Free E. Godz by Robert Asprin, Esther Friesner Page B

eyebrows. "All I want is a
little help finding someone. An old friend of mine. You see, he lives in the French
Quarter, and he doesn't—"
    "—have a telephone?" the waiter finished the thought for him. "What about an
address? Do you have that much?" Dov shook his head. "Not very friendly for an 'old
friend,' then, is he?"
    Dov's smile wobbled just a bit. "I misspoke. He's a business acquaintance."
    "Ah. I see." The waiter eyed the stack of bills wistfully. "I'd love to help you, sir,
really I would, but you don't know how it is down here. When a man lives in the Quarter
and doesn't have a phone and a stranger comes nosing around, asking about him, it's a
sure thing that ain't no one going to be giving that stranger any information. You might
accidentally tread on a man's toes, doing that. Folks don't appreciate having their toes
trod on. Now you say this man's a ... business acquaintance?"
    Dov nodded and said, "I suppose you want to know what sort of business."
    "Oh no, sir, no, not at all." The waiter raised one hand, fending off any unwanted
information. "Matter of fact, I'm happier not knowing."
    "Why? Afraid I'll lie to you for my own nefarious purposes?" Dov kicked his boyish
smile up a notch. "I'm flattered."
    "I'm not afraid of nothing like that; I just kinda expect it as a matter of course." The
waiter had a pretty high-intensity grin of his own. He placed two fingers on the stack of
bills and gave them a short push back in Dov's direction. "A word of advice, friend, and
it's free: If you're bound and determined to find a man in the Quarter and you don't have a
clue about where to start, wait until dark. Then go there, be there, look around. You'll
find him if you're meant to. Otherwise, be smart: Go home."
    "You're kidding. You want me to blunder through the French Quarter all night long,
trying to find one man?" Dov peeled two bills off the top of the stack and shoved them
onto the waiter. "Think again."
    The waiter took a step back, away from Dov and his persistent attempts at bribery.
His upper lip curled. "You want to know what I think, sir?" His hand swooped in and
scooped up the pile of tens still on the tabletop. "I think a man like you will only find
what he's looking for in St. Louis 1, that's what." He turned on his heel and was gone.
    "St. Louis 1? What the hell does that mean?" Dov cursed the waiter under his breath,
but his snit was interrupted by the sound of muffled laughter coming from inside his shirt.
He grabbed the silver chain around his neck and fished Ammi out into the sunlight. The
little amulet was giggling.
    "Oh, he told you, all right!" Ammi said. "You big idiot."
    "What did he tell me, if you're so smart?" Dov countered. He had no fear that his
fellow breakfasters would think him insane for talking to jewelry: He'd wrapped Ammi in
an A.R.S. even before getting into the car that took them to the Miami airport. Any
person within range of their conversations would unconsciously come up with self-
convincing reasons to account for everything seen and overheard. Thus, instead of the
panicky realization That lunatic is talking to his necklace. And it's talking back! the
innocent bystander would instead calmly reflect Gee, I wish I had a cell phone as small
as the one that guy's got. And it's silver. Classy. Cool.
    "Weren't you listening?" The amulet enjoyed taunting Dov. "He told you to go to St.
Louis 1, which is the same thing as saying— Well, I'd rather not lower myself to using
that kind of language, if you don't mind."
    "I don't get get it. What's St. Louis 1?"
    "A cemetery. Very historic, very quaint, very famous, and very likely a good place to
get the snot kicked out of you during a mugging. Not the place a person sends someone
he likes."
    Dov glared in the direction the waiter had gone. "He sends me to get mugged and he's
got the nerve to take my money. Bastard."
    "Oh, please, you did everything but stuff that bankroll in his pocket! You're going to