More exposition-type stuff.
Before I unfolded my bed I stared at the Mountain for a while like I expected a sudden answer back. Sure, like that’s happened, ever. Or ever would.
Answers would have been great, though. Mount Jeannie’s seen everything Cin City’s ever done or pulled, right from the start. And I mean the start; the mountain was here to kiss the faces of the scruffy conquerors led by old Ronnie the First himself. They say he fell in love with Mount Jeannie on the spot, or maybe with the genie who lived at the crest. Probably it was the second one; if there’s one thing that Ronnie’s dynasty is good at, it’s finding warm beds to sleep in.
But the Mountain’s seen it all. Everything we’ve ever done, all the bad and the good, and She takes it all in and never gives anything back. I wish sometimes She would give some of it back. Give us a clue whether She’s happy, sad, pissed, whatever; just give us an idea of where we stand. But if wishes were horses Deseret might have had enough cavalry to hold off the Universal Dominion.
And if you get too upset about the Mountain not talking back to you, you don’t become a Shamus in the first place. Talking to yourself is part of the job. But at times like this I envied Mike; at least he had people higher up on the chain to gripe to. Shamuses tend to be one per town — even in the capital of New California. It’s a lonely life.
At that thought, I grimaced. The grave’s even lonelier. And there was one right now, all ready and waiting for a girl who got killed for a reason I hadn’t worked out yet. But I would; and when I did, I’d make sure that the bastard who has put her ended up wishing I’d never taken this Case.