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"Oh, that? I just needed a little adjustment in my medication. " It was an expression that Charlie had picked up from Jane. She wasn't actually on medication, but the excuse seemed to work for her.
"Well, you keep an eye on that, Charlie. And I'll keep an eye on you. Adios. " Rivera walked off.
"Adios, Inspector," Charlie said. "Hey, by the way, nice suit. "
"Thanks, I bought it from your store," Rivera said without turning around.
When was he in my store? Charlie thought.
For the next couple of weeks Charlie felt as if someone had dialed his nervous system up past the recommended voltage and he was nearly vibrating with anxiety. He thought that perhaps he should call Minty Fresh, warn him of his failure to retrieve Madison McKerney's soul vessel, but if the sewer harpies weren't rising because of that, maybe the contact with another Death Merchant would put them over the top. Instead he kept Sophie home and made sure that she was never out of sight of the hellhounds. In fact, he kept the hellhounds locked in her room most of the time; otherwise they kept dragging him to his day planner, which had no new names. Only the overdue Madison McKerny and the two women - Esther Johnson and Irena Posokovanovich - who had appeared on the same day, but still had some time left before expiration - or whatever you called it.
So he started his walks again, listening as he passed storm drains and manhole covers, but the darkness didn't appear to be rising.
Charlie felt naked walking the street without his sword-cane, which Rivera had kept, so he set out to replace it, and in the process found two more Death Merchants in the city. He found the first at a used-book store in the Mission, Book 'em Danno. Well, it wasn't really a bookstore anymore - it still had a couple of tall cases of books, but the rest of the store was a bricolage of bric-a-brac, from plumbing fittings to football helmets. Charlie understood completely how it happened. You started with a bookstore, then you made a single innocent trade, a set of bookends for a first edition maybe, then another, you picked up a grab-all box at a yard sale to get one item - pretty soon you had a whole section of unmatched crutches and obsolete radio tubes, and couldn't for the life of you remember how you'd acqui
red a bear trap, yet there it was, next to the lime-green tutu and the Armadrillo penis pump: secondhand out of hand. In the back of the store, by the counter, stood a bookcase in which every volume was pulsing with a dull red light.
Charlie tripped over a spittoon and caught himself on an elk-antler coatrack.
"You okay?" asked the proprietor, looking up from the book he was reading. He was maybe sixty, skin spotted from too much sun, but he hadn't seen any in a while and he'd gone pasty. He had long, thinning gray hair and wore oversized bifocals that gave him the look of an educated turtle.
"No, I'm fine," Charlie said, ripping his gaze off the soul-vessel books.
"I know it's a little cluttered in here," the turtle guy said. "I've been meaning to clear it out, but then, I've been meaning to clear it out for thirty years and I haven't managed it yet. "
"It's okay, I like your store," Charlie said. "Great selection. "
The owner looked at Charlie's expensive suit and shoes and squinted. It was clear he recognized the worth of the clothes and was qualifying Charlie as a rich collector or antiques hunter. "You looking for anything special?" he asked.
"Sword-cane," Charlie said. "Doesn't have to be antique. " He wanted to buy this guy a coffee and share stories of snatching soul objects, of confronting the Underworlders, of being a Death Merchant. This guy was a kindred spirit, and from the size of his collection of soul objects, all of them books, he'd been doing this longer than Minty Fresh.
Turtle guy shook his head. "Haven't seen one for years. If you want to give me a card, I'll put out feelers for you. "
"Thanks," Charlie said. "I'll keep looking. That's part of the fun. " He started backing down the aisle, but he couldn't leave without saying something else, getting some kind of information. "Hey, how is it, doing business in this neighborhood?"
"Better now than it used to be," said the guy. "The gangs have settled down some, this part of the Mission has turned into the edgy, artsy-fartsy neighborhood. That's been good for business. You from the City?"
"Born and raised," Charlie said. "Just haven't been to this neighborhood much. You haven't had any weird stuff on the street last couple of weeks, then?"
The turtle guy looked fully at Charlie now, even took off his giant glasses. "Except for the thumper sound systems going by, quiet as a mouse. What's your name?"
"Charlie. Charlie Asher. I live over in the North Beach - Chinatown area. "
"I'm Anton, Charlie. Anton Dubois. Nice meeting you. "
"Okay," Charlie said. "I have to go now. "
"Charlie. There's a pawnshop off Fillmore Street. Fulton and Fillmore, I think. The owner carries a lot of edged weapons. She might have your cane. "
"Thanks," Charlie said. "You watch yourself, Anton. Okay?"
"Always do," said Anton Dubois, and he looked back to his book.
Charlie left the store feeling even more anxious, but not quite as alone as he had five minutes before. The next day, he found a new sword-cane at the pawnshop in the Fillmore, and he also found a case of cutlery and kitchen utensils that pulsated with red light. The owner was younger than Anton Dubois, late thirties maybe, and wore a. 38 revolver in a shoulder holster, which shocked Charlie less than the fact that she was a woman. He'd envisioned all the Death Merchants as being men, but of course there was no reason to think that. She wore jeans and a plain chambray shirt, but was dripping with mismatched jewelry that Charlie guessed was a self-indulgence she justified for being "in the business" the same way he justified his expensive suits. She was pretty in a lady-cop sort of way, with a nice smile, and Charlie found himself wondering if he should maybe ask her out, then heard an audible pop in his head as that bubble of self-destructive stupidity exploded. Sure, dinner and a movie, and release the Forces of Darkness on the world. Great first date. Everyone was right, he really needed to get laid.
He bought the sword-cane for cash, without quibbling, and left the store without engaging the owner in conversation, but he took a business card from the holder on the counter as he left. Her name was Carrie Lang. It was all he could do to not warn her, tell her to be careful of what might be coming from below, but he realized that every second he was there, he was probably increasing the danger to all of them.
Watch yourself, Carrie, he whispered to himself as he walked away.
