OK, I knew I was obsessing about being a killer. I’d acted in self-defense with Arno and Kumar, well, sort of. The others I could not explain away so easily, but I couldn’t remember them either. It really was a different Benny who had killed those people. I felt like I should try to be Benjamin now, Benjamin was not a killer, yet I knew could slip easily into old patterns if I didn’t continue reminding myself. A derpaholic needs to continuously remind himself that he is a derpaholic. It’s part of the therapy. It’s part of how you avoid taking another snort, and you always feel like taking another snort. Sometimes it’s easier than not taking one.
I obsessed for a while about Carla being a killer too. My visit with her at her apartment had alarmed me. I wasn’t sure who she was anymore. Was she the woman I took to dinner? Was she woman who was so tearful when she thought she could have had something to do with the Judge’s murder? Or had she found her history, and had that history reminded her that she was an assassin, and had she slipped back into that natural detent in her psyche? And would they send her after me? And what would I do then?
The LeSally bridge was empty and windy. I crossed the river and walked Hacker Drive to Crackson, then continued back over the river and entered Under The River through the southeast stairs. That entrance comes out near Where The Sun Don’t Shine.
People wandering around Under The River that late at night, or that early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it, were viewed with suspicion just as they were topside. I strode purposefully as though I had a destination, so I would avoid being questioned. I didn’t want to attract attention. I wouldn’t be able to give good enough answers, and I could easily end up in the river. That time of year, and at that time of night, I would not survive the cold.
Tiredness grew in my head like a fog rolling in from the lake. The last few days had not left much time for sleep, and what sleep I’d had was disturbed by bad dreams and worries, not to mention intruders at all hours. I tried to focus, but mostly I focused on staying awake.
I walked quickly past the spot where Chen’s place and the brothel had been located the last time I’d come to meet him. I wasn’t surprised to see that the area had been taken over by a beandog stand and a blanket and overcoat resale shop.
The Elves, a fanciful name for the people who kept Under The River working with electrical, photonic, and structural repairs, were working on the main data feed server and had a conduit open with its contents spilled out like so much multicolored vermicelli. The Elves always refused to say who paid them, but in the far depths of Under The River, away from the entrances and from the river itself, lived some people who could afford to keep the plumbing, data, phone and the power all working. They needed the Under The River people as a shield against police incursion. In return, the people who lived there ignored the relatively rich Gnomes who never went above ground, who always lived in hiding.
The warren of offices and apartments stretched under the buildings all the way to Instead Avenue. I’d been back there once, though I couldn’t remember anymore exactly why. The dim halls wound around without any pattern or any right angles as though created by blind moles randomly searching for bugs. The doors were unlabeled. There were also dead ends, which would make it easy to catch someone if they didn’t know the layout well. If I were Chen, and I didn’t want it to be generally known that I was alive, I’d be moving my office and apartment there, if they had any vacancies.
I continued north and a little west, past the other place where I’d seen Chen, where he’d slapped me on the back of the head and told me to get out.
At the time, Chen had blamed me for Paulo’s death. I suspected now that Chen had been trying to blame me because he knew it was his own fault. He’d been more mad at himself than at me that day.
The previous location of his abode had disappeared into the ubiquitous jumble of boxes, drums, tents, tables and left-behind junk. The layout of the little city had changed so much, in fact, that I couldn’t find my bearings, and I couldn’t stand around in indecision for fear of being stopped and questioned. I marched on past and up the north stairs, weary and chilled, though I’d sweated while Under The River.
After I emerged, two men approached from across the dimly lit street. They headed straight for me. I veered to the left, and they changed their angle to intercept. I stopped, figuring to act complacent, then surprise them.
With a start, I realized that this was a tactic I’d used before. For a moment I felt a wave of fear, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by a cocky assuredness. I knew I could handle these two even though I had no idea what I would do.
At four-thirty in the morning, no one would be watching. The rest of the street was empty and silent. There was just enough light to see their teeth. Their type was written all over their shaky smiles and open gestures, which they made to allay the suspicions of anyone who might be watching out a window. Probably used to rolling drunks and maybe a few old folks for pocket change, they would be surprised to find any resistance. At a distance they would try to act friendly and loud, then, when they were close, they would try to bully me quietly. They were young and eager and a little nervous.
I relaxed and hunched over a little.
“Hey, you look cold, old man,” said one when they were close.
The other whispered, “Give me everything you have. Don’t hesitate, or I’ll just kill you. We don’t have any patience.” The first slapped my back in an apparently friendly way.
I slammed the heel of my right hand into the second one’s nose. The impact flung his head back. I kicked the first one in the balls, which bent him over. I grabbed their shirt collars, smacked their heads together then threw them on the ground. I didn’t have any patience either. I wasn’t a street fighter, but they were both groaning on the ground. I could have killed them and I didn’t, which pleased me because it showed I had some restraint at least when I had no special emotional involvement, when it wasn’t about me or about Carla.
I briefly thought about what lesson the two muggers might take from the incident. In the future, they would probably carry guns and get themselves shot.
Walking away, I tried to think of a safe house. I would have to sleep, and I would be naked by the time I woke up if I tried to sleep around there. I hadn’t eaten in more than a day. The violent burst of energy had taken almost everything I had.
Carbide would help a friend in need, and he could use the extra money I would give him for the use of his floor. He was a muscular, hard working man I’d worked with sometimes, doing odd jobs, mostly hard physical labor moving boxes and crates around in the office buildings or making deliveries Under The River where the regular services don’t go. He did more than his own share of the work. His apartment was only a ten minute walk. I circled back once to make sure no one followed me.
Exhaustion echoed on every step as I climbed the stairs to Carbide’s third story walk-up. I stumbled up to his door just as he was going out. Carbide started his day early.
“Hello, Carbide,” I said, trying to sound healthy and in control.
He stared at me for ten seconds before he replied. “Benny?”
I’d forgotten my affected appearance. “Yeah, it’s me. Can I crash on your floor for a few hours?”
“I was just going to a job. I have to rent a truck and move an office into storage Under The River and clean—”
“I’ll give you ten if you let me in.” The stress of the whole week was leaking out of me all over the floor.
Carbide was a big man. He towered over me, making me feel small and even more tired. I must have started to fall asleep, because he grabbed me and hauled me back into his apartment. He shook me. “Benny, I have to go. Are you going to be OK? You stink something fierce.”
“It’s a disguise,” I said and laughed, perhaps maniacally.
Carbide gave me an uncertain look. He left me lying on the floor and retrieved a glass of water. I drank it and told him to go. I pulled out a ten and handed it to
him. He looked at it with what I believe was disbelief, then I fell asleep.
When I awoke, I stood shakily and went into the bathroom. When I came back out, I noticed Carbide sitting at his table looking at me.
“Sorry to drop in on you like that. I needed some sleep.”
“Yes, you did. A log has nothing on you.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s after three. You need something to eat?” Carbide still had that uncertain look even after a day’s work. “I gave you a ten didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but you already owed me twenty.” He wasn’t asking for more money, just making a point.
So my gesture wasn’t so big after all. Carbide was a bit of a sucker, and I’d taken advantage of him a time or two. I guess I did that time too. There I was with a million in my pockets, and I’d given him a ten. I pulled out the last twenty I had in my outer pants and handed it to him. “There,” I said, “that makes us even plus ten, but I’d like to stay here for a few days if I could. Eat some of your food, take a shower, wash my clothes.”
Carbide looked at the money, grunted, then shoved it into his pocket. “OK, Benny. I especially like the shower and washing your clothes part, but who’s after you and did the birds clean up all the cookie crumbs behind you?”
I smiled. Carbide knew me well enough. “I’m not perfectly sure who they are, but I know I didn’t lead anyone here. If you don’t tell anyone I’m here, anyone at all, then there will be no one who knows. I’d like to stay indoors for a few days and wait things out.” Actually, giving Chen a few days to worry might be to my advantage, I decided. Let him stew for a while. Let him think that maybe I’d left town or that someone else had already killed me.
Carbide nodded. “So you want a vegiburger and a beer?”
My stomach made my reply for me with an unusually loud growl. “That answer your question?”
After I’d washed my clothes and myself, Carbide let me sleep on the couch instead of the floor. I slept a lot. The previous events had taken more out of me than I supposed. I used his PAL, watched movies and read the regular news.
Death News had some repulsive pictures of the bodies in the garage, which didn’t do my opinion of myself any good. They said the police had determined that the blaze was an accident, which must have occurred when Arno was trying to refuel his own buzzcar. It was illegal for anyone but a licensed refueler to even touch the fuel bars, but they had determined that Arno had gotten hold of some and refueled his own car regularly. Apparently Denise had admitted to this.
Up Your News carried the same basic story, but with pictures of the burned-out garage after the bodies had been removed.
The guns weren’t mentioned in any of the news accounts. I wanted to search for more details, but I didn’t want to draw attention to my safe house by doing specific lookups on Carbide’s PAL. I’d have to go to the library for that. Which brought up my dilemma. What to do next. I didn’t know how to approach the problem, well two problems really.
First, I wanted to visit Carla. I paced, thinking about what I would say, and how I would act, and what I would ask to elicit a response which would reveal her nature. I couldn’t stand not knowing, yet there was the second problem which got in the way of the first.
The second problem was, of course, Chen. I wanted to talk to Chen, preferably without killing him, and especially without him killing me. And, although there was evidence against him, I didn’t even have enough proof to convince myself absolutely, let alone a judge. I’d decided I didn’t like him anymore, if I ever really had, but I wasn’t absolutely sure he was guilty of anything more despicable than ass thatching.
I was pretty sure that the two who attacked my apartment were the blonde driver, who I now knew was Rela, and the wire-haired guy who worked for Chen, but I couldn’t be positive that they weren’t sent by someone else. They could have been working freelance.
I also knew the police wanted Chen, or at least Kumar had wanted him. If I determined that he had paid for any of the murders I’d committed, I would be able to point the police toward him and let them wipe his memories as punishment. No need to kill anyone.
So, I needed to find out what the police knew and what they wanted Chen for, other than for hiding Under The River and as a witness in the deaths of Paulo and Sukey. I needed to talk to someone in the police department who I could trust, which, at first analysis, left no one at all. Yet I knew that by myself, I wasn’t going to figure out who was trying to kill me. I would need some honest police help.
I felt I could trust Doorway. Oddly enough, I’d liked his manner, and he seemed guileless. If he’d taken part in any illegal activities for Kumar, I’d know quickly enough.
I decided to go find Doorway and have a talk.
Chapter 24
I sat across from the police station in an automat, drinking machine-dispensed coffee and waiting. I’d put my bum disguise back on. It was cleaner now, but I still looked the part well enough. Two hours after I’d arrived, I saw Doorway go into the station. He looked fresh. It would be the start of his watch, so I’d have to come back about six hours later and wait again. On the bright side, he’d walked to work, so I could follow him back home on foot.
The library was open while Doorway was working to keep the streets safe, so I hiked down there to use a public PAL. I bought a jerked beandog at the stand on Bigbash then chewed on the beandog and my plan as I walked south.
When I entered the library, the people inside stared at me. It was unsettling, as though they had seen a wanted poster of me on the wall, or had seen me rushing under the sink when they flicked on their lights at night. There weren’t enough people to bother with the pocket buzzers, so I stood in line, but everyone continued to stare at me even harder. It actually took me a moment to understand that my clothes represented a stereotype that required me to use the public bathrooms, then leave. Knowing this, I smiled back enthusiastically, and, I hoped, somewhat insanely, at anyone who looked my way, trying my best to unnerve them in return.
After a half-hour standing in line and playing psychological games with library employees and the other patrons, I finally got to a PAL. The first search I did was on Kumar. I wanted to see what he’d been doing for the last year or so.
He had a fair arrest record in drug enforcement. I couldn’t find any stains on his character, or really much of anything else. Up Your News, to which I paid special attention since Chen had admitted to editing it, mentioned Kumar briefly as the arresting officer, or as someone who would share in the arrest for accounting purposes, in various crimes. Doorway showed up in two of the photos with Kumar. He was in the background doing the real work in both of them, and in one they mentioned his name, Hero Fish. I had to laugh when I read that. He was an unlikely hero, but an even unlikelier fish.
Since I had discovered his name, I looked him up too. He was in many crime scene photos, but he never shared in the arrest because he wasn’t a detective. This made sense because only detectives were paid by the number and quality of arrests and convictions. The regular guys, like Doorway, just got paid by the hour. Nothing remarkable there either.
Next I looked up Arno. I couldn’t find him at all. He wasn’t even listed as the owner of a company. Even the purchase of his home was done entirely in Denise’s name. No Arno.
There really wasn’t any good reason to methodically keep your name off the public records, but Arno had done it. Admittedly, I’d done it too, but more by accident because there wouldn’t be much for me to show up on. The dole listings were not public.
Che Chen was there, though. He’d coached some women’s soccer a few years back, and he was listed as a backer for a play based on the life of some dancer who married a pathetic slob. It was too sappy even for the play-going crowd. There were a few other things of no great consequence. He was not mentioned in any article or database related to Up Your News. There was no public connection. He was also never mentioned by Up Your News, which had to be on purpose. Chen had been in
the Navy. I found a picture of him and his mates on the deck of a sub, saluting the flag. He was third from the right.
Finally, I looked up the detailed news coverage of the murder of Kumar and Arno. I’d hesitated, and I’d put it off. Although I’d looked up the basics at Carbide’s apartment, here at the library I could search for the details. I’d seen what Death News had, and they wouldn’t have added any more detail, maybe more pictures and some gruesome writing, but no additional details. Up Your News had left it alone, except for its initial and basic reporting. I figured Chen put the slow-down on any further digging by his reporters.
It was Next Day News that seemed to have the most detailed information. They specialized in only telling the news when it was old enough to be correct and then, not only telling what happened, but also what it meant to the average person and why anyone should care.
Next Day News said they thought the scene deserved more investigation and they gave their reasons, which included the speed of the fire, the completeness of the devastation, and the fact that a neighbor, who had been questioned by the Next Day News but not the police, said that a blue Fairchild had picked up someone outside Arno’s house just a few minutes before the fire. They said the police hadn’t been interested in their interview results, even though a police officer had been killed in the fire. They even speculated that the police either had a further investigation going on, or they were covering up an internal squabble between police factions. They didn’t mention the guns.
Police factions were a myth invented by some of the less scrupulous news organizations to explain odd police behaviors. Never mind that these actions were more easily explained by stupidity. The public likes to think the police are smarter than average people, and so they like turning idiocy into conspiracy. In fact, police are not smarter than the people at large. They are basically the same, and the fact that people in general are stupid enough to believe in things like police factions, should serve to remind us that, as members of the general public, police are fallible too. The police hate the factions myth, but angry denials only serve to fuel the speculation.
Walking Shadow Page 15