Free Faded Steel Heat by Glen Cook Page A

shaky. “I’m telling you. Back off. Stay away.”
    “Says who? You’ve gotten something turned around inside your head. You and your company-clerk buddies here are going to keep your lardy asses off of Weider property. Next time you trespass you’ll get hurt.”
    The guy smirked. I flicked the tip of my stick at the fingers of his right hand where he gripped the top of the gate. He bit, yanked back. I kicked the gate. He staggered backward. Unfortunately, my balance wasn’t perfect either. My follow-through was a plop into not-so-sweet-smelling straw.
    The Goddamn Parrot guffawed.
    “Your day is coming.”
    The big guy bounced off a post, got his balance back. He grabbed a handy hay hook, whooshed it back and forth. He wasn’t happy anymore. He snarled, “That was a big mistake. Now you got me pissed off. And I don’t need you in one piece.”
    There are people so stupid they just can’t imagine somebody hurting them. And some of those are so dim you can’t even teach them with pain. This guy looked like one of the latter.
    The Goddamn Parrot made a distressed noise.
    I dived for my stick. It had gotten away from me when I fell. I slithered over an earlier victim. He groaned when I got him with an elbow.
    “What are you men doing there?” That sounded like somebody used to being in charge. I glanced sideways as I got hold of my stick, saw Ty Weider and his wheelchair maybe fifteen feet away, beyond a couple of stalls. With him were his full-time helper Lancelyn Mac and two stable hands.
    The big guy looked, too. He dithered a second longer than I did. Without getting up, I swung my stick and got him in the kneecap. He yowled and raised his leg. I rolled into the one still on the straw.
    “Lance. Ike. See what’s going on there,” Ty ordered.
    I got up. “It’s me. I was crossing from the dock to the big house when these guys jumped me.” I kicked the big man in the side of the head before he got organized. I wasn’t fond of anybody right then. I planted a foot on his butt and pushed him into a manure pile.
    Lancelyn and Ike joined me. I asked, “You guys recognize any of these thugs?”
    Both looked toward Ty for advice. Weider maneuvered his chair through the mess. “Sit them up so I can see their faces.”
    I lifted guys. So did Ike. Lance didn’t want to get anything under his fingernails. He elected himself director of field operations.
    I’d always suspected him of being that kind of guy. He was a tall, golden-haired boy with an inflated notion of his own worth. Women of the shallow variety drooled when he walked past. We’d never gotten along but, then, we’d never had to. I didn’t hang out with the younger Weiders anymore.
    “You play rough, Garrett,” Ty said.
    “I took them by surprise.”
    “In more ways than one, I’d guess.”
    He was right. For sure these guys hadn’t been clear on who I was. Otherwise, they would have been better prepared.
    Ty said, “Lance, those faces look familiar.” He pointed, indicating the men I’d seen before myself. “What’re you doing, Garrett?”
    “Going through their pockets.” I tapped a guy’s head to keep him down. “Might find something interesting.”
    “You saying this wasn’t personal? None of these guys have a sister?”
    “Some of them probably do. But I don’t know them. It didn’t get personal till they tried to thump on me. The one I was wrestling when you showed up told me they were supposed to tell me to stay away from the brewery. He was the only one who ever said anything.”
    “You don’t know him?”
    “No.”
    “Neither do I. Lance? No? Ike? Mays? No? Looks like we have a mystery, then.”
    “This is Votil Hanbe,” Ike said, indicating one of the familiar men. “He cleans stables nights. That one works the dock nights. I don’t remember his name.”
    “Kessel,” Lancelyn said. “Milo Kessel. Skibber Kessel is his uncle. Mr. Klees hired him. As a favor to Skibber. I was there when they discussed