Then do as I tell you. I want to interview the bodyguards and the parents myself. Also those who found the corpses. Your men will canvass the neighborhoods where the women were found. Also the areas where they were seized. I doubt you will gain much cooperation, but cooperation is unnecessary. Even you Watchmen will have developed a rudimentary sense for when someone is not being forthcoming. Bring any such persons to me. I will open them up.

I marveled. The Dead Man makes me look hyper. Usually I have to threaten mayhem just to get his attention when there's work to do. He was jumping into this one headlong. I hadn't agreed to do anything yet. His enthusiasm suggested a secret agenda. Or he knew something he wasn't sharing. I eyed him narrowly as he continued with Block, telling him what times he wanted whom to come be interviewed.

Suspicion and paranoia become habits in this business. You take fits where you don't even trust yourself.

When the Dead Man takes a notion to snooze, he can hang in there for months. And when he's awake, he can go around the clock for days. He had that in mind. Poor old Dean was going to die answering the door.

Block had to borrow pen and paper to remember all his instructions. It took him half an hour to write them down. I paced and worried and wondered. Then the Dead Man dismissed the Watchman. I walked him to the front door.

"You'll never regret this, Garrett. I guarantee. We clean this up, you got a free pass for life."

"Sure." I know how long gratitude lasts. About as long as it takes for the bill to come due. Especially in TunFaire. The only guy I know who sticks to that kind of promise is Chodo Contague. He used to drive me crazy repaying imaginary debts.

That gave me a shiver. Old Chodo always paid his debts. And he owed me a big one.

I closed the door behind Block, put Chodo out of mind, went charging back to find out what the hell old Chuckles thought he was doing.

Not yet, Garrett. Dean! The Dead Man did not often extend his mindtouch beyond his room. That was a courtesy he extended us. Get rid of those harridans. Commend them to your nieces. We have a commission.

"His nieces?" I hurried into his room. "You want to create monsters?" Dean had a platoon of spinster nieces, all front-runners for Miss Homely TunFaire. They drove him to despair. Which was why he had conscripted himself as a full-time member of my household. He couldn't take it anymore. "Can you imagine that pack in pursuit of a mission from God?"

Dean has sense enough to avoid that eventuality. While we await him, I will tell you what to do. Backtrack from events at Mr. Dotes's place. But first bring Mr. Dotes and Mr. Tharpe to see me. We will want their help.

" ‘We' might want it, but how are ‘we' going to afford it? My share of what I'm getting to watch Barking Dog won't—"

Captain Block will assume expenses. You should pay closer attention. I quoted an exorbitant fee. He was desperate enough not to quibble.

"If they're as scared as he puts on, they could put up enough from bribe money to pay anything."

Exactly. We have been handed an unprecedented opportunity. Where he's concerned, money has no provenance. It's never dirty, only the people who handle it are. I intend to pursue it with vigor.

With my vigor, he meant. "That's the reason you're jumping on this?" I didn't believe it.

Let us say that I find my mind growing as flabby and slothful as you allowed your body to become. I must get into shape before it is too late. I am not yet prepared to slide into oblivion.

Oblivion. I put that away where I could find it next time he started in on the condition of my immortal soul.

What he said sounded good. I didn't believe it. And he knew that. But he didn't let me press. There is no time to waste. Get Mr. Tharpe and Mr. Dotes.

Mr. Tharpe didn't want to get got. He'd gotten rid of Billie and had replaced her with a little blond who could have been her sister. The new hadn't worn off enough for him to see that. He wanted to stay home and play.

"Anyway, it ain't even dark out yet, Garrett."

"You only work at night now?"

"Getting in the habit, doing these odd jobs for Licks."

"So sunlight for me. Talk to the Dead Man. You don't want the work, no harm done. I'll get somebody else. Won't be as good, but I'll make do." Never hurts to butter him up.

"What's shaking?"

"A serial killer. A real psycho. His Nibs can fill you in. I don't know why he wants you. He just started spouting orders like a fountain."

"Okay. I'll talk to him." He looked at his friend. She scorched me with a lethal stare.

I said, "I got to see Morley," and got out of there before the woman carved their initials in my trunk.

Morley's place was sparsely populated. It had just opened. His customers are like the stars, seldom seen before dark. Those in there then were early bats trying to get a jump on their competition.

Nobody got excited when I walked in. Nobody knew me. The guy behind the counter was new. He was a skinny little half-elf like Morley, handsome as hell but barely old enough to think about taking advantage of that. He was trying to grow a mustache.

It was catching. "I need to see Morley," I told him. "Name's Garrett. Tell him it is business and there's a shitpot in it."

The kid looked me straight in the eye. "Morley? Who the hell is Morley? I don't know any Morley."

One of those. "Kid, I'll take into account the fact that you're new. I'll take into account the fact that you're young and dumb, and figure you got to be a wiseass. When I'm done accounting, I just might pull you over the bar and pound away till Morley comes down to see about all the screaming. Get on the tube."

The audience wasn't much, but it did exist. The kid thought he had to show me. Quick as an eyeblink he showed me a razor. Elves have a love affair with sharp steel, especially the young ones. He was so predictable I was there with my headknocker as fast as he was with the blade. I popped his knuckles. He yowled like a stomped cat. The razor flew down the counter. The audience gave us a hand. And a mountain of a man lumbered out of the kitchen.

"Garrett. What you doing?" This was Sarge, another of Morley's old hands. He came out of the same production batch as Puddle.

"I asked to see Morley. Kid pulled a razor."

Sarge shook his head sadly. "What you want to go do that for, Spud? Man wants to see Morley, give Morley a howl. Morley wants to have him friends like this, that's his lookout."

"Spud?" I asked. What kind of name was Spud? Not even a dwarf would tag his kid Spud.

"What we call him, Garrett. Name's really Narcisio. Morley's nephew. His sister's kid. Got to be more than she could handle. Morley brought him down here so he could straighten him out."

Meantime, the kid talked to the voice tube that connected to Morley's office.

I shook my head. Morley Dotes going to set somebody's feet on the straight and narrow? Morley, whose real career is cutting throats and breaking bones and running an occasional con or even a straight ripoff if the stakes are big enough? My pal Morley?

Sarge put on a big grin. "I know what you're thinking. But you know Morley."

I knew Morley. He could believe mutually contradictory things at the same time, with religious fervor. His whole life was a tangle of contradictions. He lived them all with passion. He could sell you anything, because he believed every word he said when he said it. That was why he did well with the ladies. And no matter that he might take up a completely new passion five minutes hence. He was completely committed now.