Free Red Iron Nights by Glen Cook

had to show me. Quick as an eyeblink he showed me a razor. Elves have a love affair with sharp steel, especially the young ones. He was so predictable I was there with my headknocker as fast as he was with the blade. I popped his knuckles. He yowled like a stomped cat. The razor flew down the counter. The audience gave us a hand. And a mountain of a man lumbered out of the kitchen.
    “Garrett. What you doing?” This was Sarge, another of Morley’s old hands. He came out of the same production batch as Puddle.
    “I asked to see Morley. Kid pulled a razor.”
    Sarge shook his head sadly. “What you want to go do that for, Spud? Man wants to see Morley, give Morley a howl. Morley wants to have him friends like this, that’s his lookout.”
    “Spud?” I asked. What kind of name was Spud? Not even a dwarf would tag his kid Spud.
    “What we call him, Garrett. Name’s really Narcisio. Morley’s nephew. His sister’s kid. Got to be more than she could handle. Morley brought him down here so he could straighten him out.”
    Meantime, the kid talked to the voice tube that connected to Morley’s office.
    I shook my head. Morley Dotes going to set somebody’s feet on the straight and narrow? Morley, whose real career is cutting throats and breaking bones and running an occasional con or even a straight ripoff if the stakes are big enough? My pal Morley?
    Sarge put on a big grin. “I know what you’re thinking. But you know Morley.”
    I knew Morley. He could believe mutually contradictory things at the same time, with religious fervor. His whole life was a tangle of contradictions. He lived them all with passion. He could sell you anything, because he believed every word he said when he said it. That was why he did well with the ladies. And no matter that he might take up a completely new passion five minutes hence. He was completely committed now.
    Morley had done some good where Spud was concerned. The kid wasn’t happy about being shown up, but he put it away from him. He told me, “Morley will be down in a few minutes. You want something while you’re waiting?”
    “Puddle still got his keg back there? Tap me one off it. He owes me a couple gallons.”
    Sarge chuckled. “Whyn’t you finish the whole thing? I love to watch him puff up like a big old toady frog when he comes in and finds out somebody’s been at his keg.”
    “I’ll do my best. Company?” I jerked a thumb skyward.
    “Yeah. His luck’s coming back.”
    “Glad somebody’s is.”
    Sarge chuckled again. “You shoulda married that Maya when she asked. She was all right.” He patted Spud’s shoulder, said, “You done all right. Just don’t be so fast with that razor. Next guy might not be nice like Garrett.” He headed for the kitchen. I wondered what he was doing back there. I wouldn’t trust him anywhere near food in preparation. Not even the horse fodder they serve at Morley’s place.
    I figured the kid’s ego needed a boost so I sort of sideways apologized for being so hardass. The audience had lost interest, so he could halfway apologize too. “I only been here a couple days, Mr. Garrett.” He recognized the name now. “Always somebody coming in here to pester my uncle. You looked like an unhappy husband.”
    I laughed. “Not a husband, just unhappy.” Morley isn’t satisfied unless he’s taking needless risks. Like refusing to fool around with a woman if she isn’t married. He used to have a bad gambling problem too, but he got over that.
    Morley came downstairs looking smug. Without saying so, he wanted me to know his life was going great. Way better than mine. I couldn’t argue. Lots of people’s lives were going better than mine.
    “What’s going on, Garrett?”
    “Need some privacy to talk.”
    “You on a job?”
    “This time. Dead Man says we might need to subcontract. Also, he wants to pick your brain.”
    “Take the table in the corner.”
    I picked up the beer Spud had drawn off Puddle’s keg. “You have so