Tomorrow, the Killing (27 page)

He seemed to realize the balance between us had shifted, and came on strong, trying to reassert his authority. ‘This is all very interesting, Lieutenant. I’m wondering why you didn’t think to mention it before?’

‘All I had were rumors, underworld gossip.’

‘And now?’

‘I did some digging since yesterday. There are still a few men in Black House willing to chat, so long as I’m buying the drinks, and the drinks cost ten ochre a pop.’

‘Whispers from underworld contacts and ex-colleagues – this is a far way from hard evidence.’

‘Fits though, doesn’t it?’

His silence was confirmation enough. There was another long pause, but this one I didn’t think was planned. Even for a man as unflappable as the commander, things were moving pretty quickly. He slunk down over his drink. ‘Years pulling ourselves out of Roland’s hole, years spent sitting on anything that touched on our old activities. Building our rolls, making contacts at court. Winning a place at the table for the men who’d fought for and earned it. This morning I wake up to the news that our station was bombed, four of our brothers murdered, and we’re back where we fucking started.’

I set one finger on the rim of the milk pot, then pushed it over. A puddle settled onto the table, seeping into the cloth and trickling slowly to the floor.

Pretories watched it drip, then looked up at me.

‘You gonna cry over it?’

He didn’t answer, but his eyes were angrier than I’d ever seen them.

‘Let this go unanswered and what do you think you’ll get for an encore? The Giroies need a rap on the nose, or they’ll keep coming,’ I pointed out.

‘And if Black House is pulling their strings?’

‘All to the good. They learn their lesson, but it don’t look like you taught it to them.’

‘The Old Man can’t lose a pawn and not retaliate.’

‘You think he’ll send flowers to the funeral?’

‘He’s not a man to cross lightly.’

‘If you wanted to keep to the status quo, you shouldn’t be marching on the palace. As it is, you got two options – let yourself look like you can’t back your play . . .’

‘Or?’

‘Show them you ain’t the one to fuck with. Push back hard enough and the Old Man will eat the loss – he’s got no interest in starting a full-scale war.’

‘What’s to stop him from coming at us another way?’

‘Tomorrow’s problems can be dealt with tomorrow. Today’s problem is that the Giroies are making mince out of our people, and unless you want that to continue, you need to make a move.’

Salvation, a line for a drowning man – who wouldn’t grab it? Just make sure he doesn’t learn you’re the one who tipped him overboard. Joachim wasn’t the sort to go off half-cocked. He didn’t say anything for a while, a long while, his eyes blank as a catatonic’s. ‘What do you recommend?’

‘Something loud. It needs to carry.’

A minute more passed. Then the weave of his mouth curled upwards. ‘Thank you for the information, Lieutenant. We’ll speak again soon.’

I knew a dismissal when I heard it. Joachim remained where he was, finishing off his coffee. A serving boy ran over and blotted up the spilled milk. There’d be blood to join it, soon enough.

G
uiscard’s hounds came in a scant twenty minutes after Joachim’s had deposited me back at the Earl, and this time weren’t neither of them playing nice. I’d figured they might stop by, so in the interim I’d divested myself of any legally questionable arms or substances, but they took a good long time making sure. They stopped before my pants were around my ankles, a fact for which I was grateful.

‘I keep a shiv in my asshole.’

The friendly one hit me in the stomach hard enough to make me a ball on the floor. The unfriendly one kicked me in the head. That was why he was the unfriendly one.

They pulled me to my feet. I fell back down. They pulled me up again, and held me steady. I blinked the light away, wished I could do the same with the blood.

‘That was my best shirt,’ I said, the red bloom adding contrast to the sweat stains.

The friendly one looked ready to give me another, but the unfriendly one waved him off, cuffed me and led me out the door. I was thinking maybe I needed to switch their tags. The ride over was pretty similar to its predecessor, except that this time no one smiled, and every bump in the road splintered through my skull.

Black House seemed much the way it had last time, though I was brought through it at a rapid clip so there wasn’t much opportunity for inspection. A few minutes and I was back in Guiscard’s windowed office, with a forced seat in an uncomfortable chair.

He’d worn since I’d seen him last, which was a good sign that my work hadn’t been entirely in vain. My eyes had mostly swelled shut, and it hurt when I breathed, so I did my best not to.

‘You’ve dropped the ball, Warden. You were supposed to keep me apprised of the situation. I wake up today to find out there’s a smoking crater where an Association bureau used to be, and three bodies smoldering in the rubble.’

‘Four bodies,’ I said. ‘Don’t short the count.’

A floorboard creaked behind me, and then my jaw struck against my chest. The unfriendly one, I figured. Six inches down he’d have snapped my neck, but he knew what he was doing. The correct method by which to hit a seated man was something you learnt coming up through the Black House ranks.

‘I’d have figured, after some of the things I’ve done for you lately, the least you’d do is keep me abreast of current events.’

‘In what fashion have I been remiss?’

‘What do you know about the Association hitting a shipment of the Giroies?’

‘I know they hit it.’

‘Then why didn’t I know that?’

‘I figured you’d get word eventually.’

This time Guiscard didn’t delegate. He’d never have the raw talent of his subordinates, but it was a credible effort just the same. At that point though I hurt too much to feel anything else, and that gives a man a certain audacity. ‘Forgive me for crediting you with the wit to smell smoke.’

‘The house is on fire, is it?’

‘The whole city, soon enough.’

‘Because of Giroie?’

I shook my head sadly. ‘You can’t really be as slow as you act.’

Behind me I could hear my escort positioning himself for another blow.

‘Slip the cuffs,’ Guiscard said, ‘then split.’

There was a pause, but with my head settled like it was I couldn’t figure what occurred during it. After a moment one of the dogs unbound my hands. I settled them together, pride keeping me from checking my injuries.

‘Keep out of trouble,’ the friendly one said on his way out.

The door closed. ‘Got a cigarette?’ I asked.

‘I quit.’

I smiled through loosened teeth. ‘You ain’t gonna pretend you don’t have a hold out stashed somewhere?’

He sighed grudgingly, then opened a drawer and passed over a small leather pouch.

‘You ask them to work me over?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Just left it up to their discretion? You gotta be careful with that – they get enthusiastic and suddenly there’s no one left to interview.’ My fingers shook, and I made a mess of the tab. But Guiscard was off on his own, and he didn’t notice. They’d been kind enough to leave a book of matches in my pocket, and I struck one and used it.

The sound seemed to bring Guiscard back to the immediate. ‘Have you spoken to Pretories?’

‘You ought to know the answer to that, if you’re a quarter competent.’

‘What did he say?’

‘What do you think he said? He’s going to pay a visit to the Giroies, and . . .’ I brought my thumb against the table, like I was squashing a nit.

‘You holding something back from me, Warden? I wouldn’t recommend it. The Old Man wants this situation with the vets taken care of, and he doesn’t care how it happens. If you’re thinking about running a double-blind on me, then you’ve been huffing too much breath.’

‘I’ve certainly been doing the latter.’

Guiscard ran his fingers up the bridge of his nose and between his eyes. ‘I don’t buy it. It isn’t in anyone’s interest to start trouble, least of all Pretories.’

‘Why? Because he’s in your pocket?’

I’d been holding that one back for a while, and it was a spot of light to see it land. He didn’t roll with it well either – I mean, I’d done a better job with the tap he gave me. Though I’ve had more practice being hit. ‘How the hell do you know that?’

‘You think there are things you know that I don’t?’

The silence spread too long, and he came on hard to compensate for it. Foolish – anyone could see we’d swapped chairs. ‘Then you should know it doesn’t line up. Pretories banks our checks. Has for ten years. He keeps the Association on the straight, makes sure none of his wilder members get to thinking any of their old master’s heresies, and we let him play the big man.’

‘And the rally?’

‘A sideshow – lets his boys blow off some steam.’

‘Is that what it is?’

‘We got a good arrangement going.’

‘You can’t buy a whore, Guiscard. Only rent one.’

‘Oversubtle, for a thug.’

‘Should I break it down for you further? Pretories’ interests aren’t your interests. They were for a while, now they ain’t.’

He grated one line of perfect teeth against the other. ‘There’s nothing for him here. He knows what happens if he goes against the Crown.’

‘Your problem is that you’re a reasonable man, and you think everyone else is likewise.’

‘People tend to act to their own benefit.’

‘You’d be shocked at how little that’s true.’

He opened up a few inches of his collar. ‘I hold no illusions about Pretories – if he’d betray his own people, he’d fold on us. But doing so wouldn’t get him anything. He’s been marching to our beat too long to go back to calling his own tunes.’

‘Yesterday, yesterday – yesterday y’all baked apple dumplings and played rat-in-a-hole. Today he’s murdering drug dealers in the streets, and tomorrow he marches on the palace with fifty thousand men. Wait around a week, he’ll be gang-raping your daughter and shitting in your kitchen.’ I huffed smoke and dropped my trump. ‘Maybe it’s time we brought in the Old Man.’

No one likes being reminded they’re mid-list in the pecking order. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘It’s a lovely office, but we both know where the strings get pulled. A change in policy needs to be signed off on from upstairs.’

‘I am upstairs.’

‘We gonna argue semantics?’

‘I told you once before – I run this show.’

‘Then you’d best go ahead and fucking run it,’ I answered.

That was that. He made with the contemplation, but I knew he’d bend in the breeze. It was a dull minute. My cigarette was mostly ash before he thought to pass over a tray.

‘You want a handkerchief?’

I shook my head, regretting it immediately. ‘I’d rather bleed on your desk.’

He snorted and started to twist himself a smoke.

‘So you’ve taken care of my little problem?’ I asked.

‘As of this morning there are a half-dozen Islanders rotting in cells in jail – and three taking up slabs in the morgue. I’m told Adisu is one of the latter.’

‘You’re a prince amongst men.’

Guiscard didn’t answer, just sat there puffing away at the cigarette he’d rolled. I could have told him you never really quit, you just take a break while things are going easy. ‘You ever think about Crispin?’ he asked suddenly.

‘I try not to.’

‘I guess he could have sat here, if he’d wanted to.’

‘Yup.’

‘I guess he didn’t want to.’

‘Don’t let yourself get too down,’ I said, standing. ‘It ended well for me.’

By the time I was outside my punch-drunk had worn off, and the orchestra in my head had gone from background noise to overture. Bile climbed up my throat, and it was only through sheer will that I forced it tumbling back. I must have been quite a sight – passersby watched in horror, though none offered help.

B
ack at the Earl I sipped through a few ounces of liquor and passed out. When I woke the pain was worse, but the swelling had faded and I could see enough out of my right eye to be blinded by the afternoon light. It was late, and my day wasn’t over. A half-vial of breath reminded me of my duties. I palmed another into my satchel in case I got forgetful. Then I put a blade into my boot and slipped downstairs. The Earl was empty. Adolphus was off preparing for the evening rally, and Wren was probably with him. I had no idea where Adeline had disappeared to, but I was happy she’d done so – the longer I could put off explaining why my face looked like a mass of uncooked meat the happier I’d be.

Walking through the Isthmus I was conscious of the fading hour, and that my injuries were an appeal to the worst instincts of the native element. But the heat hadn’t abated with the sun, and the air was thick as a smoker’s cough, and the cock-a-walks were largely absent, drinking in darkened juke-joints or trying to sleep through to night. I found my way to Mazzie’s without any trouble, and this time even managed to reach the entryway without faltering my step.

She sat in the same position, down to the length of ash on her cigar. Even the oven working in the corner remained as it had been, the same pots bubbling rank on top of it. She waved at the open chair, but waited a while before starting.

‘What happened to your jaw?’

‘A brick wall hit me.’

‘And your eye?’

‘I couldn’t let the jaw go unanswered.’ I crinkled a trail of dreamvine in the hollow of a wrapper, then added a twist of tobacco for cover. ‘So. You set your eyes on him.’

She bobbed the ebony sphere of her skull. ‘Did at that.’

‘What’s the verdict?’

‘He’s got talent. Should have long started his learning, but he’s got talent all the same.’

‘Then you’ll take him on?’

She motioned with her shoulders in a fashion that indicated nothing one way or the other. ‘I figured, after your introduction, he must be kin to you.’

‘Ain’t got no kin.’

‘How’d you meet him?’

‘Let me think now – ah yes, the Duke of Courland introduced us over high tea. We needed a fifth for whist, and our Wren’s a deft hand at cards.’