The way things started, I became convinced that a certain
eventuality had been foredoomed from the moment I’d opened my
front door. I’m not a first date kind of guy, but I’ve
never strained too hard against the whims of fate. I especially
don’t struggle to avoid that particular fate.
Dinner ended. I was unsettled. Maggie Jenn had been doing these
things with her eyes. The kind of things that cause a
bishop’s brain to curdle and even a saint’s devotion to
monasticism to go down for a third time in those limpid pools. The
kind of things that send a fundamentalist reverend’s
imagination racing off into realms so far removed that there is no
getting back without doing something stupid.
I was too distracted to tell if the front of me was soaked with
drool.
There had been banter and word games during dinner. She was
good. Really good. I was ready to grab a trumpet and race around
blowing Charge!
She sat there silently, appraising me, probably trying to decide
if I was medium or medium well.
I made a heroic effort to concentrate. I managed to croak,
“Tell me something, Maggie Jenn? Who would be interested in
your affairs?”
She said nothing but did the eyebrow trick. She was surprised.
That wasn’t what she’d expected me to say. She had to
buy time.
“Don’t try to work your wiles on me, woman. You
don’t get out of answering that easily.”
She laughed throatily, exaggerating that huskiness she had,
wriggled just to let me know she was capable of distracting me as
much as she wanted. I considered distracting myself by getting up
and stomping around to study some of the artwork decorating the
dining chamber but discovered that rising would be uncomfortable
and embarrassing. I half turned in my chair and studied the ceiling
as though seeking clues amongst the fauns and cherubs.
She asked, “What do you mean about people interested in my
affairs?”
I did pause to reflect before I gave away the store.
“Let’s back up some first. Did anybody know you were
coming to see me?” Of course somebody did. Else Winger
wouldn’t have come to me first. But I needed Maggie’s
perspective.
“It wasn’t a secret, if that’s what you mean.
I did ask around once I decided I needed a man of your
sort.”
Hmm. What was a man of my sort?
This was not an unfamiliar phenomenon. Sometimes the
unfriendlies get the jump because they hear about my client asking
after someone who can help. “Next step, then. Who would be
bothered if you started looking for your daughter?”
“Nobody.” She was getting suspicious.
“Yeah. It would seem like nobody ought to care. Unless
maybe they were to give you a little support.”
“You’re scaring me, Garrett.”
She didn’t look scared. I said, “Might be a good
idea to be scared. See, I knew you were coming.”
“What?” She was troubled for sure now. She
didn’t like that at all.
“Just before you showed up, a friend who’s in my
racket stopped by to warn me you’d be coming.” Saying
Winger and I are in the same business is stretching a point, maybe.
Winger is into anything likely to put money in Winger’s
purse, preferably fast and easy. “He thought you were coming
to buy a hit. That’s why he warned me.” Catch that
clever misdirection. Not even a dead Loghyr often mistakes Winger
for male.
“A hit? Me?” She knew the argot. She was off balance
but coming back fast.
“He was sure of it.” But I wondered. Winger took
shortcuts. Big, slow, lovable, goofy, crafty, bigoted, and lazy
Winger. She was confident that anybody she couldn’t sweeten
with reason she could bring around with a good old-fashioned
ass-kicking. She was just a big old simple country girl with simple
country ways—if you accepted her the way she wanted to be
taken.
I was going to have words with Winger about Maggie Jenn. If I
could find her. I didn’t think that would be tough. The big
goof was bound to turn up on her own, soon. Probably before I was
ready.
I said, “Then somebody followed me here.”
“What? Who? Why?”
“Got me. I only mention it to show you that somebody out
there is interested.”
Maggie shook her head. It was a fine head. I was starting to
lose my focus again. I concentrated on describing the villain
who’d followed me.
Maggie smiled wickedly. “Garrett! Don’t you ever
think about anything else?”
“Lots of times.” I thought about starting a little
contest in which we would see who could run the fastest.
“Garrett!”
“You started it.”
Unlike many women, she did not deny her complicity. “Yeah,
but . . . ”
“Put yourself in my place. You’re a red-blooded
young man who’s suddenly alone here with you.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She
chuckled.
Ouch! This was getting painful. “You do dish up a ration
of shit, don’t you?”
I chuckled right back and put myself into my own place, assuming
she meant to put herself into her own place and things would
proceed to proceed. But after a painful pilgrimage to her side of
the table all proceedings proceeded to grind to a halt.
Reluctantly—it seemed—she slipped away from me. I
muttered, “We can’t keep on like this if you want to
sell me on looking for your daughter.”
“You’re right. This is a business arrangement. We
can’t let nature get in the way.”
I was willing to let nature play havoc, but I said, “Durn
tootin’. I don’t sell that way, anyway. I sell on logic
and facts. That’s me. Just-the-facts-ma’am Garrett. How
about you start giving me some of those instead of using all your
energy on those come-hither eyes?”
“Don’t be cruel, Garrett. This is as difficult for
me as it is for you.”
The way things started, I became convinced that a certain
eventuality had been foredoomed from the moment I’d opened my
front door. I’m not a first date kind of guy, but I’ve
never strained too hard against the whims of fate. I especially
don’t struggle to avoid that particular fate.
Dinner ended. I was unsettled. Maggie Jenn had been doing these
things with her eyes. The kind of things that cause a
bishop’s brain to curdle and even a saint’s devotion to
monasticism to go down for a third time in those limpid pools. The
kind of things that send a fundamentalist reverend’s
imagination racing off into realms so far removed that there is no
getting back without doing something stupid.
I was too distracted to tell if the front of me was soaked with
drool.
There had been banter and word games during dinner. She was
good. Really good. I was ready to grab a trumpet and race around
blowing Charge!
She sat there silently, appraising me, probably trying to decide
if I was medium or medium well.
I made a heroic effort to concentrate. I managed to croak,
“Tell me something, Maggie Jenn? Who would be interested in
your affairs?”
She said nothing but did the eyebrow trick. She was surprised.
That wasn’t what she’d expected me to say. She had to
buy time.
“Don’t try to work your wiles on me, woman. You
don’t get out of answering that easily.”
She laughed throatily, exaggerating that huskiness she had,
wriggled just to let me know she was capable of distracting me as
much as she wanted. I considered distracting myself by getting up
and stomping around to study some of the artwork decorating the
dining chamber but discovered that rising would be uncomfortable
and embarrassing. I half turned in my chair and studied the ceiling
as though seeking clues amongst the fauns and cherubs.
She asked, “What do you mean about people interested in my
affairs?”
I did pause to reflect before I gave away the store.
“Let’s back up some first. Did anybody know you were
coming to see me?” Of course somebody did. Else Winger
wouldn’t have come to me first. But I needed Maggie’s
perspective.
“It wasn’t a secret, if that’s what you mean.
I did ask around once I decided I needed a man of your
sort.”
Hmm. What was a man of my sort?
This was not an unfamiliar phenomenon. Sometimes the
unfriendlies get the jump because they hear about my client asking
after someone who can help. “Next step, then. Who would be
bothered if you started looking for your daughter?”
“Nobody.” She was getting suspicious.
“Yeah. It would seem like nobody ought to care. Unless
maybe they were to give you a little support.”
“You’re scaring me, Garrett.”
She didn’t look scared. I said, “Might be a good
idea to be scared. See, I knew you were coming.”
“What?” She was troubled for sure now. She
didn’t like that at all.
“Just before you showed up, a friend who’s in my
racket stopped by to warn me you’d be coming.” Saying
Winger and I are in the same business is stretching a point, maybe.
Winger is into anything likely to put money in Winger’s
purse, preferably fast and easy. “He thought you were coming
to buy a hit. That’s why he warned me.” Catch that
clever misdirection. Not even a dead Loghyr often mistakes Winger
for male.
“A hit? Me?” She knew the argot. She was off balance
but coming back fast.
“He was sure of it.” But I wondered. Winger took
shortcuts. Big, slow, lovable, goofy, crafty, bigoted, and lazy
Winger. She was confident that anybody she couldn’t sweeten
with reason she could bring around with a good old-fashioned
ass-kicking. She was just a big old simple country girl with simple
country ways—if you accepted her the way she wanted to be
taken.
I was going to have words with Winger about Maggie Jenn. If I
could find her. I didn’t think that would be tough. The big
goof was bound to turn up on her own, soon. Probably before I was
ready.
I said, “Then somebody followed me here.”
“What? Who? Why?”
“Got me. I only mention it to show you that somebody out
there is interested.”
Maggie shook her head. It was a fine head. I was starting to
lose my focus again. I concentrated on describing the villain
who’d followed me.
Maggie smiled wickedly. “Garrett! Don’t you ever
think about anything else?”
“Lots of times.” I thought about starting a little
contest in which we would see who could run the fastest.
“Garrett!”
“You started it.”
Unlike many women, she did not deny her complicity. “Yeah,
but . . . ”
“Put yourself in my place. You’re a red-blooded
young man who’s suddenly alone here with you.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She
chuckled.
Ouch! This was getting painful. “You do dish up a ration
of shit, don’t you?”
I chuckled right back and put myself into my own place, assuming
she meant to put herself into her own place and things would
proceed to proceed. But after a painful pilgrimage to her side of
the table all proceedings proceeded to grind to a halt.
Reluctantly—it seemed—she slipped away from me. I
muttered, “We can’t keep on like this if you want to
sell me on looking for your daughter.”
“You’re right. This is a business arrangement. We
can’t let nature get in the way.”
I was willing to let nature play havoc, but I said, “Durn
tootin’. I don’t sell that way, anyway. I sell on logic
and facts. That’s me. Just-the-facts-ma’am Garrett. How
about you start giving me some of those instead of using all your
energy on those come-hither eyes?”
“Don’t be cruel, Garrett. This is as difficult for
me as it is for you.”