Book 11 - Whispering Nickel Idols by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

need it.”
    Playmate had nothing more to say. His eyes had begun to wobble.
Meantime, I was recovering. Fast.
    I was way early in arriving. Even so, several coaches were lined up
beside the hall already, each cared for by somebody big and dumb and
covered with scars. And with tattoo collections for seasoning. They
stared at my companions and their cages filled with rats.
    “Round up those kittens, Singe.” The drunk was gone. Just that fast.
    “You want to take them inside?”
    “Oh, hell yeah. They’re going to be all over in there.”
    These kittens did not behave like cats. They weren’t contrary. They
let themselves be caught and tucked into their bucket, with the cloth
folded over them, theoretically to keep them in. Only a couple had to
be caught and tucked a second time.
    “How many of these monsters are there?” I asked Singe. I couldn’t
get a hard count. Hasty estimates during the day had ranged from four
to nine. Since even a dead cat can create havoc in two places at once,
I suspected the true number was closer to four. Singe said, “Five or
six. It’s hard to tell because their markings are so alike.”
    It didn’t matter. As long as I had the majority with me when I went
in.
    As I approached the goons checking invitations, I tried to work out
why I thought I should go armed with baby cats.
    I guess because I hoped nobody would stay belligerent with a gang of
them underfoot.
    One of the goons asked, “The hell you luggin’ a pail a pussy for,
slick?”
    “Somebody might want a kitten. I got some to adopt out.” I saluted
him with my pussy pail and strolled on into Whitefield Hall.

    12
    Belinda had a second goon squad set up behind an inverted L of
tables inside the front entrance. Clever girl, she’d made sure these
guys weren’t beholden to her. They were freelancers. Saucerhead Tharpe
was one. I recognized two of his three companions, Orion Comstock and
June Nicolist. Both had reputations much like Tharpe’s. Absolutely
neutral. “Garrett.”
    “Mr. Tharpe.” I’ve known him for years, but his real first name
escaped me. No matter. He prefers Saucerhead.
    “Anything to declare?”
    “Eh?”
    “Weapons. Of any sort. You got ’em, you got to declare ’em. You
don’t got to surrender ’em, though we’d rather you did. You do, June
gives you one of them beautiful scarves. You collect your tools when
you leave.” June held up a bright green kerchief. He had a pile handy,
and a grin that betrayed teeth of the same shade. Saucerhead said,
“That’ll mark you safe.”
    “All right. Give me a hankie. This’s all I’ve got. One bucket of
cats.” One bucket of remarkable cats. There was something wrong with
them. Any other litter would have staged several jailbreaks by now.
    Saucerhead eyed the kittens. He looked at me. “You’re serious.”
    “As a dose of typhoid.” I needed to move on. I had to fix up some
way for Melondie Kadare to sneak inside.
    Tharpe asked, “You didn’t even bring your knob-knocker?”
    “Nope. Nothing but my own bare hands.”
    Saucerhead sighed. “You may be sorry.”
    “I’m a trained Royal Marine.”
    “You used to be. Here.” He handed me a yellow kerchief instead of
letting June give me a green one.
    “Yellow, huh?”
    “It don’t mean nothing. Green and yellow was what was the cheapest.”
    “What keeps a guy from just stuffing the hankie in his pocket?”
    “Nothing. Except that you should be wearing it.”
    He waved me past. I proceeded to hunt for a window to crack. Behind
me, Saucerhead’s pals expressed doubts about me being the famous
Garrett.
    I was still looking for a window when I spied a plump brown rat. The
critter took time out to stop and wink.
    Once I jiggered a window, Melondie and her swarm wobbled inside and
fluttered around, finding places to hide. Nobody noticed. Everybody
focused on a screeching knock-down-drag-out about table setups. I shut
the window, grabbed my bucket, went looking for the hostess and guest
of