“The latest edition!” she announced. “Jenny and I bought it not two days ago.” She plopped the tome onto the kitchen table and started rifling through the pages.
“I know what it says,” I growled. I’d bought a copy of it myself, the day before. A professional has to stay abreast of developments in his field, don’t you know? And Jane’s The World’s Perps is the definitive record.
“Here it is, right at the beginning of the section on stranglers. `Greyboar. Category: Professional. Class: Super-heavyweight. Rating: AAA.’ And there’s—”
“I know what it says!”
“—even an addendum. And I quote: `Our AAA rating may well be obsolete, as by all accounts the chokester often known as “The Thumbs of Eternity” perhaps requires his own AAAA rating. With the possible exception of Ozar’s Pythoneus—’ ”
“That twerp!” I grit my teeth. “That poseur! No way he’s—”
Angela blithely drove over me: ” `—no other strangler currently in practice can be considered in the same league.’ ”
She closed the book with a flourish. “So there!”
While she’d been talking, Jenny had left. Now she came back into the kitchen, clutching another book. A very slender volume, with the kind of loose-leaf binding where you can remove the separate pages.
I recognized that one also, of course, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or scream.
I settled for growling. “You shouldn’t be spending money on that kind of useless stuff.”
“We earn enough from our sewing!” snapped Jenny. She plopped the book onto the table next to the other. A mouse next to an elephant.
“This is the one we’d really like to see you guys in,” said Angela, softly. “You’d even get mentioned yourself, Ignace, right there in the text, instead of just being a footnote.”
I curled my lip. “Yeah, sure I would. For about a month.” I marched up to the table and flipped open the new book. Then, pointed to the binding.
“You wanna know why it’s loose-leaf?” I demanded. “That’s because the thing is obsolete the day it comes out of the printers. Half of everybody in it is already dead. Or crippled or maimed or locked in a lunatic asylum or being exorcised on account of they’re possessed by demons.”
I gave the book my very finest sneer. “Jane’s The World’s Heroes, Champions, Knights-Errant, Paladins, Gallants, Chevaliers, Lion-Hearts, Valiants, Exemplars, Beau Ideals, Paragons, Non-Plus-Ultras, Shining Lights, And Other Loose Screws And Goofballs. Ha! Fat chance!”
Angela shook her head fiercely. “It’s different! Greyboar could do it!”
“So could you,” murmured Jenny. Her finger stroked the open pages. “You’d be real good at it, Ignace. Really you would, if you put your mind to it.”
“That’s right!” chimed in Angela. “And you guys could survive too!”
“Survive what? Monsters and mayhem and murtherous demons? Maybe.” I planted my hands on the table and gave them my superb man-of-the-world stare. “Did you look at the companion volume? The one that takes a wheelbarrow to haul around?”
Silence. But they were still glaring at me. Unreasonable women!
Again, my magnificent sneer. “Oh, sure. Jane’s The World’s Toast. Last edition I saw was up to four thousand pages. And guess what’s listed as the cause of death, more often than not?”
Still glaring. As bad as Gwendolyn!
“Starvation, that’s what! Or falling under the talons of a chicken due to weakness from beriberi and dysentery!” I really put the sneer into overdrive. “I can see it already. Me and Greyboar staggering through the Flankn, with signs around our necks. `Will derring-do for food.’ ”
Still glaring!
“You could do it,” insisted Jenny. Her voice was soft, but firm for all that. “You could!” chipped in Angela. More tempestuous, as usual.
The silent standoff that followed lasted for maybe a minute or so. Then I turned and stalked out of the kitchen. Once in the little living room, I plunked myself down in a chair and glared at the wall, my arms crossed over my chest.
After a while, Jenny and Angela drifted into the room. I ignored them for a bit, until Angela plopped herself in my lap and gave me a big kiss. That was hard to ignore. So were Jenny’s hands, rubbing my shoulders.