33

It had rained during the night. The morning air was cool. The breeze was fresh. The streets were clean. The sky was clear. The sun was bright. It was one of those days when it was too easy to relax, too easy to forget that a brighter sun means darker shadows.

Fortunately, even the shadows were relaxing. Not a one belched a villain bent on mischief. The whole town was in a rare humor. Hell, I heard singing from the Bustee.

It wouldn’t last. Before sundown, the wicked would be slashing throats again.

We did develop a following, including the inept creature who had followed me to Maggie Jenn’s place and a guy with an earring who was maybe a ferocious pirate, but I doubted that.

Even Ivy noticed the clumsy guy.

“Let them tag along,” I said. “They’ll go cross-eyed. What I do is excruciating to watch. Not to mention tough on the feet.”

“Be like being back in the Corps,” Slither observed.

Ivy had the Goddamned Parrot with him. That obscene buzzard had a great time. “Holy hookers, check them melons. Oh. Look it there. Come here, honey. I’ll show you . . . ” We were lucky his diction was sloppy.

The streets were crowded. Everybody wanted a lungful of rain-scrubbed air before TunFaire returned to normal. The old and weak would be falling over left and right. All that fresh air would be poisonous.

Before we reached the West End, I spotted another tail. This guy was a first-string pro. I made him by accident, my good luck and his bad. I didn’t know him. That troubled me. I thought I knew the top players.

It was quite a parade.