Book 13 - Gilded Latten Bones Read Online Free PDF Page B

T came close to slamming the door as she left.
    I had been out of circulation too long. I needed to sharpen my tools. Unless she was one of those lesbian types. That would explain her natural resistance.
    I paced. I watched the world outside the window. I studied Morley and felt bad for him. I paced some more; then I inventoried chamber pots, bedpans, pitcher of water and bowl. Then a second pitcher and bowl on a small table in a corner, accompanied by a bar of soap and a stack of towels.
    Of course there would be towels and soap. Necessary to the trade in an establishment like this.
    I decided to ask for a cup or mug so I wouldn’t have to drink straight from the pitcher, using a ladle.
    The door opened after a perfunctory knock. DeeDee and Hellbore lugged in a mildewed cot. They dumped that, made sure I hadn’t let Morley die while they were gone.
    Miss T followed, pushing a small cart. “Food. Drink. Other stuff you’ll need. Crush or DeeDee will come around regular. They’ll bring whatever you need brought and take away whatever you need taken.”
    “Crush?”
    DeeDee said, “She don’t like her real name.”
    Hellbore/Crush, a foot shorter and ten stone lighter than me, gave me a look that asked if I wanted to make something of that.
    “All right.” I tried to get DeeDee to chat some. She had a marvelous, breathy way of talking.
    Miss T said, “And you a bespoke man.”
    These women could not be fooled or manipulated. Unless you were Morley Dotes and you were unconscious. Then they would be your slaves.
    Oh, well. They were too weird, anyway. The mother was mildly inclined to flirt and had a silly streak. Crush had the cynical hard-eye of a twenty-year veteran of the life.
    Miss T asked, “What were you figuring on doing while you wait for something to happen?”
    “I’ll catch up on my sleep. And maybe spend some time worrying about what my woman will say when I come wandering home.”
    “Are you a reader? We have a few books. Mostly for decoration. Ask Crush. She’s read them all. She might recommend something.”
    I looked at Crush, who did an outstanding bored teenager’s “whatever” shrug. “Thank you, Crush.” Meantime, DeeDee gave me a suggestive look. The new, improved, extra-mature me thought that might be a marvelous pastime, especially if the excellent Miss T would join us, but then I’d still have to find something to do the other twenty-three and a half hours of the day. And somebody would put a bug in Tinnie’s ear before I got my shoes off. So I stuck to, “Yes, I can read. This would be an excellent time to broaden my mind. So if Crush will bring me something, I’ll be happy.”
    At that moment I was still thinking in terms of minutes, hours, and, at desperate most, a couple of days.
    Miss T herded the talent out of the room. I watched them go, wondering if they weren’t running a scam. The purported mother not only acted younger, she looked it.
    Miss T said, “My obligation to the Contagues leaves me no choice but to give you whatever you want. Indulge me. Be reasonable. And, really, stay out of sight.”
    I blew her a kiss.
    She gently slammed the door.
    It set my cot up against it.
    As long as I was sleeping, loafing, or reading, any intruder would have to knock it over to get in.

12
    Waiting for Morley to get better got really, really boring really, really fast. Being Tinnie Tate’s boy toy had stripped me of my knack for enduring endless do-nothing.
    Tinnie was not patient. She had rubbed off.
    Crush’s taste in reading was unusual. The first thing she brought me was a collection of plays written by Jon Salvation, including the still running Rausta, Queen of the Demenenes , in which Tinnie had had a featured role when the play first went on in Max Weider’s World Theater.
    “You’re a fan?”
    “He tells wonderful stories.”
    The wildest were the ones he made up about himself. “I know him.”
    “He’s a friend of yours?”
    “No. He comes with a woman named