“Walk away. Stop being you. Save yourself the pain and grief.”

“You know anything about these people who’ve been catching on fire?”

“No. That part of your case, too?”

“I don’t think so. I just wondered. Never hurts to ask you something. You’re full up on weird and wonderful. And sometimes, you tell me what you know.”

“Weird and wonderful, he says. And he’s the one shacking up with a dead thing and a talking rat.”

“And Dean. And a bucket of baby cats. I think I’ll bring those with me tonight. Give them away.”

“There’s an original idea. Giving away kittens at a mob summit. The one guy who takes one will feed it to his pet anaconda.”

“An idea whose time has come. Feed all the cats to the snakes. Singe would go along.”

“Then what do you do with the snakes? They like rats more than cats.”

“Know anything about a street kid, calls himself Penny Dreadful?”

“I know he needs to find another name if he doesn’t like being smacked around. Otherwise, no. Why?”

“He’s really a girl pretending to be a boy. And Dean’s source for the bucket of kittens. He has a majorly strange story about the kid.”

“Strange stories about people in your life? Fie! Balderdash!”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, sir. Considering you’re one of the main people in my life. And definitely one of the strangest.”

“I’m the standard against which everyone else is measured.”

“You hang in there. I’ll go for help.” I eyed the front door, inches away. My chances of making it looked better than they had. “How’s your love life?” I cackled evilly, then fled.

Why is another story, already told.

A rock whizzed past my ear. It hit Morley’s door so hard it bashed a hole in a panel.

Dotes bounced out beside me, looking ferocious. “What happened?” he asked.

“Somebody took a whack at me with a sling.” I assumed. How else throw a rock that hard?

“Primitive.”

“But effective if you aren’t ready for it.”

“Who was it? Where did he go?”

“I’m pretty sure it was that chunky guy over there. Wearing the stupid green pants. The one so busy looking nonchalant.” This one looked like the runt of the Ugly Pants litter. He was hard at work pretending to be interested in the gaps between buildings and the shadows under stoops.

“Stay here. He might want you to follow him. I’ll round up a crowd. He owes me a door.” Dotes went back inside.

I collected the stone that, but for an instant of luck, might have knocked another hole in my noggin. You need a couple extra to get into my racket, but I wasn’t prospecting for more.

The stone had a slight egg shape, being an inch and a quarter in one dimension and just under an inch in the other. It was heavy. It was green, like serpentine or low-grade jade. And it was polished. It didn’t look like something a guy would pick up strolling down a creek bed.

Morley returned with some of his troops. I said, “This might be a trick to get you away from The Palms.”

“I warned Sarge and Puddle. Where did he go?”

“Turned south into Ironstar Lane.”

“Let’s go spring the trap,” Morley said. Very direct, my friend.

“You’re too eager. You make me nervous when you’re eager.”

“I ever mention that you worry too much?”

“Only on those occasions when I’m close enough to hear you talk.”

We jogged off with half a dozen guys who pretend to be servers at Morley’s place, none the sort who wait tables because they love the work.

Dotes insists that he’s out of the life now, yet persists in surrounding himself with men like these.

I worry, what with the dedication shown by the secret police lately. Deal Relway doesn’t worry about due process. In his own mind, he is the law. Too often, those left behind will agree that you had it coming.

Nevertheless, the underworld goes on. As strong and committed and obsessed as Relway is, he isn’t able to do much but nibble at the Outfit’s peripheries.

We turned into Ironstar Lane. And came to a many-legged, confused halt.

The character who’d tried to trepan me with a stone wasn’t a block ahead. He ambled along, searching shadows, like he had no idea somebody might chase him down.

“What’s the game here, Garrett? That moron is toddling along like he doesn’t have a care.”

“You can’t hold me responsible because somebody else is an idiot.”

“It’s arguable. Sins of the blood and all that stuff.” He came close to using bad language.

I asked, “Instead of standing around debating, why don’t we take advantage?”

Morley signaled his boys. We moved out.

Traffic was light, but that’s normal in Ironstar Lane. There aren’t any shops.

We surrounded the squat man before he realized someone was after him. His response was bewilderment. For an instant I thought I’d fingered the wrong guy. Like all of a sudden everybody in TunFaire had taken to wearing hideous green pants, and bad fashion sense wasn’t a sure sign of innate villainy.

Then he charged, went right through one of Morley’s boys.

“Wow!” I said.

“Yes. Be careful.”

The squat man didn’t run. He did make it unpleasant to get too close. At intimate range he was quicker than Morley, who, till now, had held the record. In my experience. And he was strong. He flung me thirty feet, easy.

We took turns bopping him from behind. Which was kind of like bull baiting, only this bull never made a sound. He didn’t answer questions. He just fought on, emphasizing doing damage to Ma Garrett’s only surviving son.

We outnumbered him only eight to one so it was our great good fortune that police whistles began squealing in nearby streets. We broke it up immediately. Nobody wanted to visit the Al-Khar. Not today.

As though there’s any good day now.

“That was exhilarating,” Morley said as we inventoried limbs, combed cobblestones out of our hair, and figured out who got bragging rights for suffering the biggest bruises. “If I’m alive in the morning, I’m going to give that guy another look. With Doris and Marsha doing the heavy lifting.”

Doris and Marsha Roze are relatives of his. Somehow. They’re part giant, part troll, part other stuff. They stand twelve feet tall and can bring down small buildings with a single pound. Too bad they weren’t along a few minutes ago.

“Why not? There must be another ten thousand streets that could use a good dusting.” It’s rare as frog fangs to see Morley Dotes all dirty and spiffed up in rags. “I wish I could preserve this vision for posterity.”

“I’ll put on old clothes next time. Get back to me on this.”

He was upset. I wasn’t sure why. You can’t win them all.

“I’ll do that. Good luck tonight.”

“What happened?” Dean demanded as he let me into the house.

“Somebody tried to kill me.”

He grunted, unimpressed.

“You should see the other guy.”

He grunted again. He has no respect for my way of life, though it keeps him full of bread and beans.

“Not a scratch on him. Even though I had Morley and six of his guys there lending a hand. We would’ve turned it around, though, if the Watch hadn’t shown up.”

That was for Singe’s benefit. She’d come to the kitchen to find out what was up. She had a kitten in her paws, petting it. The baby cat didn’t mind the incongruity.

I asked, “Think you could pick up a day-old trail using this?” I tossed her the green egg.

“Gak! Underwater. What was it? A bear or an ogre?”

Singe has a talent.

Ratpeople are blessed with an exceptional sense of smell. Some can embarrass a bloodhound. Singe stands out of that crowd.

As noted, she’s a genius. For a ratwoman. And has more courage than ten other ratpeople put together. Excluding only her brother.