Tomorrow, the Killing (22 page)

‘Not me, man! It’s a crazy world we’re living on. You got to take the time to recognize what’s in front of your face, dig? Otherwise what’s the point?’

It’s an odd fact about lunatics and junkies, but every one I’d ever met is just dying to share their life wisdom. I started rolling up a cigarette while I waited for Adisu to continue.

‘You shouldn’t smoke, man,’ he said. ‘Bad for your health.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it. Anyway, I don’t mind telling you, Warden, figuring out your puzzle, it made me feel awful good about myself. Awful smart, you dig? Made me want to start crowing, let the whole world see how slick I am, that I can follow along with a real heavyweight like yourself.’

‘I hope you restrained yourself.’

‘I have,’ Adisu nodded emphatically. ‘So far. But you know me, Warden, I get bored easily. If something don’t come by to hold my attention, I might have to start making the rounds, bragging about my genius.’

‘And what exactly would it take to keep you occupied?’

‘We can start with what I was gonna give you. Twenty-five ochre – when you’ve got it, I mean I know you aren’t carrying it on you, don’t worry. I’m a reasonable man. And if I was you, I wouldn’t be thinking of this as no one-time thing – ’cause I’ve got to be honest, my attention span, it’s not exactly limitless.’

‘I hadn’t noticed.’

He shrugged apologetically. ‘Nobody’s perfect. Point being, if I don’t see a regular supply of coin coming my way, say once a month till forever, well – I can’t make no guarantee as to whom I might take it into my mind to chat with.’

‘I imagine the Giroies might take offense to finding out you murdered some of their men.’

‘The Giroies don’t scare me so much. I figure they won’t be so quick to come into the Isthmus looking for us, not when they’ve got you as an easy scapegoat.’

I finished up my cigarette, sparked it and put it to my lips. ‘You’ve come out of this pretty well,’ I said, doing my best to affect a reasonable tone. ‘Seventy-five ochre worth of wyrm, should catch you a couple hundred if you move it smart. Now that’s found money, and you didn’t have to work much for it. You said I was a prudent man – why don’t you take a lesson from me. Walk away with what you’ve got.’

He’d been staring at the wall behind me during my speech. He continued a while afterward, then blinked twice and turned back to me. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘I said that you’d be better off without making an enemy of a friend.’

‘We aren’t friends.’

A bit of my own medicine. I drank it down with the dregs of my coffee. ‘We’re friends in the sense that I’m not actively seeking your demise, Adisu. By my standards, that makes us damn near bosom brothers.’

‘Bosom brothers,’ he repeated, enunciating each syllable with peculiar intensity. ‘Bosom brothers.’ He seemed quite taken with the term, and it took a moment to free himself from its grip on his mind. ‘Were you breastfed?’ he asked.

‘One more time?’

‘Were you breastfed? Did you suckle your mother’s titties?’

‘You know, Adisu,’ I said, making a show of thinking about it, ‘I can’t rightly remember.’

‘Right, course,’ he laughed. ‘Me neither. But Moms, I mean back when she was around, she told me I wasn’t. You got any siblings, Warden?’

I found I wasn’t particularly interested in sharing the specifics of my upbringing with Adisu. ‘We’re getting off topic.’

‘I’m the youngest of eleven. Nine brothers, two sisters. Moms said that by the time she got to me there just wasn’t nothing left. Said she used to mix up some goat’s milk with water, soak a rag in it and put it in my mouth.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Ain’t right, you know? A little child, having to live on that. Sometimes I think: maybe, if I’d had what the rest got, I’d have turned out different than I did. Been taller, maybe. Used to make me angry, back when I was a kid, thinking what I could have been. On the other hand, though, it learned me something early on that most people don’t figure out till later.’

‘And what was that?’

‘There ain’t but so much milk to go around.’

As I’d mentioned, being cracked as an outhouse rodent didn’t stop Adisu from being right about most things. I’m not sure what exactly that says about the world. Nothing good, I don’t imagine.

‘All right,’ Adisu said, standing abruptly. The Muscle seemed caught off guard as well, because it took him a moment to do the same. ‘I said what I got to say. Twenty-five ochre by the day after tomorrow, or my gums start flapping with the wind. Whatever cakes you got baking, you sure as hell don’t need my crazy ass sticking a finger in the dough.’ He was back in good humor, smiling at me affectionately. ‘You be well. I’ll see you soon.’

The Muscle waited a second, then gave a sort of half-shrug and disappeared after him.

I finished off my cigarette and started on another, running over the last ten minutes. They didn’t look any better through the smoke. I had too much to worry about to add Adisu’s madness to the mix. And while the Bruised Fruit Mob were hardly considered reliable, there was enough truth in his story to get me killed by any number of people.

Of course, there were other ways to fix the situation than the one he’d presented.

The waitress came back to our table. On her shoulder was a tray. On the tray was enough food to feed a family of eight. ‘Where’d your friends go?’ she asked.

‘Weren’t never here,’ I said.

She dropped her burden onto the table, rattling the plates and sending coffee spilling. ‘Well, who the hell is gonna pay for all this?’

‘He is,’ I said, pulling an argent out of my pocket. ‘He just doesn’t know it yet.’

T
he man at the front desk of Black House was not inclined towards letting me wander the halls unaccompanied.

A day had passed since my meeting with Adisu, a day spent avoiding the sun and Adeline, holed up in my room burning through a half-ochre worth of dreamvine. In the city outside the seeds of my plot were beginning to sprout, soon to flower into chaos and violence. They’d require cultivation, but at that exact moment all they needed was a little bit of time. I went to bed early, and woke up the same, heading out to visit Guiscard before breakfast. I’d thought a lot about what I was going to say to him, but I’ll admit I hadn’t foreseen the possibility that said dialogue would never take place.

Back when I’d worked in Black House the desk was occupied by an agent. I suppose there had been some sort of a change in policy, because their new doorman was nothing but that, a functionary with gray eyes and a soul to match. I didn’t blame him not letting me in. Keeping out the riff-raff was chief amongst his duties, and I certainly looked the part. I did, however, blame him for being snide, narrow of mind, and less capable of independent thought than a marching ant. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, not sounding like it. ‘But without an appointment there’s really nothing I can do.’

‘Just send someone up to tell him I’m here.’

‘There’s no one here but me – and if I go upstairs to give him a message, there would be no one left to watch the desk.’

‘I’ll stay here and watch it.’

‘I don’t . . .’ The introduction of an alternative confused him. ‘I don’t think that would work.’

‘Perhaps we could rig up some sort of machine which would pass the note along to him. Something with rigs and pulleys.’

‘I’m not very mechanically inclined,’ he admitted.

‘How about carrier pigeons? Do you have any of those?’

He shrugged helplessly. He’d been well trained for his position. Mostly, organizations do not reward solving problems – they reward not fucking up, and the easiest way not to fuck up is to do nothing. But true inertia is a difficult state to reach, and after a few moments of silence an idea seemed to come to him. It was a rare thing, no doubt. It took him a while to recognize it, and longer still to give it voice. ‘Maybe if you told me what business you have with Agent Guiscard?’

How to answer that one? That Agent Guiscard had forced me to act a double agent, setting up the downfall of a rebellious entity conceivably bent on the destruction of the Crown? Or that the above was false, that I was in fact engineering a conflict between Black House and the Association, and Agent Guiscard the unwitting instrument of my revenge? ‘I’m afraid he wouldn’t want me to divulge the specifics.’

I heard the door open behind me and I tensed up slightly. There were still people walking the halls who remembered when I’d done the same, and I imagined they’d be quick to greet my return with violence.

Turned out I didn’t need to worry. ‘Agent Guiscard,’ the doorman said.

‘Hello, Brunsford.’

Guiscard pulled up next to me. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, but before I could answer he shook his head. ‘Nevermind – best discuss it in my office.’

‘One moment,’ I said, turning back to Brunsford. ‘If you knew he was out, then why did we have to go through all of this?’

Brunsford shrugged, having difficulty seeing the connection. ‘You didn’t ask.’

In a sense, I envied him. Few people are so well suited to their duties. I thanked him, then followed Guiscard upstairs.

He took a seat, and I joined him. ‘How much do you like me?’ I asked.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Am I just some ten-copper trollop whom you pick up and use at your convenience? Or is what we have between us real?’

‘This is a rather tedious introduction to whatever you’re here for.’

‘Let me summate.’ I leaned back in my chair and propped my legs up onto his desk. ‘I need you to crush a bug for me.’

He narrowed his eyes, stiffened one arm and pushed my boots back to the ground. ‘What kind of bug?’

‘Islander, early twenties, savagely insane. Goes by Adisu the Damned.’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘When I had your job, Guiscard, I knew the name of every criminal who could command a blade from Grenmont to the docks.’

‘You don’t have my job anymore.’

‘And I still know the name of every criminal who can command a blade from Grenmont to the docks.’

‘This Adisu – what exactly has he done to you?’

‘At this exact moment, he hasn’t done anything. But if we wait around till tomorrow, he’ll make sure I’m not here to answer that question a second time.’

‘I’m sure you’ve done something to deserve it.’

‘We’ve all done something to deserve it.’

‘And what exactly would you like to have happen to your unfortunate adversary?’

‘The world would be a finer place without him crawling on its surface, but so long as he’s out of my way, I don’t really mind. The bay or the dungeon, your preference.’

‘I can’t just disappear a fellow without reason.’

‘In fact you can – that’s basically the point of being in Black House. You can pretty much do anything you want to anyone, and they can’t do anything back to you.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Say I could do it. Why would I?’

‘In exchange for the kindnesses I’m doing you.’

‘Awful presumptuous of you, thinking to cash in a chit you haven’t earned yet.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning for all your big talk about having Joachim Pretories’ ear, so far you’ve given me nothing more solid than broken wind.’

‘I don’t imagine I’ll be of any more help to you dead,’ I answered. ‘Try to think a few moves ahead, Guiscard. The Association and the Giroies will be at war soon enough. You’ll be happy to have me around when they do.’

‘So you’ve said – I’m still not sure I understand why Pretories would want to stir up violence against the Giroies.’

‘Same reason any leader goes to war – to divert attention from their own failures. Better to get everyone focusing on an enemy than have them mull over his inability to keep their pensions inviolate.’

‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘The world rarely does,’ I said. ‘You need to look past how you think things should work, and pay attention to how things actually do.’

‘Regardless,’ he said after a brief moment of thought, ‘I’m an Agent of the Crown, tasked with upholding the law and enforcing justice. Neither of those activities are served by what you’re asking.’

‘You never hit a suspect? Never set a man up for a fall he didn’t know was coming? Your past so lily white as all that?’

‘There’s a difference between bending the rules and bringing the full force of Black House to bear on a private struggle between two . . .’ he sputtered for a moment, trying to find a term to sufficiently convey his contempt, ‘. . . degenerate fucking drug dealers.’

‘You wound me. Like I said last time – I used to fill your seat. This pretense of decency is unnecessary.’

‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your career advice too closely, given that you were stripped of your rank.’

‘It’s a funny thing about my fall – it didn’t come about because of a moral lapse. Quite the opposite, in fact. And having come to ethics late in life, and to my own detriment, let me offer up a warning. Don’t risk it – you gave up the luxury of being a decent human being when they added the star to your collar. Things with the Association are going south fast. You need someone on the inside, who can give you a heads up beforehand. What’s that measured against the life of a handful of slum dwellers, and criminals at that?’

I’d decided to have Guiscard remove Adisu for three reasons. The first was that I didn’t trust the Islander to keep his mouth shut. The second was, as a point of principle, I prefer not to let a man bend me backwards. Even if no one else ever finds out about it, you’ll still know it happened. Finally, I liked the idea of having Guiscard act as my cat’s-paw. It suited my sense of vanity. Moreover, it put some dirt on him, shifted the fundamental balance of our relationship. Guiscard would do violence to another man on my behalf, would lower himself into the muck along with me. Nothing binds two people like a shared sin.

He stroked the bridge of his long nose, closed his eyes, in short, made quite a show of contemplation. ‘I’ll need something to hang on him,’ he said finally.

‘There’ll be enough narcotics stashed away to keep half the city high through Midwinter.’ I thought about the Bruised Fruit Mob’s headquarters, its stagnant smell and subterranean depths. ‘If you look hard enough, you’ll probably find a decomposing corpse or two, but the drugs alone should merit a ten-year stretch. Also, they’ll resist arrest.’