Free NO Quarter by Robert Asprin Page A

get killed by a family member or a close friend in the heat of an argument ... especially during the hot, humid summer months, like now. It’s the cases that aren’t obvious, the ‘whodunits’ that usually go unsolved. If they don’t come up with an answer in the first forty-eight hours, they usually quit. It’s not like TV or the detective novels. They’re overloaded with cases and simply don’t have any more time to put into any single case.”
    “You said not to personalize it.” He obviously didn’t like the sound of that.
    “You’re not giving the police the time to do their job. Realize what they’re up against in every ‘whodunit.’ Give them the chance to check things out their way. Maybe they’ll get lucky. You’re already running around trying to start your own investigation. You’re going to call attention to yourself, maybe end up distracting the cops. I would recommend you chill out, at least enough to think clearly. It’s always better to fight cold than hot.”
    He ground his cigarette into the table’s black plastic ashtray. It wasn’t earthshaking advice I was giving him, but hopefully I’d cooled him down sufficiently.
    He looked at me, intent but not hostile now. “You didn’t just happen to bump into me up there on Bourbon, did you, Maestro? You came out looking for me. Didn’t you?”
    “Yes,” I said simply.
    “Why?” He gave me a wry little smile, appearing to enjoy giving me back my own earlier question.
    I’d been thinking it over, though, trying to deduce why I felt such a strong protective instinct toward this kid who was, after all, a new acquaintance and not somebody I should be too invested in.
    “I’m just looking out for you, Bone.”
    “Why?” he asked again, enjoying it even more.
    I took another healthy swallow of Irish. “Because you remind me of someone ... someone I don’t want to see doing anything unnecessarily dangerous.” Or stupid , I added silently.
    The smirk left his face. “So what do you want from me, Maestro?”
    “To lay off this thing for forty-eight hours. See what the police can do.”
    He nodded once. “And if they don’t come up with anything?”
    “Then you’ll want to do something. Presuming you’re serious?”
    “Very serious.”
    I finished off my drink. “In that case, you could probably use some help.”
    We stared at each other a moment across the tabletop. I thought of Rose turning over the Two of Cups.
    “Forty-eight hours,” Bone finally said. “Okay. Clock’s ticking. Meanwhile ... ” We climbed off our stools. He had Alex waiting to be escorted home.
    I didn’t have anyone waiting for me, but the Quarter, in its entirety, was my home, and ... well, I didn’t take kindly to the murder of one of my household.

    * * *

    I still had Jet’s news to worry about, of course. That I’d put it on hold while hunting down Bone showed how serious I was about trying to safeguard the kid. Now, however, it was time to look into it.
    My apartment is maybe a little too close to the action on Bourbon, so on busy weekends, and certainly during Carnival, I get a lot of crowd noises. I don’t particularly mind, though. My place is a “slave quarters” apartment, a local term I found a bit shocking when I first moved down here. It refers to a detached unit at the rear of a larger building. Mine abuts a flagstone patio planted with jasmine, where there’s enough space for me to swing a fencing foil or a baston eskrima around when the urge takes me. The plants and vines on the perimeter also block the view from the street and the main house, which makes it a good place to practice with live blades.
    Jet had mentioned Decatur Street. If somebody was going along that street tonight looking and asking for me by name, that somebody didn’t know my movements. Decatur’s bars are more for the younger set, though there was one bartender I knew well.
    I flipped through the phone directory, dialed the number. When the Bear answered I