Free Joe Pitt 1 - Already Dead by Charlie Huston Page B

with me in public. And if I had any doubts before,
     I now know for certain that if I ever have the opportunity to drag Dexter Predo into the
     sun, I will do so gleefully.
    She fishes an ice cube out of her drink, pops it in her mouth and crunches it.
    --You see, Joseph, I know what you are, but I'm still not certain what it is you do. Are
     you a detective of some kind?
    I'm still the deer in the headlights, just staring at her as she chews on ice.
    --Joseph?
    I blink once, slowly.
    --I'm a man, does things, gets things done. I'm a handyman. Someone has a problem they
     maybe call me and I maybe help to take care of the problem. Sometimes that means I'm a
     detective, I guess, but I don't have a license or an office or anything.
    She nods.
    --What about a gun, do you carry a gun?
    --Sometimes.
    --Now?
    --No.
    --And what about the other things you do? I know about them in theory, but details are hard
     to come by. Mr. Predo and the few other Coalition members we have met are so circumspect.
     I stare at her.
    --What about those other things, Joseph?
    --We can't talk about that here.
    She inhales deeply, exhales.
    --It's just that one hears the most fascinating stories. Is it true for instance about your
     sense of smell? Is it as acute as a dog's? Can you, for instance, tell what scent I used
     this morning?
    --I can smell it.
    --Do you know the brand?
    --No. But it's lavender oil.
    --You'd recognize it if you smelled
    
    
    
    
    
     it again?
    --Yeah.
    --Hmm.
    --If you don't mind, Ms. Horde, I'm not very good at parlor tricks.
    --We should talk about these things sometime, we really should.
    --Ms. Horde.
    --Yes?
    --Your daughter?
    --What about her?
    --She's missing.
    --Yes, she is.
    --What did you mean that she
    
    
     is fascinated
    
    
     with the undead?
    She takes another cube of ice
    
    
    
    
    
     from her drink, just sucking it this time.
    --Just that. She is somewhat fascinated by the undead, and the dead for that matter. You
     have eyes, she's a goth. She and her friends, they are all interested in anything macabre.
    --But when you say
    
    
     undead,
    
    
     do you mean in the abstract or in a literal sense? What I mean is ...
    --How much does she know?
    ---Yes.
    --Nothing. I don't know what you're accustomed to, Joseph, but it's not as if I make a
     habit of meeting with . . . your people. This is an aberration. Dale and I and some others
     in our circle know, but we would hardly go about sharing that information. It would tend
     to brand us as something rather more than eccentric.
    She smiles and licks the ice in her fingers. I can't quite get her. She's no Van Helsing,
     definitely not a Renfield, and lacks the proper sluttishness to be a Lucy. But she's
     something, she is definitely something. I slug down the last of my drink.
    --Two more things.
    --Of course.
    --The name of the PI that found her last time?
    --Chester Dobbs.
    --Huh.
    --You know him?
    --Of him. Why didn't you call him again?
    --To be honest, we did. He said he would look into it, but then called back the next
     evening and told us that his caseload was simply too great.
    I try to feature a PI turning down a case from a cash cow as fat as the Hordes. I fail.
    She's watching me.
    --And the other?
    --Hmm?
    --The other of the two things?
    --Oh, where did he find her the first time?
    She finally bites down on the cube she's been sucking.
    --Some abandoned building, a school I think it was, around Avenue B and Ninth Street. She
     was squatting in the basement with some other kids.
    She looks at my face, which I'm sure looks like I just got kicked in the gut.
    --Are you all right, Joseph? Is there something wrong?
    I don't shake hands. I don't say goodbye. I take a pass on all the social niceties and get
     the hell out of there and into a downtown cab.
    It's not her. I take a closer look at the picture while I ride the cab downtown, and I'm
     sure Amanda Horde is not the shambler chick I took care of the other night. Thanks