around here? Why don’t you show yourself?”
Then he realized he was shouting at a spirit, so he lowered the sword.
“Sometimes,” Fidelia explained, “it’s easier for him to manifest himself through song. I believe that’s how it works, anyway. I think you scared him, so he’s afraid to manifest his body.”
“His body looks like a piece of cardboard anyway,” said Spenser. “Like an advertisement, you know? Like Fatoff’s Obesity Cream or the creepy painting of that clown who promises to restore lost manhood. He’s got a two-dimensional quality to him.”
Fidelia had found a knife to cut the chunk of cheese someone had left on a board. She handed Spenser a chunk, and he dipped it into a pot of mustard. “I know. That concerns me. I think it’s because we haven’t found his murderer yet. I think once that happens he’ll be more restored toward becoming a fully realized spirit.”
“Well, you know it’s someone who frequents this place and drinks absinthe.”
“And wears enormous spurs.”
“Which is no one.”
“But you said the spurs are so large, one would have to remove them the moment one dismounted. So we wouldn’t necessarily see them.”
“That’s true. We need to get more clues from Ulrich.”
“He did just sing something about a boss’s hat and a piece of paper, but that wasn’t of much help.”
“Right. Which boss? Which hat? Listen, I’ll help you, Fidelia. Get more clues, and eventually we’ll see this butcher sitting right in our audience. Or he may kill again, one never knows. Right now I’ve got to go talk to Bullet Bob about his Hamlet production. Can you save me some cheese?”
Bullet Bob immediately offered Spenser the position of the ghost of Hamlet’s father—provided he could act, of course. Spenser promised to drop by the Oddfellows Hall after his next and final break for the day.
One odd thing about Bullet Bob. He seemed overly interested in Chess, whose last name was Hudson, according to Ulrich. In a low, confidential voice, the strange frog said, “You make love with that handsome Chess, no?”
Spenser looked from side to side. It was normally no big deal to privately admit one had sucked on a few tools in one’s lifetime, especially in the theater world, but Bob’s interest seemed overly prurient and twisted. Only, not in the normal poofy way but in a way Spenser couldn’t pin down. “Yes, I am acquainted with Mr. Hudson.”
“Mr. Hudson, is it? That’s even better. If you are Hercules, he must be Zeus, right? Ah yes, he is very godlike! Now, listen, my dear Hercules, bring Chess to the audition. Will you promise me that?”
Spenser was perplexed but promised to do what the strange Bullet Bob requested. Who knew what went on in Frogland? It was Bullet Bob’s business if he wanted to think Chess was a god, as long as it got him the part. The problem was, he doubted Chess would accompany him. If we’re going to be at odds with each other, we can’t be embracing around every corner . That was one of the last things Chess had said to him.
Spenser barely had time to piss in the backhouse before he had to resume his position as Hercules. Hudson, Hudson. That name rang a bell. Spenser remembered. Simon Hudson was a big Union Pacific magnate. Didn’t that fellow have at least three daughters?
Chapter Seven
“And it was the height of irritation, the amount of money I had to pay through the nose to Lord whatever his name was to remove your name from the Illustrated London News ,” said Simon Hudson, sitting as imperiously as was possible behind his own desk. He grumped and even resembled a grouse, jowls shuddering.
“I do appreciate that highly,” said Chess emotionlessly. His father had practically slapped the whiskey glass from his hand when he had tried to pour one at the sideboard. Although, of course, this new rule did not apply to Simon himself, who gulped freely. This was absurd! Thirty years of age, and one’s father withholding
Then he realized he was shouting at a spirit, so he lowered the sword.
“Sometimes,” Fidelia explained, “it’s easier for him to manifest himself through song. I believe that’s how it works, anyway. I think you scared him, so he’s afraid to manifest his body.”
“His body looks like a piece of cardboard anyway,” said Spenser. “Like an advertisement, you know? Like Fatoff’s Obesity Cream or the creepy painting of that clown who promises to restore lost manhood. He’s got a two-dimensional quality to him.”
Fidelia had found a knife to cut the chunk of cheese someone had left on a board. She handed Spenser a chunk, and he dipped it into a pot of mustard. “I know. That concerns me. I think it’s because we haven’t found his murderer yet. I think once that happens he’ll be more restored toward becoming a fully realized spirit.”
“Well, you know it’s someone who frequents this place and drinks absinthe.”
“And wears enormous spurs.”
“Which is no one.”
“But you said the spurs are so large, one would have to remove them the moment one dismounted. So we wouldn’t necessarily see them.”
“That’s true. We need to get more clues from Ulrich.”
“He did just sing something about a boss’s hat and a piece of paper, but that wasn’t of much help.”
“Right. Which boss? Which hat? Listen, I’ll help you, Fidelia. Get more clues, and eventually we’ll see this butcher sitting right in our audience. Or he may kill again, one never knows. Right now I’ve got to go talk to Bullet Bob about his Hamlet production. Can you save me some cheese?”
Bullet Bob immediately offered Spenser the position of the ghost of Hamlet’s father—provided he could act, of course. Spenser promised to drop by the Oddfellows Hall after his next and final break for the day.
One odd thing about Bullet Bob. He seemed overly interested in Chess, whose last name was Hudson, according to Ulrich. In a low, confidential voice, the strange frog said, “You make love with that handsome Chess, no?”
Spenser looked from side to side. It was normally no big deal to privately admit one had sucked on a few tools in one’s lifetime, especially in the theater world, but Bob’s interest seemed overly prurient and twisted. Only, not in the normal poofy way but in a way Spenser couldn’t pin down. “Yes, I am acquainted with Mr. Hudson.”
“Mr. Hudson, is it? That’s even better. If you are Hercules, he must be Zeus, right? Ah yes, he is very godlike! Now, listen, my dear Hercules, bring Chess to the audition. Will you promise me that?”
Spenser was perplexed but promised to do what the strange Bullet Bob requested. Who knew what went on in Frogland? It was Bullet Bob’s business if he wanted to think Chess was a god, as long as it got him the part. The problem was, he doubted Chess would accompany him. If we’re going to be at odds with each other, we can’t be embracing around every corner . That was one of the last things Chess had said to him.
Spenser barely had time to piss in the backhouse before he had to resume his position as Hercules. Hudson, Hudson. That name rang a bell. Spenser remembered. Simon Hudson was a big Union Pacific magnate. Didn’t that fellow have at least three daughters?
Chapter Seven
“And it was the height of irritation, the amount of money I had to pay through the nose to Lord whatever his name was to remove your name from the Illustrated London News ,” said Simon Hudson, sitting as imperiously as was possible behind his own desk. He grumped and even resembled a grouse, jowls shuddering.
“I do appreciate that highly,” said Chess emotionlessly. His father had practically slapped the whiskey glass from his hand when he had tried to pour one at the sideboard. Although, of course, this new rule did not apply to Simon himself, who gulped freely. This was absurd! Thirty years of age, and one’s father withholding
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