Dead Man's Hand Read Online Free Page B

for their kids were
produced by zombie labor, but that was the elder Quibble’s problem.
The word was that most of Bascom’s money came from re-animating
recently deceased pets. The bereaved, it seemed, were willing to
hand over baskets of cash just to have Fluffy back for a week or
two until the decay set in and made the whole thing ghoulish.
Bascom had needed me about six weeks ago when he’d done a bad job
on a Great Dane that had done some serious damage at a dog park.
The settlement had cost him a fortune, but at least I’d kept him
out of jail for criminal negligence.
    “ Bascom and I are square,”
I said. “And besides, he has bad memories associated with that
case. If I show up at his shop, it’s not likely to make him feel
all cuddly.”
    “ Will you try?”
    She had the dignity not to go into a pout,
not to lean forward and let her cleavage do the talking. She was
asking me honestly, one person to another. Even so, I shook my
head.
    “ I don’t see much point,” I
said.
    Her expression turned grim. With those dark
red, sharp nails of hers, she reached up to finger the silver chain
around her neck. The crucifix popped out of her blouse. “Not even
to return a favor?” she asked.
    I narrowed my eyes at her.
    “ I won’t be able to get him
to do it for nothing. A discount may be the best I can
swing.”
    A smile spread across her face, and she
dropped the crucifix against her chest. “Anything would help.”
    I hesitated a moment, then said, “And I want
a cut.”
    “ A cut? I told you there
wasn’t going to be any money in this. Whatever program Rincon was
hacking for Yancy, I’m giving straight to Clancy.”
    I shook my head. “Not without figuring an
angle for yourself first. You profit from the information that
thing gives you,” I said with a nod to the hand in the bag, “and I
get a cut. Just a little. But a cut.”
    “ How will you know what I
get from the hand?”
    “ I’ll have to trust
you.”
    She nodded, raised an eyebrow, and extended
her hand. “Two percent?”
    “ Five,” I said, reaching
out to shake on it.
    “ Done. Can you get me
Bascom by tomorrow?”
    “ I’ll do my
best.”
    “ Good. I don’t know how
long this thing will stay viable.”
    She stood up to put it back in the
refrigerator. Then, our dealings done, she offered to drive me back
to my office building, but I insisted she call me a cab instead. We
shook hands one more time at her door before saying goodnight.
    It was closing in on one in the morning by
the time I got downstairs. Most nights, I’d have just been getting
started, but tonight I was beat—maybe from the lingering effect of
the attack in the Mirage, the drinks I’d consumed, or just dealing
with Pixel and the sight of the dead man’s hand in the baggie. I
couldn’t have said for sure what had gotten to me, just that I was
done in and wanted to get myself home and behind a locked door. On
top of all that, I noticed a sleek black van parked in front of the
building across the street from Pixel’s complex, and in the
moonlight I could see the ForeveRest logo on its door. The funeral
home was doing an intake, and for some reason, it gave me goose
bumps up my forearms and across my chest. The cab couldn’t get
there soon enough.

 
    Three
     
    The whole thing with Bascom Quibble was a
washout. I got to his factory at about two in the afternoon after
spending the morning chasing down information on the phone for the
legitimate cases I was running. The place was big and gray, tin
siding on the walls, and no sign at the street. Bascom had a nice,
neat little storefront in a different part of town with a waiting
room, upholstered chairs, coffee and tissues for the bereaved.
That’s where he made his money with a cute secretary to work the
sympathy and credit card angle. But the real work was done here,
where it just wouldn’t do to have the families of the legitimately
departed actually get a hint at the process that could bring their
loved