The Dirty Streets of Heaven

with a limp hen hanging from its jaws. “You’re the one who just did something stupid.” He slowly lifted his hand and set it on the table so the flat black automatic he was holding lay sideways, pointing at me, with his finger still on its trigger. Then he carefully draped his napkin over hand and gun to hide them from the folks in the other booths. “Why do you want to spoil my dinner, Dollar? What’d I ever do to you?”

“Less than I’ve done to you, to be perfectly honest. Remember when I stepped on your neck? Good times, good times. Ah, ah, ah, stay relaxed! I’ve got a big old gun of my own pointing at you under the table. Let’s not turn this into a contest to see how much silver we can put into each other.”

“Silver. You think I’m afraid of silver? You tried that already.” His lip curled. “You missed my balls by a couple of inches, but it’s still going to take me weeks to heal down there, and I heal fast. My girlfriends are all pissed at you. Not to mention that it really fucking hurt. In fact, I don’t think I’m going to listen to any of your bullshit-I think I’m just going to blow your face off!”

“Don’t. I’m not threatening you with silver this time, pal. I’m threatening you with something a lot worse.” I looked up. The waiter was coming toward us. I hoped nobody got startled.

The napkin over Howlingfell’s gun hand twitched a little, but for the moment everything stayed in place. “Worse? Like what?”

“Like your boss. Hang on.”

The waiter took two waters off a tray and put them in front of us. “Hi, my name is Eric, and I’ll be your server,” he said with cheerful disinterest in whatever weird vibe was going back and forth between us, which he couldn’t have helped but notice. “Can I get you gentlemen anything?”

“Vodka rocks for me,” I said. “I’ll just have some breadsticks, but my friend probably wants dinner.”

“I’ll order later,” Howlingfell snarled. “Just bring me a glass of Chianti. The Castello dei Rampolla.”

As the waiter glided away I smiled at my unwilling host. “So, have you really learned to like fancy wines? Pretty good for a kid who grew up on the scorching sidewalks of the Via Dolorosa, Howly. Or do you just like to put anything in your mouth as long as it’s wet and red?”

“Shut up, Dollar. You have something to say about my boss, then say it fast. I’m sick of your face.”

“Okay, fair enough.” I took a breadstick and crunched off the end of it, my other hand still out of sight beneath the table. “I’m going to tell you a little story. About how your boss’s ex-girlfriend ripped him off. And how you helped her do it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He half stood and the napkin over his gun started to slide, but after a moment he controlled himself and sat down again. A few people turned to look at us. “You lying cocksucker!” he said in a loud whisper. “I didn’t know anything about that!”

I was taking a big risk that he might just start a firefight right there in the restaurant, but the last, small part of me that still had any sense needed to know that Caz had been telling me the truth. Outside of the Grand Duke, Howlingfell was the only person still around to confirm her story, and I already knew that threats weren’t going to make him talk to me-after all, here he was in a restaurant less than twenty-four hours after I had put a couple of silver slugs into his pelvis, inches from his jewels, so obviously he was one tough bastard. The only thing he was scared of would be the same thing that scared me-his pissed-off, crazy, murderous boss Eligor.

“Honestly, Fuzzy,” I told him, “for your own sake, don’t do anything stupid ’til you hear me out.”

He showed me lots of teeth. “The stupid thing would be letting you walk out of here.”

I smiled back. “You can decide for yourself, but here’s what you need to know first. My information says that if the Grand Duke catches up with the Countess she’s going to say the two of you were in it together; that she only walked out with Eligor’s…personal property”-I had a sudden attack of discretion because I didn’t know whether Howlingfell knew what had been stolen-“because you deliberately looked the other way.”

“Lying whore!” I thought he was going to pop a vein. His face began to take on the color of a zesty marinara. “I didn’t know anything about it! She got to one of my crew….”

“So it was just a coincidence that the grand duke’s chief of security was slumming as a mere prosecutor’s bodyguard?” I affected a superior laugh. “Right. You were keeping an eye on your investment.”

“Fuck you, angel. Eligor was the one who put me on Grasswax in the first place! I was watching him because the boss knew he was in it with that bitch, somehow.” Howlingfell was beginning to lose control. The idea of his boss blaming him for the theft really scared him, and he wasn’t thinking carefully, which was what I had been hoping. “This is all made-up crap. Do you really think this is enough to get you off the boss’s shit list?” The napkin was definitely moving, which meant his hand was twitching as he got a better grip on his gun.

“Ah, ah,” I said. “You don’t really want to make all that noise in here, do you, Howly? You like this place, remember? Not to mention that after you miss me several times and I get away, you’ll have to explain to the police why you accidentally shot all these nice people.”

Howlingfell picked up his butter knife and ran his thumb down its smooth edge, his hairy hand trembling ever so slightly. “I don’t need my gun to do you, angel. I could kill you just fine with this. Or my bare hands.”

“I don’t know why nobody wants to hang out with you, Howly. You’re fun.” I stood up, then-carefully, so as not to alarm him-and took out the note I had written before coming in. “I’m going to be on my way now. Before you call for reinforcements, or even decide to try to butter me to death on your own, I strongly suggest you read this. But only if you value your continued torture-less existence. As you keep pointing out to me, your boss is a bad character to cross.” I set the envelope down on the edge of the table as I turned. Seems I wasn’t too careful and the envelope fell onto the floor. As he watched me, eyes almost glowing with hatred, I headed for the door. I confess that my muscles were tensed since I was half-expecting to get shot in the back.

I looked back and saw him lean down to pluck the envelope from the floor so I hurried out of the restaurant. As he tore it open and read the words, “Stay away from the osso bucco, I hear it’s not very good tonight,” I was climbing into my car.

By the time Howlingfell burst out the front door of Il Milanese with his gun out and a face like an enraged, shaved pit bull, ready to blow me to tatters, I was already speeding away down the Camino Real.

My dangerous due diligence performed-so far Caz’s story about Grasswax and the feather was holding up-I got on with the rest of my list. First I phoned Clarence. I still had my doubts about him, but I’d thought of a way to kill two birds with one stone.

“Wow, Bobby, are you okay?” he asked when he picked up. “What happened? I saw The Compasses…!”

“Yeah, yeah, it was all very exciting. Most fun I’ve had since Grampa Dollar confused the gasoline and the corn liquor. Are you at home?”

“Um, yeah. I mean, I will be in a few minutes. I was just at a restaurant. My roommates are out tonight.”

I had no idea what that meant. “I was just in a fine dining establishment myself, but I didn’t eat anything but breadsticks so I may pick something up on the way. I’ll see you in about half an hour.”

“But…!”

I hung up before he wasted my time trying to talk me out of it.

Cruising across town in the Benz was less than exciting. I’ve never liked diesels. They root and snort like Fatback looking for a truffle, and they’re about as fast to respond as the complaints department of a major corporation. Still, it beat the hell out of walking, so I rolled down the windows and did my best to enjoy the evening. I grabbed a couple of tacos at a fast food drive-through and ate them as I drove, dropping bits of tortilla shell and tomato into my lap and onto Orban’s floorboards. I wondered where the ghallu was now-was it hunting for me this moment, or did it only go where it was sent?

As I headed up Whipple toward Brittan Heights I passed the angled white bulk of Sequoia Hospital and thought about Sam lying there in emergency, stuck full of tubes and with nothing to do (if he was conscious) except listen to Jimmy the Table’s boring stories about the good old days in Spanishtown, when Jimmy had first been an advocate back in the seventies. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, let alone my poor buddy who couldn’t even get up and walk away, and for a moment I was strongly tempted to pay Sam a surprise visit. The temptation only lasted a moment, though: I was feeling pretty good because my bluff had worked on Howlingfell, but I also knew I really shouldn’t push my luck.

I had previously dropped Clarence off in front of the big house up in the heights, but this time I had to get out and look for the front door, which was harder to find than you’d have guessed. I finally found a door, and after I’d been knocking for a while Clarence showed up.

“Wow, so…you’re here.” He was wearing gray, old-fashioned sweats, like he’d been working out, and white running shoes. I’d rather die than wear white running shoes. In fact, it might even be what killed me in the first