Blind God's Bluff A Billy Fox Novel - By Richard Lee Byers Page 0,11
me that they didn’t all live like bums or wild animals. I wondered again if he could possibly come up with a hundred and fifty grand, and then the limo pulled in behind us.
I’m into cars, but I didn’t recognize the make. My best guess was that it was some kind of custom-built Rolls Royce. But instead of the Flying Lady, a gold sphinx crouched at the end of the long white hood. The rest of the trim was gold, too.
The chauffeur matched the car, and I don’t just mean his uniform. His skin was the color of milk, and, even in the feeble glow of the one unbroken streetlight, his side-whiskers glinted like yellow metal. He gave Timon and me the once-over, then helped a passenger out of the back of the car.
The passenger looked like he needed the help. He was a living—well, depending on your definition—mummy, small and shriveled, moving as carefully as you’d move if there was nothing left of you but ratty bandages and dry rot. He had plastic splints strapped to his body to help hold him together, and he was smoking a cheroot.
The sight of him gave me a jolt. I reminded myself that I was going to see a lot of monsters, and I needed to get used to them.
Meanwhile, the mummy said, “Thank you, Davis,” to Gold Whiskers. He sounded like an actor playing an English duke or general in an old movie. Then he looked at the T-bird, and a smile twisted the withered remains of his face.
“Lovely,” he said.
I took a breath. “Thanks. It was my dad’s.”
“I don’t suppose it’s a stick.”
“No,” I said, “those are pretty rare.”
“They most certainly are. That’s why I still need one for my collection.”
“So,” Timon said in a strangled voice, “it’s the car that captured your attention? Then I assume you’re not surprised by my appearance.”
“I’m not, particularly,” the mummy answered, “but not because I’m responsible. Because these things happen in a tournament. The brownwings, was it?”
“I think you know.”
“Well, I may have heard something. Just as I heard that none of your subjects will stand for you. So, unless that nose of yours can sniff out the difference between a heart and a club, or an ace and a deuce, I suppose you’ll have to forfeit.”
“I am not forfeiting,” Timon gritted.
“Really? Good for you. How do you plan on continuing?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“As you prefer.” The mummy’s eyes shifted back to me. Dry and flaking as they were, I was surprised the motion didn’t make them crack or crumble. “A pleasure meeting you, human.”
Davis pulled open one of the hotel doors, looked around, then stepped aside to let the mummy totter in ahead of him.
As the door swung shut, Timon asked, “Why did you mention your father?”
“I don’t know. Why not?”
“Because you never know what they might be able to use against you. Didn’t you listen to anything I told you?”
I had. I just found it hard to keep it all straight in my head when I was talking cars with the living dead.
“I did,” I said. “I just wish you’d warned me I was going to be sitting across the table from something like that.”
“Each of your opponents is unique. We didn’t have time to talk about them all. We still don’t. We need to get inside.”
“Fine.” I pulled open the door, and then I caught my breath.
Dozens of white candles burned in the lobby, some in candelabras, others in a big, glittering wedding cake of a crystal chandelier. Some of the soft yellow light should have leaked out the windows, even through the layers of soap, flyers, and dirt. But for some reason—magic, I guessed—it didn’t.
It did gleam on dark wood and leather furniture and what I thought were Persian rugs. All of it looked old, but in perfect condition and spotlessly clean. As it probably was, because, even standing in range of Timon’s BO, I could smell soap and polish.
The people who’d presumably done the cleaning wore tuxes and waited behind the front and concierge desks. They could refuse to play poker in Timon’s place, but they apparently couldn’t get out of doing other jobs for him. At first glance, they all looked human. Although a couple faces just bothered me for reasons I couldn’t explain.
I shook my head. “Jesus.”
“What?” Timon asked.
“This place is yours. You could live like this all the time, with all these stooges waiting on you. But you’d rather be on the street.”