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Tarsapple didn't wait for me to thank him. I don't think he wanted to be seen associating with me any more than absolutely necessary. I watched him stalk away for a few moments, then turned my attention to the card he had given me. "Martin Gamshank and Associates," I read, "Private Investigations". In English. With an address here in New York, and a couple of telephone numbers. I flipped it over. Blank, except for a tiny faint scribble in one corner. Could have been mistaken for a random doodle. But it was a single word, in Goblin runes. It read: "Visitor". It was already the middle of the evening, when any self-respecting business person would be at home eating dinner, or at least on his third drink at his favourite bar. Still, it was worth trying the numbers, just to see what happened. I tugged my hat down over my eyes and strode off in search of a telephone booth, one which actually worked. The first number went straight through to an answerphone. "Gamshank and Associates. The office is now closed. Leave a message..." I hung up, saving my quarters for another day. The second number was more promising. It rang four or five times, and then was answered with a gruff "Yes?". "Mister Gamshank?" I began, in my best imitation of a chipper English accent, "We've not met, but you've been recommended to me by a mutual acquaintance. I’m a Visitor." There was a pause from the other end of the phone, one that somehow suggested rapid cogitation rather than confusion. "I'm sure you are. I'm Gamshack," came the reply, "I expect you'll want to meet. Somewhere quiet, out of the way. Somewhere dark, perhaps. And soon." "That would be excellent," I replied, in a more normal voice, "Do you have somewhere in mind?" "Raines Law Room on West 17th Street," he said promptly, "It's a bar. Twenty minutes. I'll be in a booth at the back. Come alone." "Okay," I said, "See you there." "Good," was the only reply. Then the phone went dead. A man of few words, it seemed. I did wonder how I was supposed to recognise a random human who I've never met, but it turned out not to be a problem. Raines turned out to be the kind of bar which even the regulars would find hard to locate. A miniscule sign which I nearly walked past was the only indication that the place was a bar, and barely enough illumination leaking through the windows to show that it was in fact open. Inside, it was very quiet, with just a little tinkling music in the background. It featured a decor with much well-polished dark wood and even more well-polished leather. Very few drinkers, and those who were present seemed intent on their own conversations. Nobody as much as turned a head as I entered. Just how I like it. I took a few minutes to get the layout of the place straight in my head. The management had obviously put some thought into providing a multitude of semi-private spaces, most now vacant and almost all dimly-lit. But there was one little area, set well back and furnished with old-fashioned leather-clad chairs, which did seem to have a solitary occupant. I approached slowly, cautiously. The table was bare except for an open bottle of beer, a shot-glass containing some quantity of amber fluid and a small bowl of assorted beer nuts. Behind the table, rather effectively filling the overstuffed chair, was a squat and blocky man with one hand wrapped around the bottle, apparently studying the label closely. He seem to be waiting for something. Or someone. "Hello," I said softly, "Gamshack, I presume?" The figure tore his gaze from the bottle and looked directly, appraisingly at me. Deeply-set alert-looking eyes took in the short figure in front of him, bundled up in a raincoat and with a brimmed hat pulled down over his face. He nodded slowly. "Yes. And you'll be the one I'm expecting. Please join me." He didn't offer to shake hands. Even in gloves, which I always wear when I'm up in the surface world, my hands have the wrong proportions to be easily mistaken for human, at least at close quarters. Instead, with his free hand, he indicated a high-backed chair which faced away from the open room. A good choice. I would be effectively invisible from all but the most intrusive interloper.
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Part 14