Dread Brass Shadows

"Must you stare so shamelessly?"

"I don't notice you studying the fly specks on the ceiling." He wasn't that old. Nobody ever gets that old. And the lady deserved a stare or two. She was the nicest package I'd had stumble in in a long time. "Hell, yes, I must. How often do the gods bother to send us the answer to our prayers?"

He's more alert at that hour than I'll ever be. He honestly believes that getting up before sunrise is a virtue, poor misguided soul. "Attempt at levity noted, Mr. Garrett. Noted and found wanting. I suggest we move her to the daybed and cover her, then get some breakfast into you. You're less at the mercy of adolescent fantasies once you've gotten your blood moving.'

"How sharper than a serpent's tooth is the tongue of an ingrate servant."

He knew I couldn't be talking about him. He wasn't a servant. He was an in-house working partner.

He grabbed the woman's ankles. I took the heavy end. Maybe he was put out because the woman had gotten several of his nieces' shares of natural goodies. "Red hair, too," I muttered. "Isn't that nice?" I'm a sucker for redheads. I've been known to favor the occasional blonde, brunette, whatever, too.

Dean would just say I'm a sucker. He might have a point.

We put her on the daybed in the small front room, on the right side of the house. Your left, coming in the front door. She hung on to her package. Once she was set, I moved to the kitchen. Reluctantly. I was thinking maybe I should be there for her when she woke up, just in case she needed to throw herself into somebody's arms and be comforted.

Dean filled me up with breakfast. As I finished up Saucerhead arrived, to supervise me in my pursuit of physical excellence. Or incapacitating cramps, whichever came first. We yakked over tea for a while, me somehow forgetting to mention my nude. Would you tell a pirate where you'd found buried treasure. Then we went outside and got busy with our respective exercise regimens. I wore him down. He ran out of fingers before I ran out of laps.

Puffing and panting and aching, I forgot my mystery guest. Puffing and wheezing is a full-time job.

7

Last lap. Beer ahead. Relief only a few yards away. I came off Wizard's Reach full speed, about a walk and a half, snorting like a wounded buffalo, listing from side to side, steering like a ship without a rudder. Only my neighbors watching kept me from getting down and crawling the last hundred feet

I'd lost count of my laps. Saucerhead had slipped a few extra in on me. I hadn't figured that out till a minute ago. If I lived, I'd get even with him if it was the last thing I did. If that involved ru

I had my chin down. You're not supposed to do that, but I had to keep an eye on my feet. Otherwise they might quit. Meanwhile, I tried to figure how many laps Tharpe had shafted me. I'd lost count because there had been no landmark events to separate one lap from another. There were none to help me come up with an actual number, either. But I knew he'd done it to me.

I reached the foot of the steps honking and snorting, grabbed the handrail, dragged myself up toward the pitcher that would help put the misery behind me.

"This the character I'm looking for?" The voice wasn't familiar.

"That's him." Saucerhead. "Don't look like much."

"I can't help that. I ain't his mother."

My pal. I got my chin up. Huff. Puff. Saucerhead wasn't atone. Being brilliant, I'd worked that out, all ready. What I hadn't figured out was that he was talking to a woman. Maybe.

At first glance she looked like Tharpe's big sister. Maybe she had a touch of giant in her. She was taller than me by an inch. She had stringy blonde hair that would've been nice if she'd washed and combed it. In fact, she had nice stuff in all the right places, only she was so damned big. And so uncaringly kempt. And looked so damned hard.

"The name's Winger, Garrett," she said. "Hunter." Her stance dared me to treat her like a lady. She wasn't dressed like any lady. Lots of worn leather and stuff, that needed cleaning as much as she did. Lots of metal, stuff hanging all over her. She looked like a hunter. She looked like she could whip thunder-lizards with one hand tied behind her. Hell, she could knock them down with her breath.

The name meant nothing to me. She had to be new in town. I would have heard of an amazon like her if she was a regular.

"Yeah, I'm Garrett. So what?" Still gulping air by the bucket, I couldn't get gracious.

"I'm looking for work. New in town."

"No kidding?"

"People I talked to said we might could kind of team up sometimes." She looked at Saucerhead, jerked her head at me. "Kind of puny to have such a big rep."

Tharpe gri

"Not much call for hunters in the city," I told her. "We can catch our di

"Not that kind of hunter, Ace. Manhunter. Bounty hunter." Just in case I'd mistaken her meaning. "Tracker." Her gaze was hard and steady. She worked at being tough. "Trying to make contacts. Trying to get set up. I don't want to have to cross the line to make it."

She had small hands for a woman her size. Her nails were trimmed neatly. But her palms were used to hard work. Looked like she could bust boards with them. Or backs. I wanted to chuckle but decided I might be smart to keep my amusement to myself. Not more than ten thousand people ever said I wasn't smart. "What do you want from me?"

"Whyn't we get in out of the sun, set a spell, down a few brews, let me tell you what I can do?"

Saucerhead was behind her now. Gri

Dean opened up. He looked at Winger in awe. She snapped, "What you staring at, runt?" Still working hard at that tough.

"Dean, we'll be in the office. Bring us a pitcher, after you lock up." No more free drinks for Tharpe.

I stepped out of Winger's way. "Straight up the hail."

I followed her while Dean locked up. She looked around like she was trying to memorize every crack in the walls.

I guess Saucerhead was outside har-harring.

"Take that chair," I told Winger, indicating the client's seat. It's wooden, hard as a rock. It's supposed to discourage prolonged visits. They're supposed to sit there only long enough to tell me what they have to, not long enough to bury me in trivia. Theoretically. The real whiners enjoy being miserable.

Winger kept looking around like she was sneaking through enemy territory. I asked, "You looked for anything in particular?"

"You stay alert when you're a woman in a man's racket." Another dose of tough.

"I imagine. What can I do for you, anyway?"

"Like I said, I'm new here. I need to make contacts, you could use an extra hand sometimes, probably. Finding people."

"Maybe." Her alertness had me wound up now. She had something on her mind.

Dean brought the pitcher. I poured. Winger downed a mug, stared at the painting behind me. She shivered. Eleanor can have that effect. The man who painted her was a mad genius. He filled her portrait with indefinable creepiness.

I glanced back. And Winger moved so fast I barely had time to face her again before she had a knife at my throat. A long knife. A knife that looked like a two-handed broadsword right about then. "I'm looking for a book, Garrett. A big one. You wouldn't have it, would you?"