Hold The Dark: A Markhat story by Frank Tuttle Read Free Book Online Page B

corner.
    I hurried over, and he actually smiled when he saw me.
    “Good afternoon, finder.”
    “To you too,” I replied. He stepped a bit to the side, out of foot traffic, and I did the same. “Did you have a chance to ask around about Martha Hoobin?”
    “I did.” His grin fell. “Sorry. Some of the men might have seen her, from time to time. No one knew her. No one saw anything suspicious.” He paused to let a cooing nanny and a bawling pram roll past. “But I don’t think you’re the only one who’s asked about her.”
    I pricked up my ears. “Really.”
    He nodded. “I’ve not been asked by anyone else, but one of the Night Watch guys says he was. He didn’t get the guy’s name, or why he was asking,” he added. “He figured it was a boyfriend, and he didn’t like the looks of him so he told him to shove off.”
    I frowned. “What was it about his looks your friend didn’t like?”
    Rupert snorted. “Looked rich,” he said. He eyed my jacket. “Sort of like you do, today.”
    I laughed. Then an idea struck me.
    “Thanks. You’ve been a big help. But I wonder—could you help me one more time?”
    He shrugged, suddenly suspicious.
    “Relax. It’s nothing. I was just wondering if you’d walk half a block with me, and look at a man at the Sidewalk Café, and tell me if you’ve seen him hanging around the Velvet before.”
    “That’s all?”
    “That’s all.”
    “Sure. It’s on my beat. Go now?”
    I smiled. “Now is good.” Rupert turned and we strolled toward the Velvet.
    People melted out of his way, even the ones that smiled or nodded in greeting. The traffic master at Maylot stopped traffic and waved us through. Even ogres slowed their manure-carts at the sight of a blunt-topped blue Watchman’s cap.
    We rounded the last corner.
    “There,” I said, pointing with my chin. “The last table, by the flower pot.”
    Rupert squinted. “Him?” he said, incredulous. “Ronnie Sacks?”
    I nearly fell over. I’d just been hoping Rupert had seen him on the street before. “You know him?”
    “We grew up on the same street. He dated my cousin Rebecca. Fell off her roof trying to sneak in one night. We called him Ronnie the Donney.”
    Donney is an epithet, named after a war-time general who mixed his flag-signals and opened the gates of Imprege to a Troll infantry assault.
    My heart began to sing.
    “You know what Ronnie does for pay, these days?”
    Rupert’s brow furrowed. “He went to work for House Avalante last year. Something about guarding payroll transfers.”
    I had a name and a House. I must have been beaming. I nearly patted Rupert on his blue-capped head.
    “He got something to do with this Miss Hoobin’s going missing? He’s an idiot, but I never figured him for much else.”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know a thing about him. But he’s taken a recent strong interest in me.”
    Rupert sighed. “I can have him picked up, if you think he’s hurting women. Just say the word.”
    I was tempted. But as far as I knew, he’d done nothing but bungle a morning of following finders.
    “Not today.” Another inspiration struck, and I rummaged in my new jacket pocket for the comb.
    “Ever see something like this?”
    He shook his head no. “Sorry.”
    I wrapped it again, put it away. “No matter.” Across the street from us, young Ronnie was being told he was taking up one table too many and it was time to move on and let paying lunch customers enjoy their view of the Velvet.
    He left in a huff, took up a post half a block away, never even walked around to see if the Velvet had a back way.
    Rupert got restless. I thanked him and walked with him a bit, letting him talk about this and that just in case he revealed anything else about Cousin Ronnie or silver combs.
    He didn’t. But I was smiling all the same. I’d found Nervous Hat, and he had a name, and I knew it, and now, just maybe, I’d have something to show for spending Ethel’s hard-earned cash on hats and