Free NO Quarter by Robert Asprin Page B

identified myself.
    “Maestro!” the Bear’s gruff voice boomed through my earpiece. “How’s it goin’, Bro? I take it you got my message.”
    I glanced at the answering machine next to the phone. I hadn’t checked it. “Actually, no. Somebody slipped me word on the street, something about ... inquiries being made.”
    “Right. An’ I know how you like your privacy.”
    The Bear had the physical presence to match his basso-profundo voice. He was ... well, a bear of a man, except that real bears don’t have shoulder-length hair and tattoos. He’d also been in my sword club when it was active and was one of a handful of people who had my unlisted phone number. The bar where he currently worked was at Decatur’s far end.
    “So, who is this guy?” I flexed my free hand.
    “He came through here ‘bout, oh, hour an’ a half ago. Asked for you by name.”
    “Asked who?”
    “Me. I didn’t know him, so he got my best blank stare. He tried askin’ a few of my customers, but I told him he had to buy a drink or get out. He went.”
    “He give you any trouble about that?” I asked.
    “Naw. Actually he was well-mannered. Wasn’t drunk. Was wearin’ square clothes. Cheap, y’know, but neat—collared shirt, slacks.”
    I absorbed that. “Okay. Tell me what he looked like, please.”
    I could hear the bar’s raunchy jukebox in the background, ice cubes rattling. The Bear was making drinks while he talked.
    “White, early thirties. Light brown hair. Recent haircut—a short, cheap cut but, again, neat. Blue eyes, soft-lookin’. Narrow jaw. Wore a silver crucifix on a chain around his neck. No rings in the ears, but both lobes had multiple piercings. No tats on the hands or neck. Five foot nine. One forty—one forty-five. Not muscular. No watch on his wrist, no cell phone clipped to his belt.”
    It was the sort of thoroughness one could expect from the Bear. He was in his forties, easygoing enough, but he’d spent his youth in the military. Special Forces—that much he’d said, and I never asked further. I figured he had been in on some serious shit, but his past was as off-limits as mine.
    I ran his description through my head and nothing clicked.
    “Is this trouble for you, Maestro?” he asked after a few seconds.
    “Honestly, I don’t know. I appreciate your concern, though. And the info.”
    “It’s all good. Hey, you heard ‘bout the girl gettin’ iced at the river?”
    “Yes.”
    “Bummer, eh?”
    Then he asked about the pool team in way of polite chitchat, and I gave him the quick low-down. He was himself a fine stick, but he’d quit playing in the league several sessions back when his chronic back trouble acted up.
    Finally he rang off.
    I emptied my pockets, kicked off my shoes and stepped into sandals. It had been a long night, and a sad and disturbing one. I lit a stick of incense on the small altar in the closet off my front room, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of it, and began the Shanmatha contemplation to clear my mind. It couldn’t hurt to say a prayer for Sunshine’s soul tonight.

I escorted Alex back as far as my apartment. Her unit was just above mine. Once there, we discovered neither one of us wanted to be alone. Sunshine had died alone, and that thought haunted us. We spent the night on my couch, just holding each other—nothing more, just warm companionship against the dark.
    I woke alone and badly, absurdly late, deep into the afternoon. I hadn’t dreamt specifically of Sunshine, but I’d been trapped in seemingly endless running-in-glue type nightmares, which left me feeling limp and lousy. It was so late Alex had already gone to work. I realized I should have gotten up with her. Should have seen if she was okay. We were both grieving through the aftermath of a friend’s death. Alex might have wanted some comforting before going off to the gift shop.
    Nodding over my first cup of coffee, I tried to come to grips with the truth. Sunshine was gone. My head