The Night Watchman(30)

“All right.”

Patrice pressed the rubber suit against her chest, the absurd hooves dangling.

Jack stared at her, sighed, shook his head.

“It looks like it would just fit. Perfectly.”

Patrice thrust it back at him. With great care, Jack arranged the rubber so as not to put strain on any part of the suit. He put the outfit away and opened a large hatbox, which contained a close-fitting blue rubber cowl with small white horns. It fastened under the chin.

“This is okay,” said Patrice, putting on the blue hat. “But I don’t like those white circles on the cow’s chest.”

“Ox. Babe’s an ox. And as things go, of course, the costume is really quite modest, you must admit,” murmured Jack. “Not much skin showing. Not at all. Just a lot of blue rubber.”

“No thanks,” said Patrice. The fifty dollars plus was difficult.

“Well, so look here,” said Jack. “Let’s talk about finding your sister. How are you going to go about that?”

“I’ll just . . . look. Go to the last known address first.”

“And where are you going to stay?”

“I have a girlfriend.”

“A friend from home?”

“Sort of.”

“You could stay here. It would be a room-and-board sort of deal just to tide us over.”

“Sleep under a table? No thank you.”

“We could put a cot in the room.”

She remembered about scum, but Wood Mountain had given no details. Frustrating. Would she be all right if she avoided the liquor?

“Sounds like a trap.”

“And a strong lock on the door. Or, if you want, we have a hotel next door. Regular place. Clean. Just no ceilings on the rooms. Locks there too.”

“I think that I’ll find a cab to the place I was going. Right now.”

“We could help you.”

“Find a cab? One that won’t kidnap me?”

“Again, profound apologies. So uncalled for. No. We could help you find your sister. I mean, this is a nexus.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“A central place. Like a train terminal. Where everyone meets everyone else. Look. It’s about one p.m. right now. I will personally drive you to your address. I will personally accompany you to the door to ask about your sister. And take you anywhere else that you want to look. If during that time you find a place to stay and a good lead on your sister’s whereabouts, then we say so long, goodbye, farewell. If no luck, you come back and do tonight’s show. That’s all.”

“Why would you do all that?”

“You are the waterjack.”

Jack spoke dramatically, looking into her eyes. The whites of his eyes were yellowed, like old paper.

“What’s so great about this outfit? It’s just a cow suit—”

“Ox. Made of blue rubber.”

Patrice shrugged. She was still in the doorway. Jack gazed dreamily past her.

“To get this outfit made? We had to find a costumier down in Chicago. He had to create the molds for the rubber. Had to get the rubber, natural and not synthetic rubber. And the dye. It is difficult to find a dye that will take hold in the rubber and come out so blue—so brilliant! Dramatic. Hard to make it so the dye won’t run, either, while Babe is doing the show. A rubber that positively won’t bleach out or stretch out of shape. Hard to find. A rubber that won’t start smelling gamey—you couldn’t smell a thing, could you? That’s why we use a special powder to dry it and preserve it from the depredations of insects, ensuring the integrity of the rubber. It is a very special suit, Miss Doris Barnes. And you are the first woman I have seen who might possibly do justice to the lady who last wore the suit.”

“Who was that lady?” asked Patrice.

“Hilda Kranz.”

“So why isn’t she here anymore? What happened to her?”

“She fell ill.”

“Oh. Well, so maybe she’ll get better.”

“Gravely ill,” said Jack.

“I’m so sorry.”

They walked back onto the main floor of the bar.

“All right,” said Patrice. “I’ll let you drive me to where I want to go. Then we part ways.”

“Very good,” said Jack Malloy. “We part ways if you find your sister. If not, you do the show. I will get the keys from Earl.”

“He was driving your car?”

“He always drives my car.”

“I don’t like this,” said Patrice.

Her brain was swelling. Her skull felt too tight. She wasn’t tired, but disoriented. It felt like more new things had happened to her in the past hour than in her entire life before.





The Wake-Up Shave




Thomas crossed his eyes, blinked rapidly. Twisted his skin. Gave himself a snake burn. Spoke out loud. The hardest hour. And not even an owl to hear him.

“What else do you want? Us living on the edge of a handkerchief? Done. Dying out as quickly as possible. Done. Dying out with agreeable smiles. Check. Brave smiles. Check. Pledged to your flag. Check. Check. Check. Done.”

Falon flashed into the room in his olive greatcoat. Then strode through the wall like a mist.