rooted out.
They might figure I done them wrong because stealing from the boss
is a worker’s birthright.
Shadows were gathering in the dockyard. Hostlers had begun
retiring the incoming teams. After dark only outside haulers would
be loaded. This was a time of day the dockworkers liked. They could
get lazy.
It was also the time of day when a keg or three could disappear
most easily.
I planted the other side of my lap on a returned empty meant to
go back to the cooperage yard for repairs. I stayed out of the way,
let the noise and chatter wash over me. The Goddamn Parrot muttered
but did not lapse into filth. What little I understood sounded like
random thoughts from one of the Dead Man’s secondary minds.
He must be distracted.
I listened. I overheard almost nothing about the political
situation and less about what everybody thought I might be after. I
didn’t mind. I didn’t expect anybody to be dumb enough
to plot right in front of me, though the criminal class does boast
a rich vein of stupidity.
Mostly I watched how guys behaved when they knew I was
watching.
Nobody acted guilty.
“Garrett?”
I opened my eyes. I’d been on the brink of falling asleep.
The long nights were catching up.
“Gilbey?” Manvil Gilbey masquerades as Old Man
Weider’s batman but he’s no servant. The bond between
them goes back to their army days and is unshakable. Nobody can
indict its rectitude, either. Gilbey had a wife who died. Weider
still has one he worships. If Max is the brain of the brewing
empire, Manvil Gilbey is its soul and conscience.
“Max requests the honor of your company whenever you can
get over to the house.”
Gilbey needed a few quaffs of the product. He’s all right
once he’s had a few.
“I’ll be over before it gets completely
dark.”
“Good enough.” Gilbey turned and marched away.
A driver called Sparky observed, “That’s one guy
what never should of got outta the army.”
“Always on the parade ground, isn’t he?”
“He’s all right, you get to know him.”
“One of the good people,” I agreed.
“He just never learned to take it easy.”
“The streets are filled with people like that these
days.”
“Tell me about it,” Sparky grumbled. “When I
get off I’ve been driving and hossing them barrels for
twelve, fourteen hours. All I want to do is get home and collapse.
So what happens every goddamned night? I’ve got to walk a
mile through morons trying to save the world from the guy next
door. And every damned one of them wants me to join his mob. They
get deaf as a cobblestone when you tell them to just leave you the
fuck alone.”
Another driver said, “I’m thinking about just
camping out here till this shit blows over. I’m fed up having
to duck a fight every time I go somewhere.”
I suggested, “Maybe you could try a different route. Those
rights guys only show up where they think they can start something.
I didn’t get any hassles coming down here. I don’t get
much trouble at all, really.”
“You think walking around with that stick and stuff
don’t make a difference? Them assholes ain’t ready to
work for it yet.”
“Yeah, Garrett. Mosta dem fucks be scared shitless of a
guy wit’ a eagle on his shoulder.”
“Thank you, Zardo. But don’t give the buzzard a
swelled head.” I tote my headknocker everywhere these days.
Times have grown so interesting that I no longer feel foolish being
cautious. “You want to buy this bird, Zardo? Sparky?
I’ll cut you a deal. I’ll throw in an eye
patch.”
“Dat’d just be askin’ for trouble. I
couldn’t fight my way outta a weddin’
reception.”
Sparky said, “I spent my five doing the same thing I do
here, Garrett. I never touched a weapon after Basic.”
I didn’t know Sparky well enough to preach to him so I
just shrugged. “Life’s never kind to the good-hearted.
I had a friend once who recited a poem over and over about how good
men die while the wicked prosper. One of the
They might figure I done them wrong because stealing from the boss
is a worker’s birthright.
Shadows were gathering in the dockyard. Hostlers had begun
retiring the incoming teams. After dark only outside haulers would
be loaded. This was a time of day the dockworkers liked. They could
get lazy.
It was also the time of day when a keg or three could disappear
most easily.
I planted the other side of my lap on a returned empty meant to
go back to the cooperage yard for repairs. I stayed out of the way,
let the noise and chatter wash over me. The Goddamn Parrot muttered
but did not lapse into filth. What little I understood sounded like
random thoughts from one of the Dead Man’s secondary minds.
He must be distracted.
I listened. I overheard almost nothing about the political
situation and less about what everybody thought I might be after. I
didn’t mind. I didn’t expect anybody to be dumb enough
to plot right in front of me, though the criminal class does boast
a rich vein of stupidity.
Mostly I watched how guys behaved when they knew I was
watching.
Nobody acted guilty.
“Garrett?”
I opened my eyes. I’d been on the brink of falling asleep.
The long nights were catching up.
“Gilbey?” Manvil Gilbey masquerades as Old Man
Weider’s batman but he’s no servant. The bond between
them goes back to their army days and is unshakable. Nobody can
indict its rectitude, either. Gilbey had a wife who died. Weider
still has one he worships. If Max is the brain of the brewing
empire, Manvil Gilbey is its soul and conscience.
“Max requests the honor of your company whenever you can
get over to the house.”
Gilbey needed a few quaffs of the product. He’s all right
once he’s had a few.
“I’ll be over before it gets completely
dark.”
“Good enough.” Gilbey turned and marched away.
A driver called Sparky observed, “That’s one guy
what never should of got outta the army.”
“Always on the parade ground, isn’t he?”
“He’s all right, you get to know him.”
“One of the good people,” I agreed.
“He just never learned to take it easy.”
“The streets are filled with people like that these
days.”
“Tell me about it,” Sparky grumbled. “When I
get off I’ve been driving and hossing them barrels for
twelve, fourteen hours. All I want to do is get home and collapse.
So what happens every goddamned night? I’ve got to walk a
mile through morons trying to save the world from the guy next
door. And every damned one of them wants me to join his mob. They
get deaf as a cobblestone when you tell them to just leave you the
fuck alone.”
Another driver said, “I’m thinking about just
camping out here till this shit blows over. I’m fed up having
to duck a fight every time I go somewhere.”
I suggested, “Maybe you could try a different route. Those
rights guys only show up where they think they can start something.
I didn’t get any hassles coming down here. I don’t get
much trouble at all, really.”
“You think walking around with that stick and stuff
don’t make a difference? Them assholes ain’t ready to
work for it yet.”
“Yeah, Garrett. Mosta dem fucks be scared shitless of a
guy wit’ a eagle on his shoulder.”
“Thank you, Zardo. But don’t give the buzzard a
swelled head.” I tote my headknocker everywhere these days.
Times have grown so interesting that I no longer feel foolish being
cautious. “You want to buy this bird, Zardo? Sparky?
I’ll cut you a deal. I’ll throw in an eye
patch.”
“Dat’d just be askin’ for trouble. I
couldn’t fight my way outta a weddin’
reception.”
Sparky said, “I spent my five doing the same thing I do
here, Garrett. I never touched a weapon after Basic.”
I didn’t know Sparky well enough to preach to him so I
just shrugged. “Life’s never kind to the good-hearted.
I had a friend once who recited a poem over and over about how good
men die while the wicked prosper. One of the
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