"Cook, Glen - Garrett 06 - Red Iron Nights" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Glen)

Red Iron Nights By Glenn Cook
RED IRON NIGHTS
by
Glen Cook
The Garrett Files 06


1 When I shoved through the doorway of Morleys Joy House youd have thought I was the old dude in black who lugs the sickle. The place went dead quiet. I stopped moving. I couldnt push uphill against the weight of all those
stares. Somebody sneak lemons into your salads?
Quick check of the talent. It looked like somebody with an ugly stick had gone berserk. That or those guys spent a lot of time diving into walls and shaving themselves with hatchets. I saw enough scars and bent noses to open
me a sideshow.

The Joy House boasts that kind of clientele.
Aw, damn! Its Garrett. That was my pal Puddle, safe behind the bar. Here we go again, troops. Puddle goes two-eighty, maybe more. His skin is the hue of somebody whos been dead awhile. You ask me, rigor mortis set in above
the neck twenty years back.
Several dwarves, an ogre, miscellaneous elves, and a couple of guys of indeterminate ancestry chugged their sauerkraut cocktails and headed for the door. Guys I didnt even know. Guys who knew me did their damnedest to pretend they
didnt. A murmur spread as the ones who didnt know me got clued in.

What a charge for the ego. Call me Typhoid Garrett.
Hi, everybody, I chirped, going for cheerful. Aint it a grand night out? It wasnt. It was raining cats and dogs and the critters were quarreling all the way to the ground. I had dents in my head from random volleys of hailstones, not being bright enough to wear a hat. On the plus side, flash floods might clear the garbage festering in the streets. Some of that was
ready to get up and walk.

The city ratmen get lazier every day.

Hey, Garrett! Come on over.
Well. A friendly face. Saucerhead, old buddy, old pal. I steered for the shadowy corner table Tharpe shared with another guy. I hadnt spotted him because of the gloom back there. Even close up I couldnt make much of Tharpes companion. The guy wore heavy black robes, like some species of priest, complete with cowl. He exuded gloom like a miasma. He wasnt the kind youd have over
to liven up a party.
Drag up a chair, Tharpe said. I dont know why hes called Saucerhead. He dont like it much but ranks it higher than Waldo, which a parent or
two hung on him.
I planted my behind. Tharpes companion observed, Seems youre less than welcome here. Are you diseased? He wasnt just gloomy, he was forthright,
a social handicap worse than bad breath.

Ha! Saucerhead snorted. Ha-ha-ha. Thats good, Licks. Hell. Thiss Garrett. I told you about him.

The mist begins to clear. But not around him, it didnt.
Im starting to feel a little hurt here, I said. Youre wrong. Louder, Youre all of you wrong. Im not working. Im not into anything. I just
thought Id drop in and catch up on my friends. They didnt believe me.

At least nobody cracked wise about me not having any friends.
Saucerhead said, If youd come around and socialize sometimes, instead of just when youre up to your crack in crocodiles, maybe folks would smile
when they saw you.

Grumble grumble. Hard to argue with that. Youre looking good, Garrett. Lean and mean. Still working out?
Yeah. More grumbles. I dont much like work. Especially not workout-type work. I figure in any rational world a man will get all the exercise he needs catching his share of blonds, brunettes, and redheads. Got it so far? Im Garrett, investigator and confidential agent, not animated by any overwhelming ambition, with a penchant for figures of a certain kind and a knack for stumbling into things friends and acquaintances dont find enthralling. Im a young thirty, six-feet-two, ginger-haired and blue-eyed, and the dogs dont howl when I go by, though the hazards of my profession have left traces which give my face character. I say Im charming. My friends disagree, say I just wont take life serious. Well, you do too much of that and you end up as
dark as this friend of Saucerheads.
Puddle arrived with a huge tankard of my favorite food, that divine elixir that makes it necessary for me to work out. Hed drawn it from his private keg, hidden behind the bar. The Joy House doesnt serve anything but rabbit
food and the squeezings thereof. Morley Dotes is a rabid vegetarian.

I took a long drink of bitter beer. Youre a prince, Puddle. I fished out a silver mark.
Yeah. Im in line for the throne. He didnt pretend to make change. A prince indeed. You could buy a pony keg wholesale for that, the price of silver being what it is. How come youre in here instead of gamboling through acres of redheads? My last big case involved whole squads of that delightful subspecies. Unfortunately, only one of the bunch turned out palatable. Redheads are that way. Theyre either devils or angelsand the angels are no angels. I think