Full of Grit pt. 3
The good doctor and the eyes
‘A stupid wanker lost his eyes and Barton was his name-o, Barton, Barton Holm, Barton, Barton Holm, Barton, Barton Holm, and Barton was his name-o.’ Having that running through my head as I make my way down to him. What’s left of him in the basement. Vat 7. He’s lost a good deal of mass since I last saw him. Diet special of the 9. Come as you are, leave through the drain. Slimmed down to almost nothing. Standing in front of him, contemplating.
Double o 7. Went to a business meeting. Way Arthur said business means whore. What whore? Whore floor. Dangerous place for cattle to be. Bosch rules there, and the sisters. But not exclusively. Hm. Can’t really butt into Bosch’s business. He’s a bit allergic to that. Not that we didn’t have some dealings before. And the sisters? One of them thinks I’m an apparition, the other mocks my fashion sense. Both of ‘em have no idea what to do with me. Likewise. It’s all Greek to me. Can’t be the little whore that found him. Needs to be someone much more powerful, sublime.
Might need to go back up to Bishop, now that I got a name. Nope, won’t help. Bishop deals in faces, not names. Holm, Holm, name rings a bell. A distant one. Holm steel works. Tamer of iron, builder of bombs. But not Barton. Isajah. Ages ago. Fucking marble can’t muster more than a glance of recognition. Dead end.
Going at it from a different angle. Barton ended up with no eyes. Someone must have taken those eyes. Precisely, surgically, with care. Enucleation. Description I got was that the sockets lined up perfectly with the coins. Not brute force, but delicate work. Only person in the 9 who has knowledge and practice with that would be Godfrey. Bonus points for him being close.
Sauntering up behind him in his office. He’s reading a massive medical textbook. Engrossed in the tome. Tumbler of brown liquid beside him. Guessing whiskey, but not sure. Waiting for him to look up. Takes half an eternity. Could have killed him ten times over if I’d wanted to.
“Griffin!”
Ah, finally. Thought I would have to click me heels together if it had taken any longer.
“What brings you here?”
“Got a surgical question.”
He puts a bookmark in the tome, closes it, sits upright, fingers in a steeple. Precise Godfrey. All earnest concentration and meticulous movements. Speaks in a precise clip too. Easy to understand.
“Alright. Did you change your mind about the bullets? Do you want me to take some of them out now?” Good man is getting excited. Leaning forward with hands on his desk and everything.
“Nope. Not concerning me.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to keep all those things inside you. It’s not good for your health.”
Can’t be bothered. Can’t be arsed. So I shrug. “Eye removal surgery, ever done one of those?”
He looks down, askance, moves his fingers so they touch each other, shifts in his office chair. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. His posture is a confession. I sit down. Give him a smile. He shudders.
“Listen, I don’t want to talk about it. A discreet favor. Bastard was already topped and ready for the slab when I walked in.”
“Favor to whom?”
“Someone dear to me.”
Hm. Has to be one of his lovely ladies of the night. Miss Parker or Moxie. Most likely Althea, she kills. Moxie steals, would have taken the damn coins. Still have a strange feeling seeing Althea as a grown ass woman. She’s the kid. Was the kid. Will always be the kid in my mind. But she’s fucking Godfey. Fucking Moxie. A real ménage à trois. Let ‘em all get off with each other. Not my monkeys. But the coins? The coins are.
“Your dearest have anything to do with the coins?”
“Yes, there were coins, but I’ve not a clue about them.”
Good man Godfrey’s too scared to lie. He knows the weapon I carry. Has seen me use it. Knows I’m faster and almost as precise as he is. Not to mention twice as large. I believe him.
“Just try to remember a bit more detail,” I say.
“They came from the client, I think. Part of the job. I only did the surgery. It had to be done by someone with expertise, proper skilled so the eyes could go to the client intact.”
Thinking, percolating. Why would they need them? Trophy? No. Too much fuss. Intact, intact. Has to mean something.
“Could ya put them into someone else and they could see?”
Godfrey scratches his chin. Takes a pause, takes a breather. “Possibly.”
Coins on the eyes. Fucker had been killed and then shown enough respect to get the money to cross over. Aria does that. Aria is Greek. The writing on those two coins ain’t Greek. Ain’t English either. Wish I could look at them again. Only saw them once. Know they were old. 1800 something at least. No idea what they're worth. Old dude on one side, some coat of arms on the other. Thought I saw writing in Latin. Can’t be sure. Only saw them moving around in a gloved hand. Traveling between palm and fingertips, palm and fingertips. Hard to decipher moving objects.
Damn, getting sidetracked. “Who was the client?”
“I have no fucking clue mate,” says Godfrey.
Nodding. Would make sense. Have to go watch his vixen for a spell. Hope it’s not too disturbing for the kid. Sees more than she should, that one. Will have to find out who her client is. Yep, new plan. Godfrey gets up.
“While you’re here, why don’t we look at your injuries one more time? Make sure nothing rattled out of place, gone pear shaped, yeah??”
Nope, no way. Not getting into that contraption again. Walking out of his office and all the way to the service elevator. Riding up in a hurry. Only realize once I’m up at 9 that he probably said that to get rid of me. Sneaky fucker.