by E M Gale
“Ah, I see. Would that be the sort of job that don’t ask questions?”
“Heh, no, that’s why I got your IDs.” I grinned and drew on the cigarette, and then waved it around for emphasis. “But then again, I’m flexible.” The orc grinned at that. “In all, there’s five of us looking for work.”
“There’s nothing I know of at the moment. But you hang here?” the smuggler asked, jerking his thumb at the modern art.
“It’s my favourite dive.”
“I’ll send someone in if I hear anything.”
“As it happens”–Grolgamesh grinned at me–“I might have heard something useful. I’ll go and talk to them now.”
The smuggler looked stunned.
I smiled pleasantly at Grolgamesh. “Thank you.”
At a signal from the smuggler they got up.
“Just ask for Ol’ Grolgamesh if you need anything else hacked.”
I wondered if he meant people or machines. I smiled again: he’d warmed to me at least.
The smuggler looked perturbed, but said, “Roberts. They know me here.”
I got the feeling the phrase ‘They know me as that here’ would have been more accurate.
‘I might possibly need a third ID in a different name, just to be safe.’
Since it was polite, and since they already knew my name anyway, I introduced myself.
“Clarke. Pleasure doing business with you.” They nodded, then said goodbye.
As they left Roberts said: “You’ll ‘go and talk to them now’? I didn’t know you were the type to lose judgement over a pretty face.” I didn’t catch Grolgamesh’s reply, but his throaty laugh echoed down the stairwell.
I moved up to the bar to better hear the gossip. Nothing too interesting and I kept tossing my head around to try to disperse the odour of stale cigarette smoke that just wouldn’t leave me. After a while a guy came in and looked around the room. Spotting me, he came and sat next to me. He didn’t order a drink but instead looked me over appraisingly. I eyed him back. He was in his mid-forties with neat brown hair and hazel eyes. He was, oddly enough for that bar, wearing a nice, smart suit. He smelt odd too, of bleach, antiseptics and a slight odour of blood. Nice.
“Hello,” he said.
I smiled sweetly. His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second. If I was concentrating, and I was, I could pick out his heartbeat. It quickened: he seemed excited about something.
‘Hmm…’
“There’s three reasons you could be here.” He put his hands on the bar, fingers spread out. His fingernails were cut short and straight. The skin on his hands was pink, scrubbed clean and smelt of lab ethanol.
“Oh? Are you a fortune teller then?” I asked flirtatiously. I was on my guard, but I thought I did a good job of not showing it.
“You’re obviously not a dockworker,” he started. “But you’re in a dockworkers’ bar, so you must be here for the other, er, shall we say, services?”
‘Oh?’
“I don’t think you have much difficulty getting partners.”
‘Wow, it’s like he knows me.’
I smiled at him and raised my eyebrows. I’d never liked people who used their intelligence to reason about me: that way lay truth.
“So… you’re either on the lam, or you think you’ll be on the lam soon.” He tittered nervously as if he was embarrassed to be using such unfamiliar words.
‘Baaaaa. What the hell’s ’the lamb’? Is he accusing me of being a criminal?’
“You look relaxed so I don’t think you’re in trouble yet.”
‘Well, never really out of it, to be honest.’
“And I presume you’re not planning to make trouble here. The yakuza don’t take kindly to it.”
‘Yeah, I’m not that dumb.’
My interest had been piqued, but I waited him out, doing my best to keep my face from being expressive.
He smiled, laughter shining in his eyes along with excitement. I understood that look–it wasn’t the excitement of getting a conquest, but the excitement of making a sale.
‘What is going on here?’
“Therefore, you’re either looking for in-space work or transport, and if you’re still here, you must not have enough money to get off this rock.”
‘Great deduction, Holmes. That’s why I’m in a bar.’
“So”–he tapped his palm on the bar twice–“in conclusion, you’re after a ship and a job.”
“Huh,” I grunted.
He smiled, as if he was pulling an ace out of his sleeve. “And one of the crew told me an orc said you were looking for a job.”
‘Oh? It’s easy to ’deduce’ the answer when you knew it beforehand.’
“Maybe I just like it here. Interesting decor.”
“Hmm.” He glanced around the bar again. “Less decor, more a bad clean-up job.”
‘Ah, that might be why I like it then.’
“Of course,” he continued, interlacing his fingers under his chin, “it may be that I have what you want.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Well… maybe you do, but what’s in it for you?”
‘Few people act out of genuine altruism.’
“The captain needs a few more useful hands.”
“Uh-huh, and he gets the ship’s doctor to hire them, does he?”
The man stared at me, wondering how I knew. I waited him out.
“OK, the captain does need workers.” He leaned forward eagerly. “However, I’m interested in someone of your… condition.”
‘Shit.’
“Oh, condition, eh? Would that be the condition of being a woman or being drunk?”
‘Bloody teeth. He clocked them when I grinned, didn’t he? That’s why he got excited, he wants to study a vampire. Shit.’
He smiled. “So… you can drink alcohol then? What are you: turning?”
‘Damned if I know. Shit.’
“Y’know, I don’t think I need a job that badly.” I turned away from him and picked up my drink.
“Hold on.” He was looking at me sincerely, his hand on my arm. I stared at his hand. He removed it and chuckled nervously. “Look, I can get both you and your coworkers a job on a spaceship leaving tomorrow. I can talk the captain round to letting a va–”
I glared at him. He smiled apologetically.
“–someone of your abilities on the ship. You get off this rock, you get a job, decent pay.”
‘Shit. But he knows I’m a vampire. Worse than that, he’s a doctor, a curious doctor. Is there anything more bone-chilling?’
“I’m not going to try to dissect you.” He sounded sincere.
‘In some ways it would be nice to know someone who knows what I am without freaking out, but why does it have to be an enthusiastic doctor? But then again, I have a little over one thousand pelfre left. If my friends pawn their stuff we could live here for another week, maybe. But I don’t want to wait that long. Who knows how often ships even call in here?’
I took a swallow of sake.
‘Damn, I don’t feel like I have a choice.’
“What sort of work?” I asked. “Illegal or just dubious?”
He smiled, assuming that he had made his sale. “More on the dubious side. Mostly legal, but on the exciting side of legal.”
‘What the hell does that mean? Well, it sounds like a grey area to me. I’m not sure we would do well on a completely legal ship. Despite Grolgamesh’s assurances, our IDs might not pass close inspection and if people ask questions, my friends will give us away far too easily. However, I’d rather not descend into a career of criminality if I have the choice. After all, it’s not like I’ve committed any crime here and now. Being a vampire isn’t a crime, neither is being a time traveller. But a little smuggling perhaps, a few people without the proper documentation. The cuddly side of crime. The softer side of illegality.’
I took a sip of my drink, looking at him over the glass. He looked happy and, God help me, enthusiastic.
“What�
��s your name?” I asked.
“Dr, as you guessed, Harvey M. Cleckley,” he said stiffly, bowing his head.
“Oh.”
He looked at me expectantly. I waited.
‘To be honest, the only reason I’m not telling him my name is out of pique. Which is silly.’
I held out my hand. “Clarke.” We shook hands. “Pleased to meet you,” I added; he seemed like the type to appreciate politeness.
“That’s your name? It’s… short.”
“It’s what it says on my ID.” I grinned.
He looked confused at that.
“Anyway, we leave port tomorrow afternoon. I’ll come by here in the morning. If you’re interested, be here.”
I chewed on my lip and regarded him thoughtfully.
‘Is this genuine? I don’t like the ’persuade the captain’ part, but I guess it’s worth a punt.’
‘Then again, it’s dodgy. Something about this doesn’t smell right. And what do I know about these people? There’s an orc on the crew and the doctor knows I’m a vampire…’
Cleckley was observing me: it was a little disconcerting.
‘Maybe I’d be better on a ship where they don’t know what I am? Or a ship with no connection to orcish smugglers…’
I sighed.
‘This is stupid. Buying false IDs is probably illegal, so taking the job from the people who sold me the IDs is dumb. Let’s take some time, find out a little more and not jump at the first offer that comes along. After all, I have options, right? I always have options…’
‘And Dr. Cleckley is far too eager.’
“Well”–I stood up to leave– “I’ll think about it.” I took a deep breath. “Oh, and, er… about my… condition, I’d rather you kept it quiet… even from my companions. They, uh… well, they don’t know.”
He nodded.
‘I guess he expected this. Vampires are, after all, known for being subtle.’
“Of course. Patient confidentiality.”
I bared my teeth at that.
‘I am not his patient.’
I downed my drink, nodded to him and left the bar.
* * *
We’ll Just Have To Use These Then
I strolled the streets, meandering, observing the people around me. As I did, I chewed on my knuckle, considering how we could eke out our remaining funds.
‘No two ways about it, I need more cash. It’s that or take dodgy Dr. Cleckley’s dodgy offer.’
My misspent youth had included picking up a few skills not often found in physicists–although I’d heard that Feynman was a skilled lock-picker–and I’d kept them sharp with occasional practice. I thought of it as harvesting the street. Y’know, the street giveth and the street taketh away, and in times of need, you just gotta harvest those gifts.
But New Kyoto was making me nervous. I had walked past a bicycle, unchained, in the basket of which some woman had left her handbag, just held in place with some stretchy rope. I was about to dip in when she came round the corner and I pretended to tie a shoelace. I looked around. Many other easily stealable bikes, no handbags.
‘And why aren’t they stolen? Because of what the yakuza do to petty thieves.’
I kicked a small stone and watched it bounce into the gutter.
I was still strolling, oppressed by the large shiny obelisks of the central business district. There were fewer aliens around here. Women in the uniform of office ladies, P.A.s, all heels and navy skirts, with the occasional one in the pale beige power suit of the professional. Men in the salaryman costume of black or navy suits, white shirts, and sober ties.
‘Easy pickings.’
I pondered what happened to a salaryman who turned up in a non-white shirt. Was he taken out the back and hanged secretly?
Then I was in a park. Plenty of Japanese and expat aliens indulging in that strange Japanese habit of falling asleep in public–
‘Who the hell keeps an eye on your bag, your virtue or your baby?’
–even a woman on a bench napping as her baby gurgled in a nearby pram. Then I saw him. An easy mark. A fifty-ish-year-old Japanese man–
‘Can’t run well.’
–on a park bench shielded from the sleeping woman’s sight by trees–
‘Private.’
–slowly chewing his rice-ball-based lunch–
‘Distracted.’
–watching the carp in the pond and not his wallet, which was peeking out of the breast pocket of his navy suit jacket neatly folded next to him on the bench–
‘Just sloppy.’
I scoped out the situation again. A big Japanese guy a little way off eyed the pond whilst smoking a cigarette. A sleeping mother and another salaryman stretched out on a bench, sleeping like the dead. I crept up on the bench, walking sideways to stay behind the salaryman, putting my feet down carefully and slowly to make no noise and then crouching to keep out of his sight. Another quick scope around. A turtle dived into the pond. The mother and smoker hadn’t moved. A fish plopped up to the surface of the water and I reached for the wallet. My fingers brushed the battered Italian leather. I could see a fat wodge of pelfre–
‘Good choice of target, Clarke.’
–and then it was in my grasp. I glanced at the salaryman, just chewing, and I retreated: something must have alerted him, divine providence or more likely the instincts of one who knew the ebb and flow of the street. He tilted his head, a hand stretched out grasping my wrist and he turned to look into my eyes. I pulled out of his grasp easily, but there was something odd about it. A glimpse of his hand revealed that he was missing a finger, the little finger of his left hand, and I saw a flash of red and black–an odd faded tattoo that started politely at the point where a shirt-sleeve would end.
‘Shit–yakuza!’
And then I was running. I heard noises behind me and a shout caused me to glance back. The smoker, perhaps the old man’s bodyguard, was giving chase. Instinct took over and I threw the wallet away from me. It bounced off a cypress tree as I sprinted.
I was out of the park and pelting it down one of the wide empty streets. I turned off and took one of those little side streets where there were no people, but I didn’t believe that there were no observers ready to tell the yakuza which way I’d gone.
‘Stupid bloody city with stupid incomprehensible rules! Why the fuck are yakuza dressing like businessmen? How does that make any sort of sense?’
I kept running, weaving through the city, trying not to get lost. Then, after causing several startled glances, I slowed to a fast stride, with my hands deep in my pockets and many furtive glances over my shoulder to check that the pursuers were definitely gone.
‘I left the wallet, so there’s no injury to punish, just the insult.’
‘And what do you think the yakuza do to stupid street thieves who are dumb enough to pick on them?’
I looked at my hands. They were shaking slightly.
‘Surely they won’t bother?’
My friends were sitting in the ryokan’s lobby, like they were waiting for me.
‘We are going to have to take Cleckley’s offer. It isn’t that bad, really. Compared to what the yakuza might decide to do…’
Sighing, I took my shoes off in the porch and eyed my friends uneasily, ready for some sort of ambush.
“Evening,” I mumbled as I walked past them to the coffee machine and fed it some coins to get hot, milky, sweet tea. I felt their burning gazes on my back, but no one said anything. I stood there for a moment, my back to them as I opened the tea can. I tried to forget about the yakuza and instead focus on my friends. I could hear their hearts beating, smell their scents; they were agitated, worried. I knew they were looking at me, but my vampiric senses couldn’t tell me why.
‘Time to find out the old-fashioned way, I guess.’
I wandered over and perched on the edge of a sofa. It wasn’t bright in the ryokan, so I took my sunglasses off and put them in my jacket pocket. They were still quiet. Rob
was hanging his head in showy depression.
‘What is so wrong?’
I started to worry as well. “So… what’s the matter?”
Mark answered me: “We… well, we found out how much it was to get transport to Earth…” He eyed Rob.
‘Ah, they went to do that together, and Mark is left to tell me the bad news whilst Rob indulges in melancholy. I even hear a heartfelt sigh or two from Rob’s corner. Honestly!’
“And it’s a lot. We pawned all our stuff–”
“Ah, I suppose my share’s somewhere round here then?”
Anna handed me a stack of notes. A rather thin stack.
‘What sort of price did they get?’
“What did you sell?” I asked, confused.
“Our phones and music players. Anna’s watch,” said Jane.
“And this was one fifth of all you got?”
Anna nodded sadly.
‘Oh, dear. What on Earth did they do? OK, I ought to have pawned it myself. Oh, well.’
“OK, go on with the bad news, Mark,” I sighed, pocketing the cash.
“Well, the tickets are expensive. About a hundred times more than what we have there.”
‘I doubt that. I bet they didn’t look for the really crappy economy seats. But, for the time being, I’m more than happy to let them think we can’t afford it.’
“Not that it matters, as we can’t book tickets without an ID. Or even get anywhere near Earth without one. And, of course, our IDs aren’t valid here.”
“The teller suggested we bribe the yakuza,” whispered Anna.
‘Jesus, don’t mention them, Anna!’
“But we can’t do that! They’re criminals!”
I looked over my shoulder.
‘Would they really bother to look for me? It was only a wallet and I left it.’
“And too pricey,” I added.
“And how would you know that?” asked Rob.
“Because I got a quote,” I lied, trying not to laugh.
“Yeah, yeah, Clarke, very funny. This isn’t the time.” Then Rob sighed, in case we had forgotten he was being depressed.
“OK, being serious,” I said, still managing not to laugh somehow. “You haven’t got any money for tickets to Earth, you haven’t got the IDs you need to buy tickets to Earth, and you’ve got no idea how to get either. And, more to the point, you’ve only got enough money for just under a week’s worth of lodgings here. And that’s if you don’t eat.”