right-hand man, calling out as Ryan and the companions walked through the swing doors. He—and of necessity his brother—stood behind the bar, where they appeared to have taken over the role of bartender for the evening. Right now he was mainly occupied washing glasses.
“Looks dead in here,” Ryan said, looking around the mostly empty barroom.
The scattering of customers went back to their muttered conversations or lonely beers. The three or four gaudies, which had looked up alertly if not necessarily eagerly when the door opened, visibly lost interest when they recognized the new hires.
The giant shrugged.
“Amity Springs is known for nothing if not its solid bourgeois values,” balding Bob said. “Everybody works, and goes to bed at night.”
“And if they’ve left here, definitely to sleep,” said his brother with a dirty snicker. That earned him a dirtier look from his twin. “Unless a bunch a outlanders are in town, the place drains out early.”
“Where’s your boss?” Ryan asked.
“Asleep,” Bob said.
“She said to report in when we got back,” Ryan said. “Go get her.”
Mikey sneered. “You’re not my boss.”
“We could just go up ourselves,” Ryan said. “Or stay down here and make enough noise it’d be triple sure to wake her.”
“My brother’s just being obstreperous,” Bob said wearily.
“Isn’t that a fancy word for a two-headed freak,” Mikey said.
“You know it, too. You’re not as big an ignoramus as you like to pretend.”
Before his twin could respond the balding head looked toward a pretty woman with café-au-lait skin, a brown ringlet hanging in her face from a pile of hair pinned atop her head, and a frilly dress with a blouse cut low enough to display everything short of nipples. She was playing solitaire on a table to one side of the bar.
“Ruby,” Bob called. “Run up and tell D.L. her, uh, independent contractors are here.”
She looked at him with sleepy eyes and pouted briefly with bright-red painted lips. Then she stood and trotted up the stairs.
* * *
T HE GAUDY PROPRIETOR slouched in her chair with her chin sunk to her clavicle and listened as Ryan rendered his report by the light of a low-turned lamp. She made no comment or even showed sign of reaction until he mentioned the person who paid for the theft—and now had possession of the object she’d sent them to bring back.
“Baron Sand,” she repeated, with a certain fastidious distaste. “I should’ve known.”
“So what now?” Ryan asked.
For a moment Dark Lady kept her head down. She looked oddly vulnerable like that. The shadows hollowed her cheeks to the point of gauntness and made her eyes look huge. Like a lost little girl, Mildred thought.
When she looked up her expression was resolute.
“I hired you to bring back a certain object,” she said crisply. “I still want it. Nothing has changed.”
“Where is this Baron Sand to be found, exactly?” Ryan asked.
“On Arroyo de Bromista. It’s about two miles northwest of here, nestled against the ridges that ring Santana Basin on that side. It should be no more than a bracing hour’s walk for travelers as seasoned as you.”
Ryan rubbed his jaw. Mildred heard his coarse blue-black beard bristles crackle against his palm.
“Yeah. You mean for us to go now? Tonight?”
“By no means,” she said. “You shall sleep here. I have already had rooms prepared. Nothing is likely to have changed by the morning.”
She looked from one of them to the other with her dark, haunted eyes.
“You would not find it easy to sneak into the Baron’s Casa de Broma.”
Ryan grunted. “Come to that,” he said, “we didn’t find it so rad-blasted easy to sneak into the bastard freak show, either.”
Chapter Eight
They spent the night in several fairly comfortable rooms on the Library Lounge’s second floor. The gaudy did not attract much morning custom, it turned out. And not surprisingly the gaudy sluts of both sexes slept
“Looks dead in here,” Ryan said, looking around the mostly empty barroom.
The scattering of customers went back to their muttered conversations or lonely beers. The three or four gaudies, which had looked up alertly if not necessarily eagerly when the door opened, visibly lost interest when they recognized the new hires.
The giant shrugged.
“Amity Springs is known for nothing if not its solid bourgeois values,” balding Bob said. “Everybody works, and goes to bed at night.”
“And if they’ve left here, definitely to sleep,” said his brother with a dirty snicker. That earned him a dirtier look from his twin. “Unless a bunch a outlanders are in town, the place drains out early.”
“Where’s your boss?” Ryan asked.
“Asleep,” Bob said.
“She said to report in when we got back,” Ryan said. “Go get her.”
Mikey sneered. “You’re not my boss.”
“We could just go up ourselves,” Ryan said. “Or stay down here and make enough noise it’d be triple sure to wake her.”
“My brother’s just being obstreperous,” Bob said wearily.
“Isn’t that a fancy word for a two-headed freak,” Mikey said.
“You know it, too. You’re not as big an ignoramus as you like to pretend.”
Before his twin could respond the balding head looked toward a pretty woman with café-au-lait skin, a brown ringlet hanging in her face from a pile of hair pinned atop her head, and a frilly dress with a blouse cut low enough to display everything short of nipples. She was playing solitaire on a table to one side of the bar.
“Ruby,” Bob called. “Run up and tell D.L. her, uh, independent contractors are here.”
She looked at him with sleepy eyes and pouted briefly with bright-red painted lips. Then she stood and trotted up the stairs.
* * *
T HE GAUDY PROPRIETOR slouched in her chair with her chin sunk to her clavicle and listened as Ryan rendered his report by the light of a low-turned lamp. She made no comment or even showed sign of reaction until he mentioned the person who paid for the theft—and now had possession of the object she’d sent them to bring back.
“Baron Sand,” she repeated, with a certain fastidious distaste. “I should’ve known.”
“So what now?” Ryan asked.
For a moment Dark Lady kept her head down. She looked oddly vulnerable like that. The shadows hollowed her cheeks to the point of gauntness and made her eyes look huge. Like a lost little girl, Mildred thought.
When she looked up her expression was resolute.
“I hired you to bring back a certain object,” she said crisply. “I still want it. Nothing has changed.”
“Where is this Baron Sand to be found, exactly?” Ryan asked.
“On Arroyo de Bromista. It’s about two miles northwest of here, nestled against the ridges that ring Santana Basin on that side. It should be no more than a bracing hour’s walk for travelers as seasoned as you.”
Ryan rubbed his jaw. Mildred heard his coarse blue-black beard bristles crackle against his palm.
“Yeah. You mean for us to go now? Tonight?”
“By no means,” she said. “You shall sleep here. I have already had rooms prepared. Nothing is likely to have changed by the morning.”
She looked from one of them to the other with her dark, haunted eyes.
“You would not find it easy to sneak into the Baron’s Casa de Broma.”
Ryan grunted. “Come to that,” he said, “we didn’t find it so rad-blasted easy to sneak into the bastard freak show, either.”
Chapter Eight
They spent the night in several fairly comfortable rooms on the Library Lounge’s second floor. The gaudy did not attract much morning custom, it turned out. And not surprisingly the gaudy sluts of both sexes slept
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