead inside the stick’s business
end added emphasis to my argument. His eyes glazed. He went down
without a word.
    I continued to turn, dropped, laid my next love tap on the side
of the knee of a huge Weider teamster. He was just getting a fist
wound up.
    His legs folded. I rose past him, tapped him on his bald spot,
stepped aside as he sprawled, turned to the last character.
“Something on your feeble mind?”
    He kept coming even though he had no tools. That didn’t
seem encouraging. Why the confidence? I feinted a tap at an elbow,
buried the tip of my stick in his breadbasket. He whooshed a bushel
of bad breath. I whapped the side of his head, then found out why
he kept on coming.
    A second wave of three materialized. These boys looked like they
were accustomed to muscle work. I didn’t recognize any of
them. On the plus side, none of them were behind me.
    While they decided what to do because Plan One had burned up in
their fingers I rethumped everybody already down. I didn’t
want any surprises.
    One of the new bunch grabbed a pitchfork. Another collected a
shovel. I didn’t like the implications.
    The Goddamn Parrot, who had elevated himself to a stringer
overhead when the excitement started, said, “Awk!
Garrett’s in deep shit now.”
    The third man, who seemed to be in charge, hung back to direct
traffic. He and his pals all looked up when the bird spoke.
    I didn’t.
    I charged.
    A pitchfork is nasty and a shovel unpleasant but neither was
designed to hurt people. My stick, though, has no other reason for
existing. A feint and a weave gave me a chance to reach in and
crunch knuckles on a hand gripping the pitchfork. Shovel man froze
momentarily when his too-slow buddy shrieked. I skipped aside and
cracked his skull.
    I swear, he shimmered. I thought he was going to fade away. I
wanted to whimper because I was afraid some gods were after me
again.
    I whipped back to pitchfork man. He was too slow to be a threat
by himself. A moment later he was sinking and I was ready to go
after the last man.
    The clown shut the stall gate between us, leaned on it, and
smiled. “I’m impressed.”
    “You ought to be. You’re about to be flat on your
back in the horse fruit yourself. Who are you? Why the hell are you
bothering me?”
    “Awk,” the Goddamn Parrot observed from above.
    “I’m nobody special. Just a messenger.”
    I rolled me eyes. “Corn by the bucketful. Spare me. I
don’t mind crippling the messenger.”
    “Not scared?”
    “Just quaking in my little shoesies.” I banged a toe
off the temple of the guy who had tried to fork me. For half a
second he shimmered like his buddy had.
    “No skin off my nose, you listen or not.”
    “Want to bet?” I popped my stick against my palm.
“Let’s see if you shimmer, too.”
    “Here’s the word. We know where you live. Stay away
from the Weider