|
|
After Trinity left, I sat and stared out of the window and thought for a long time. Once again, I wondered how a Goblin - an individual not easily mistaken for a human except in conditions of near darkness – would manage the purchase of something substantial in the upper world. Like a house, for example? I knew from previous experience that Garrick had been a long-time resident on the surface, so he must have managed it. And, if I knew anything about the crafty old academic, he would have avoided unnecessary risks. After a few seconds thought - lasting, as is usual, for several minutes - the answer was plain enough. It was the same way I would do things in the upper world whenever possible: I use an agent. To buy a house, I would use an estate agent, a realtor, a realtor with good connections, perhaps even connections with somebody in the same business in the Lower Realms. His connection would be a Goblin with his own shady connections: somebody known to a drunk who might also be a Federal agent; somebody who ran a protection agency who might not be too picky about the individuals she protected; in short, one Coupar Angus. Talking of agents, it was time to catch up with Gumshoe again. I was able to reach him by phone at his office at the first try. This might have been a first; under normal circumstances I somehow always end up talking to an answering machine. "Everything okay at Chill's Bar?" "All quiet," he replied, "I've got a few reinforcements in place." "Good. If it's okay with you, leave the protection of Rosie to your friends," I advised, "They don't need to know what's really going on but I'd have thought that a small threat of violence in an Irish bar in New York is unlikely to ring any alarm bells with them." An inarticulate grunt was my only indication of Gumshoe's agreement with my assessment. This was as much as I could expect under these conditions. "You caught up with any of your contacts in the NYPD?" I asked. "Nah. Got side-tracked," he replied, "You think it's time to have another go?" "I think you should," I assented, "See if you can find any traces of Rigg and his merry men." "Yeah," Gumshoe growled, "I'd like to catch up with that particular individual." "Good idea," I demurred, "And, in the meantime, I'll see if I can shake a few leads loose down here." I spent the next few hours pottering about the office sorting the mail, which did not take very long at all, since most of what I receive are either bills or circulars. The junk mail I filed in the round cabinet I keep for this very purpose under the desk, but some of the bills were sufficiently red and annoyed-looking that I squandered more of my siblings' money on making payments. I wrote cheques and licked stamps, interspersed with making a few phone calls, until I had built a tidy pile of envelopes on the desk. I took a stroll along the street to the post office to deposit the letters, with only a momentary twang of conscience at spending money I had not yet entirely earned. I returned to my office to consume a perfectly adequate lunch of sandwiches and beer - sliced smoked rat on toadstool flour bread, if you want to know - bought from the deli counter further down the block. After eating, I put my feet on the desk, tugged my hat over my eyes and settled down for a long afternoon nap.
|
Part 50