The Sixteen Burdens by David Khalaf Read Free Book Online

the floor and bring it crashing down upon Horace’s head. He fell unconscious on top of the other two.
    “Clowns,” Pickford muttered to herself.
    She dropped the baton and took a moment to compose herself.
    “Mr. Partridge! Are you quite conscious yet?”
    The doors of the wardrobe suddenly opened and Pickford gave Gray a once-over. Through her veil it was impossible to read her expression.
    “You’re cut,” she said. “We’ll get that taken care of.”
    Either she was unshaken by the color of his blood, or it was too dim in the room for her to notice. Gray stepped out of the wardrobe just as Farrell walked in the room, half-sleepy and half-sauced. But when she turned on the light, his entire being snapped to attention.
    “Mrs. Pickford,” he said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    “You wouldn’t have heard Louis Armstrong blowing a trumpet in your ear,” she said. “This young man needs an ambulance.”
    Farrell caught sight of Panchito and rushed over to him.
    “Don’t touch him,” Pickford said. “It may exacerbate his wound.”
    Farrell stood, sweat forming at his brow. He turned one way, stopped, then turned the other.
    “What should I do?”
    “First, call for an ambulance.”
    She spoke as if he were a simpleton. No one spoke to Farrell that way.
    A few of the boys had gathered at the door. Farrell looked at Crutches.
    “Go on, call an ambulance!”
    He and Lazy Eye limped off to the phone down the hall.
    “Mr. Partridge, you look like a man who owns plenty of shoes,” Pickford said. “With all that experience I assume you know how to tie a good knot?”
    “Yes, I suppose…”
    “Good. Find some rope and tie these men up before they awaken.”
    “I can’t tie them up,” he said. “What am I going to do with them?”
    “You’ll hold them in your basement.”
    “For how long?”
    “For as long as I say,” she said. “I’ll come back for them when I can.”
    “But why not just give them to the police?”
    “The police don’t have jurisdiction in a matter like this.”
    Farrell exhaled loudly three or four times, like a child who’s forced to do something he doesn’t want. But finally he went to find some rope. Gray ventured a closer look at the dwarves.
    “How did you make them obey you?”
    Pickford kicked at one of them to make sure he was still unconscious.
    “You’d be amazed at what a man will do for a woman who asks nicely.”
    Farrell returned with a long spool of twine. He began tying their hands together.
    “Mr. Partridge, Gray Studebaker will be checking out. Permanently.”
    Farrell’s mouth opened, just enough to register his shock.
    “But I have him until he’s eighteen. That’s the agreement.”
    “As you can see, circumstances have changed. Thank you for your service.”
    She took Gray by the arm.
    “Let’s go.”
    Pickford pulled but Gray held his ground. In every private detective story he had ever read, there was always a mysterious woman who showed up unannounced. And she was always bad news.
    “Hold on, lady. How do I know you ain’t gonna pull out a gat and grease me the second we leave here?”
    “For what?” she asked.
    “I dunno. Selling maps.”
    “Oh, please,” she said. “If I wanted to kill you I’ve had more opportunities than you know. Are you coming or not?”
    It was a simple choice between staying with Farrell or not. It was the easiest decision in the world.
    “Hold on.”
    He walked quickly to his bed and collected his belongings: his unworn fedora, the crumpled newspaper from yesterday, and his favorite issue of Black Mask . All of his books would have to stay.
    “I assume the home will still receive your regular donations for the length of the agreement,” Farrell said, itching his arm nervously.
    Pickford looked Farrell up and down.
    “The agreement was with Emory Partridge, not you . You’re a shadow of the man he was.”
    Pickford spoke as if Mr. Partridge were dead, but he was merely in a home for the old and