“Zouad was a dead man from the minute Raven named his name,” I told One-Eye. “Maybe from the minute he did whatever it was back when.”

One-Eye grunted, discarded. Candy picked up and spread. One-Eye cursed. “I can’t play with these guys, Croaker. They don’t play right,”

Elmo galloped up the street, dismounted. “They’re moving in on that whorehouse. Got something for me, One-Eye?”

The list was disappointing. I gave it to Elmo. He cursed, spat, cursed again. He kicked the planks we were using as a card table. “Pay attention to your damned jobs.”

One-Eye controlled his temper. “They’re not making mistakes, Elmo. They’re covering their asses. Comic has been around us too long to trust.”

Elmo stomped around and breathed fire.-“All right. Backup plan number one. We watch Zouad. See where they take him after they grab him. We’ll rescue him when he’s about ready to croak, wipe out any Rebels around the place, then hunt down anybody who checked in there.”

I observed, “You’re determined to show a profit, aren’t you?”

“Damned straight. How’s Raven?”

“Looks like he’ll pull through. The infection is under control, and One-Eye says he’s started to heal.”

“Uhn. One-Eye, I want Rebel names. Lots of names.”

“Yes sir, boss, sir.” One-Eye produced an exaggerated salute. It became an obscene gesture when Elmo turned away.

“Push those planks together, Doughbelly,” I suggested. “Your deal, One-Eye.”

He did not respond. He did not bitch or gripe or threaten to turn me into a newt. He just stood there, numb as death, eye barely cracked.

“Elmo!”

Elmo got in front of him and stared from six inches away. He snapped his fingers under One-Eye’s nose. One-Eye did not respond. “What do you think, Croaker?”

“Something is happening at that whorehouse,”

One-Eye did not move a muscle for ten minutes. Then the eye opened, unglazed, and he relaxed like a wet rag. Elmo demanded, “What the hell happened?”

“Give him a minute, will you?” I snapped.

One-Eye collected himself. “The Rebel got Zouad, but not before he contacted the Limper.”

“Uhm?”

“The spook is coming to help him.”

Elmo turned a pale shade of grey. “Here? To Oar?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, shit.”

Indeed. The Limper was the nastiest of the Taken. “Think fast, Elmo. He’ll trace our part in it.... Cornie is the cutout link.”

“One-Eye, you find that old shit. Whitey. Still. Pokey. Got a job for you.” He gave instructions. Pokey grinned and stroked his dagger. Bloodthirsty bastard.

I cannot adequately portray the unease One-Eye’s news generated. We knew the Limper only through stories, but those stories were always grim. We were scared. Soul-catcher’s patronage was no real protection against another of the Taken.

Elmo punched me. “He’s doing it again.”

Sure enough. One-Eye was stiff. But this time he went beyond rigidity. He toppled, began thrashing and foaming at the mouth.

“Hold him!” I ordered. “Elmo, give me that baton of yours.” A half dozen men piled on One-Eye. Small though he was, he gave them a ride.