her way. She’s been delayed because there were steps she wanted to take first.”
Did I even want to know? He made “steps” sound nastily portentous.
He eyed Target, Womble, and Helenia but kept his expression neutral and did not comment. They had red berets on now, too. Other tin whistles were all over. A squad had a couple of the Hill’s private patrolmen cornered and were asking embarrassing questions.
I showed Barate a raised eyebrow.
He said, “There was an explosion on the other side of the Hill. They all headed over there. Those two were dumb enough to come back. The rest have vanished off the face of the earth.”
They would be found. They would explain why they had not done the job for which they got paid more than your average tin whistle did. The Civil Guard were hard on the private side lately. Too often the private guys didn’t do their jobs or got caught taking tips to look the other way right before bad stuff happened.
Times were changing, though.
The weather was not. It seemed determined to get colder, wetter, and windier. I beckoned Target, Womble, and Helenia. “Let’s get inside.” I told Barate, “They’re with me.”
He went right ahead on having no comment.
I failed to notice that Helenia left her case in the coach, meaning it was just a prop.
• • •
We were still shaking the moisture off in the ballroom-size foyer when a bug-eyed Preston pointed and declared, “That’s Vicious Min!” like he could not believe his eyes.
“The woman who hired him to tail you,” Target reminded me.
A very large woman in a very sad state of repair sprawled on a big table brought in for the purpose. It was eight feet long and four feet wide. Parts of Vicious Min hung over all the ends and sides. She was a big girl.
Strafa was on another table, close by. She didn’t look all the worse for wear. I probed the sore tooth socket of emotion. I was in battlefield mode, numb and rigidly controlled, saving the hysteria for later.
Min had lost gallons of blood. It was all over her, all over the table, and had pooled on the floor. The leakage had stopped. She was still breathing, raggedly, but her color was awful. I said, “Shouldn’t somebody be working on her?”
“I am,” said a guy who had, apparently, had to step away momentarily. He looked like he knew what he was doing. I didn’t recognize him.
Barate proved he was agile for his age. He kept himself between me and anybody he decided I was bullying unreasonably. He kept reminding me, “Our innings will come after the nosies go. We’ll handle our family responsibilities.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant but did understand that he was well disposed toward me and definitely not so much so toward whoever had hurt his little girl. “Of course,” I said. “You’re completely right.” I noted that Target was sticking close to me. No doubt he had instructions to monitor my every breath.
Preston Womble had no attention to spare for anything but the big woman. He did stay out of the doctor’s way.
I could not see what Helenia was up to.
The doctor beckoned Barate, asked, “You know anything about this woman?”
“No. She’s a stranger. Ted, this is Garrett. Strafa’s husband.” He left off the to-be part.
“Nice to meet you.” I pointed. “Preston knows her.”
Ted deployed that most unhelpful of formulas, “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Garrett. I didn’t know Strafa as well as I would’ve liked, but she was a fine woman. A fine woman. What happened here was a crime.”
Yeah, well. People can’t always get the words out right.
Ted gave Barate a look I took to mean that his admiration for Strafa did not extend to other members of the Algarda tribe. Barate didn’t surprise me much later when he told me that Dr. Ted had once had a serious crush on Strafa.
Ted wasn’t over that. He was quite intense when he grilled Preston. He got mad when Preston couldn’t tell him anything about Vicious Min but her
Did I even want to know? He made “steps” sound nastily portentous.
He eyed Target, Womble, and Helenia but kept his expression neutral and did not comment. They had red berets on now, too. Other tin whistles were all over. A squad had a couple of the Hill’s private patrolmen cornered and were asking embarrassing questions.
I showed Barate a raised eyebrow.
He said, “There was an explosion on the other side of the Hill. They all headed over there. Those two were dumb enough to come back. The rest have vanished off the face of the earth.”
They would be found. They would explain why they had not done the job for which they got paid more than your average tin whistle did. The Civil Guard were hard on the private side lately. Too often the private guys didn’t do their jobs or got caught taking tips to look the other way right before bad stuff happened.
Times were changing, though.
The weather was not. It seemed determined to get colder, wetter, and windier. I beckoned Target, Womble, and Helenia. “Let’s get inside.” I told Barate, “They’re with me.”
He went right ahead on having no comment.
I failed to notice that Helenia left her case in the coach, meaning it was just a prop.
• • •
We were still shaking the moisture off in the ballroom-size foyer when a bug-eyed Preston pointed and declared, “That’s Vicious Min!” like he could not believe his eyes.
“The woman who hired him to tail you,” Target reminded me.
A very large woman in a very sad state of repair sprawled on a big table brought in for the purpose. It was eight feet long and four feet wide. Parts of Vicious Min hung over all the ends and sides. She was a big girl.
Strafa was on another table, close by. She didn’t look all the worse for wear. I probed the sore tooth socket of emotion. I was in battlefield mode, numb and rigidly controlled, saving the hysteria for later.
Min had lost gallons of blood. It was all over her, all over the table, and had pooled on the floor. The leakage had stopped. She was still breathing, raggedly, but her color was awful. I said, “Shouldn’t somebody be working on her?”
“I am,” said a guy who had, apparently, had to step away momentarily. He looked like he knew what he was doing. I didn’t recognize him.
Barate proved he was agile for his age. He kept himself between me and anybody he decided I was bullying unreasonably. He kept reminding me, “Our innings will come after the nosies go. We’ll handle our family responsibilities.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant but did understand that he was well disposed toward me and definitely not so much so toward whoever had hurt his little girl. “Of course,” I said. “You’re completely right.” I noted that Target was sticking close to me. No doubt he had instructions to monitor my every breath.
Preston Womble had no attention to spare for anything but the big woman. He did stay out of the doctor’s way.
I could not see what Helenia was up to.
The doctor beckoned Barate, asked, “You know anything about this woman?”
“No. She’s a stranger. Ted, this is Garrett. Strafa’s husband.” He left off the to-be part.
“Nice to meet you.” I pointed. “Preston knows her.”
Ted deployed that most unhelpful of formulas, “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Garrett. I didn’t know Strafa as well as I would’ve liked, but she was a fine woman. A fine woman. What happened here was a crime.”
Yeah, well. People can’t always get the words out right.
Ted gave Barate a look I took to mean that his admiration for Strafa did not extend to other members of the Algarda tribe. Barate didn’t surprise me much later when he told me that Dr. Ted had once had a serious crush on Strafa.
Ted wasn’t over that. He was quite intense when he grilled Preston. He got mad when Preston couldn’t tell him anything about Vicious Min but her
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