68
“I think we’re in business,” I told the Dead Man when I returned in the wee hours, a little light-headed. Willard Tate enjoys his brandies and loves to share his pleasures with people he likes. He likes me right now.
The rest of the Tates are wine people, every one with a favorite vintage. I’m not much on the spoiled grape juice myself. I prefer that Weider barley soup with plenty of hops. But I couldn’t be impolite when a taste was offered.
And it was hard to keep track of how much sipping I did when I was a little distracted, off and on, by Tinnie and her wicked cousin Rose.
I said, “I’ll have a sitdown with all the principals as soon as I arrange for Morley to make space available.”
I would take Morley on a nostalgic voyage into his past, returning The Palms to the days when it was The Joy House and neutral ground for meetings just like the one I planned. He was a good friend. He deserved to get the business.
Excellent. And though I do begrudge admitting it, I believe you have suffered one of your better ideas this time.
“Did Singe get back yet?”
More than an hour ago. All went well. She ate and drank like a lumberjack, then went to bed. That child has an amazing capacity for beer.
“If she’s going to keep sucking it down here, she’d better start showing an amazing capacity for bringing in cash. What about the jungle chicken?”
Still out there. Watching the al-Khar now. To see how the Guard responds to your message.
“There’s only one response possible. Don’t tell me they haven’t done anything.”
Nothing dramatic. There have been comings and goings but, not being familiar with the routine around the jail, I do not know if they are unusual. And it would behoove us to recall that we live in a political world. What Colonel Block should do and what he is allowed to do might not be identical—if someone important upHill happens to be an investor in Reliance’s undertakings.
“I know. I know. It’s a blackhearted world. I’m going to go put away some beer myself. Then I’m going to sleep till noon.”
A man’s fondest dreams and dearest ideals often become storm-tossed wrack upon reefs of reality.
I wakened to find myself already deeply involved in some extremely heavy petting.
Evas had decided school was in again. Only . . . It took a few moments of exploration to determine that tonight’s pupil wasn’t Evas. Perhaps Fasfir had pulled rank.
Fasfir was a dedicated student, give her that. Her focus matched Evas’. It seemed she wanted to practice till she got it right. She didn’t go away until people started stirring around the house.
Good thing I’d announced that I meant to sleep in.