Deadly Quicksilver Lies by Glen Cook Page B

can get when he’s in rut.”
    My new friend and I ignored her. I said, “That’s right. I find things for people. Just this morning, a lady from the Hill asked me to find her daughter. I’d barely started looking when a band of ruffians set upon me. Next thing I knew, I was coming to and there you were and I thought I’d died and gone to one of those afterlives where they have angels, only my head hurt too much.”
    “I risked life and limb for this,” Winger muttered. “Your head is about to hurt a whole lot more.”
    The lady doc looked at me like she really wanted to believe. She said, “He does spread it thick, doesn’t he?”
    “With a manure rake,” Winger growled, reverting to uncultured country ways. You can take the girl out of the sticks, and so forth.
    I said, “You ever feel the need to get in touch, just go up Macunado Street. When you get to Wizard’s Reach, start asking around for where the Dead Man stays.”
    The lady offered a weak smile. “I might do that. I just might. Just to see what happens.”
    “Fireworks. For sure.”
    Winger suggested, “Save yourself for marriage, honey. If there’s anything left.”
    The lady’s smile vanished.
    You can’t win them all. You especially can’t when you have friends intent on throwing the game.
    We’d reached the street in front of the Bledsoe. I tried to sprint off into the night at a fast shamble. I figured I ought to make tracks before some avenging orderly appeared.
    After I’d gone a few steps, Winger observed, “That was the most disgusting display I’ve seen yet, Garrett. Don’t you ever stop?”
    “We have to get out of here.” I glanced over my shoulder at the Bledsoe. A glimpse of the place nearly panicked me. That had been close. “We got to disappear before they send somebody after us.”
    “You think they’re not going to know where to look? You all but gave that bimbo your address.”
    “Hey! You’re talking about the love of my life. She won’t give me away.” I didn’t let her see my crossed fingers.
    Winger shifted ground. “Why would they bother, anyway? Really?”
    At this point, they probably wouldn’t. Anything they did now was likely to draw more attention than they could stand.
    I shrugged. That’s always a useful, noncommital device.
     
     

20
    I waited till we had a good head start, just in case the hospital gang did decide to come after me. Then I grabbed Winger’s hand in a comealong grip.
    “Hey! What the hell you doing, Garrett?”
    “You and me are going to sit here on these steps like young lovers and you’re going to whisper sweet nothings about what the hell is going on. Got it?”
    “No.”
    I added some muscle to the hold.
    “Ouch! Ain’t that just like a man? No gratitude. Save his ass and —”
    “Looked to me like I was doing an adequate job of saving it on my own. Sit.”
    Winger sat, but she kept grumbling. I didn’t let go. I wouldn’t get any answers if I did.
    “Tell me about it, Winger.”
    “About what?” She can turn into the dumbest country girl that ever lived.
    “I know you. Don’t waste stupid on me. Tell me about Maggie Jenn and her missing daughter and how come as soon as I take this job I get jumped, cold-cocked, and shoved into the cackle factory in such a big hurry the fools don’t bother to empty my pockets? All the time I’m in there, I’m wondering how this could happen to me when only my pal Winger knows what I’m doing. And now I’m wondering how my pal Winger knew I needed help getting sprung from the Bledsoe. Stuff like that.”
    “Oh. That.” She thought a while, making something up.
    “Come on, Winger. Give truth a try. Just for the novelty.”
    She offered me a Winger-sized dirty look. “I was working for this pansy name of Grange Cleaver...”
    “Grange Cleaver? What kind of name is that? Come on. Tell me there ain’t nobody named Grange Cleaver.”
    “Who’s going to tell this? You or me? You want to sit there and listen to the echo