"Licks? He found me. Him and some other guys want to organize the musicians."

"Say no more." I could imagine their interest in Saucerhead. Tharpe makes his living convincing people. His technique involves bending limbs in unnatural directions.

Two or three Morleys descended the stair from the second floor, staring toward Licks as the musician hit the exit. Morley had heard about me. Puddle had warned him through the speaking tube to his office upstairs. Hard to tell through the smoke, but Dotes looked irked.

Morley is a breed, part dark-elf, part human. The elf side dominates. He's short, trim, so handsome it's a sin. And sin he does, as often as he can with anybody's wife who'll hold still. He'd grown a little pencil-stroke mustache. He had his black hair slicked back. He was dressed to kill—though his type looks good in anything. He drifted our way, showing a lot of pointy teeth.

"What's that thing living under your nose?"

Saucerhead offered a crude suggestion. Morley ignored him. "You quit working, Garrett? You haven't been around."

"Why work if I don't have to?" I tried looking smug—though my finances weren't comfortable. It costs to keep house.

"You have something going?" He occupied the chair vacated by Licks, waved at persistent weed smoke.

"Not hardly." I gave him my sad tale of woe. He laughed too.

"Imaginative, Garrett. I almost believe you. I have to admit, when you make them up they sound like things that could happen. So what is it? Something hush-hush? I haven't heard about anything shaking. This town's getting dull."

He talked that long only because I was stammering. "Damn! Not you too!"

"You never come around except when you need muscle to hoist you out of a hole you've dug yourself."

Not fair. Not true. I've even gone so far as to eat some of the cow chow his joint serves. Once I even paid for it. "You don't believe me? Then tell me this. Where's the woman?"