by John Bowers
“What now?” Victoria asked.
“Start walking.”
Victoria was now facing the front of the castle. Behind her, Trevor was getting over his shock.
“What did she do, Brandy? Why are you doing this?”
Brandy spun on him.
“I told you to shut up! Go back and play with your train.”
“Just tell me what’s going on. What did she do?”
“She came here to kill Ken.”
“That’s not true, Trevor!” Victoria said.
The pistol barrel slammed into the side of her head.
“Shut up! Keep moving!”
Victoria staggered, but kept walking. She wanted to say more, to warn Trevor that he was working for a killer, but if she did, Brandy might do something to him.
She might anyway.
The front of the castle was sixty or seventy yards away, and the walk seemed to take forever. Their path took them past the workmen at the flatcar, and she wondered how that would play. They reacted with surprise and stopped what they were doing, watching the younger girl with the gun march the intruder past them.
“Whatcha got there, Brandy?” one of the men called.
“Trespasser. Nothing to worry about, we’ll just call the sheriff.”
And that was it. Victoria made eye contact with two of the men, but couldn’t tell by their expressions which way they might lean. She felt she had to take a chance.
“She isn’t going to call the sheriff,” she told them. “She’s going to shoot me, so if one of you would call the sheriff, that might be a good idea.”
Brandy laughed.
“Yeah, right.” To the men: “She’s been stalking Mr. Tinker-Smith for months. This is the first time I’ve been able to catch the bitch.”
One of the workmen grinned.
“Leave her here with us. She can stalk me all she wants!”
The others laughed.
Victoria’s heart sank.
Chapter 23
Hardwood – Tau Ceti 4
It was another freezing night. Alert for a possible assassin, Nick left the sheriff’s office on foot, his breath frosting in the chill air. At least it wasn’t snowing.
Across the street, Hilda’s Café was still open, the interior warm and inviting. Roof vents spewed kitchen steam, spreading the aroma of hot food down the street. Nick considered briefly—he hadn’t really eaten all day—but he was tired. Damn tired. The previous night had been restless, thanks to that hideous nightmare, and he’d felt gritty-eyed all day. He was hungry, but didn’t have the energy to eat. He would be better served getting a night’s sleep and starting over tomorrow.
He turned toward the hotel, walking steadily in the chill night. He still didn’t know where Victoria was, but if she had hired the taxi to take her on a tour, she might be anywhere, and the fact that she hadn’t returned didn’t necessarily mean she was in trouble. He felt a nagging worry, but forced it to the background. Without knowing where she was, there was nothing he could do. Why did TC 4 have to be three hundred years behind the rest of the galaxy? Pocket phones were useless here.
He could see the hotel in the distance. The sidewalk in front of it was ablaze with light. The owner had been there when he left, with two or three armed men hanging around for security. After the murder, no one in the building would feel safe until the killer was caught, but Nick suspected that might be a forlorn hope. If he was right, and the killer was one of Saracen’s girls, she was probably long gone—or lying in wait somewhere for Nick himself. She had killed Viola Fricke and Harry Jones in an effort to find him, but now that she knew his home base, Nick was probably the only one in danger.
That was his theory, anyway.
He crossed a darkened street and walked the last block toward the hotel. As he passed the recessed entrance to a flower shop, he heard a sneeze. He stopped walking and froze, his right hand closing around the grip of his .44. As he gazed into the dim doorway, he spotted a small figure sitting on the ground, huddled into the recess to keep out of the wind.
He leaned down for a closer look. Even in the dark, he could see glittering eyes peering back at him. He knelt on one knee.
“Mijo? Is that you?’
“Hi, Nick.”
“What are you doing there? It’s freezing out here.”
The boy shifted his position, arms around his knees, which were drawn up to his chin.
“I don’t got nowhere else to go.”
“What about your abuela?”
“She don’t live here. She’s in Lago.”
“Why didn’t you go home?”
“I tried to, but there was too many people around the train station. I couldn’t get past them.”
“Well, you’ll freeze to death out here. Come on, get up. You can spend the night in my hotel room.”
The kid leaped to his feet, shivering.
“You got any food in your room?”
“No. Are you hungry?”
“I ain’t had nothing to eat all day.”
“Why not? I gave you a wad of money.”
“I went to the café, but they wouldn’t feed me. Said I probably stole the money.”
Nick sighed.
“Come on, let’s get some supper.”
With the boy at his side, Nick retraced his steps to Hilda’s Café. It was warm and cozy inside. Nick parked Mijo at a table and sat down facing him. A waitress brought menus. Mijo decided on beef stew, and Nick had the same. For thirty minutes they didn’t talk as they wolfed the hot food down. When they were done, the boy’s eyes drooped from exhaustion. Nick knew just how he felt.
When they arrived at the hotel, two men confronted them. Nick showed them his room key, then they looked at the boy.
“Is he with you?”
“He is. For one night, anyway.”
The hotel owner leaned across the desk.
“He isn’t registered here.”
“Well I am. I have a room for two, and my roommate isn’t here tonight, so me and the boy make two. If you want to argue about it, we can take it into the street, but I’ll win.”
The man looked at Nick, at his guns, and his expression changed.
“You’re the man that found Viola’s body, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You and I are good. Have a nice evening.”
Nick nodded and headed up the stairs, Mijo on his heels.
Inside his room, Nick set about picking up everything that the intruder who trashed the place—almost certainly Viola Fricke’s killer—had dumped. He sorted the items as he recovered them, placing Victoria’s things into a piece of her luggage, and his own into another. As far as he could determine, nothing was missing.
“What happened to your room?” Mijo asked.
“We had an uninvited guest.”
“¡Jesu cristo!”
Ten minutes later, everything was basically restored.
“You want a shower?” Nick asked. The kid definitely needed one.
“No.”
“Take one anyway. You’ll sleep better.”
The boy shrugged. “Okay.”
Tuesday, September 18, 0447 (CC)
Trimmer Springs – Alpha Centauri 2
Kristina looked up in surprise as the stringy-haired guy entered the shop again. He wasn’t wet this time—the weather was clear—but was wearing exactly the same clothing he’d had on the day before. She took on a guarded expression as he approached her. His anger from the last visit had faded, but he didn’t look exactly friendly.
She tried on a smile, but it was an effort.
“What can I do for you today?” she asked as his smell washed over her.
He pulled some cash out and threw it on the counter. He reached for the earrings on the rack.
“I’ll give you fifty terros for these. How about it?”
Her green eyes narrowed with anger at his impudence.
“I’m sorry, but the price is four hundred. I can’t change that.
”
“Four hundred! They’re not even worth fifty.” He held them up. “Lookit, they’re not even real silver.”
“They are white gold with diamond chips. My cost is three hundred terros and if I sell them for less than that, then I lose money.”
He thrust them into her face and shook them under her nose.
“Tell me how this is worth four hundred terros! Or even three hundred. There’s nothing to them.”
“Take a closer look, sir! There are intricate designs in each earring. Each one is hand-crafted.”
He flung the earrings onto the counter and stepped back.
“That’s the problem with the universe!” he snarled. “Why does everybody have to be so fucking greedy?”
“Greedy? Do you know what ‘hand-crafted’ means? Somebody with a magnifying lens and a lot of patience spent hours assembling each one. That kind of craftsmanship isn’t cheap. And the raw materials—the gold and diamonds—are expensive to begin with.”
“Well, they shouldn’t be. People should take pride in their work for its own sake, not for the money.”
“Sir, everybody has to eat. Everybody has bills to pay. I’m sure you don’t want to work for free, do you?”
“No, but I donate a lot of my time to worthy causes. I don’t get rich at other people’s expense.” He stepped forward and patted the cash on the counter. “Fifty terros. That’s all I’m willing to pay. Take it or leave it.”
Kristina stared at him, feeling just a stir of unease. He hadn’t threatened her, but his demeanor was unsettling.
“I—”
The bell rang and the front door swung open. Kristina felt a measure of relief as Kevin Dougherty stepped inside.
“Morning, Kristina!” he said in a cheery voice.
“Hi.” She smiled. She looked at the customer again. “I think you should try another shop, sir. I simply can’t accept your offer.”
The smelly man wadded up his money and thrust it into his pocket. His glare was pure hostility as he backed away.
“Fine. You just lost a sale. And I’ll tell April never to shop here again!”
He turned for the door and almost bumped into Dougherty, who stepped aside just in time. On the way out, the man slammed the door so hard Kristina thought the glass might shatter.
Kevin watched the stranger stalk away, then raised an eyebrow at Kristina.
“One of your preferred customers?”
She sighed as the tension drained out of her.
“I don’t know who he is. He said he wanted to buy his wife a present because she just had a baby, but he balked at the price. Now he comes back and offers me a fraction of the price and got really nasty about it.”
“Who is he? I haven’t seen him around town.”
“I thought you might know. He told me he lives on the Trimmer Plain.”
Dougherty shook his head. “I doubt that. That’s cult country, and he sure doesn’t look like one of them.”
Kristina frowned. “The other night he said his wife’s name was Heather. Now he said April isn’t going to shop here anymore.”
“Is he talking about the same person?”
“I don’t know. We don’t have any customers named Heather or April.”
Dougherty stared out the window again, but the ragged stranger had moved out of sight.
“Something fishy about him, I think. If he comes in here again, give me a call. I don’t like him.”
Orosi – Tau Ceti 4
Connie Ventura woke when she heard the clatter of keys and the clang of the cellblock door. She was lying on her side on a narrow, uncomfortable bunk, still wearing her clothing from the day before. It had been a long, frustrating night. She hadn’t been booked or even formally arrested; no food had been brought and she hadn’t talked to a soul since Williams locked her up. Now she blinked away sleep and glanced at her watch.
It was seven in the morning.
She swung her feet to the floor and yawned. Williams entered the hallway and approached her cell carrying a covered tray, the key in his hand. The smell of eggs and bacon set her mouth to watering.
“How you doing, Connie? Sleep okay?”
“No.”
He unlocked the cell and stepped inside, then set the tray down on a chair.
“Hey, I’m sorry about this. But I have to obey orders. You know how it is.”
She didn’t blame Williams, but saw no point in letting him off the hook. If he felt the slightest bit guilty over his part in this, she could use that to her advantage. It pained her to do it, but:
“Take that away. I’m not eating it.”
“You haven’t had anything since noon yesterday. You’ve got to be hungry.”
“Damn right I am, but I’m not eating anything as long as I’m in this cell.”
Williams looked at her with distress in his eyes.
“Look, I’m sure you’ll be out of here in a couple of hours.”
“How do you know that? Did Roger say so?”
“No, but—”
“Then get that tray out of here. And take yourself with it.”
Williams stared a moment longer, then picked up the tray and backed out of the cell. Connie watched him lock the door and retreat. She stretched out on the bunk again, her stomach growling. The lingering aroma of the food was torture.
Twenty minutes later, Williams was back. His expression reflected satisfaction.
“What did I tell you, huh? Chief wants to see you.”
“Tell him to go to hell.”
“What?”
“If he wants to see me, he can come here. I’m not going to him.”
“What difference does it make? He’s probably going to cut you loose.”
“Did he say that?”
“Well…no, but—”
“Good-bye, Williams.”
She glared at him until he backed off. Once again he left the cellblock.
Another twenty minutes passed.
Connie heard the rattle of keys again, the rumble of the heavy steel door, and Chief Roger Blankenship strode into the corridor. He stopped, his thumbs hooked into his gunbelt. His somewhat beefy face looked like a thundercloud.
“What is your fucking problem, Connie?”
She stood up and advanced to the cell door, peering out between the bars.
“You are, Roger. You are my fucking problem.”
“I don’t have time for your bullshit.”
“And I don’t have time for yours. If I get fired over this—”
“You won’t get fired over this. I can guarantee that.”
“You talked to Carter?”
“I did. He assured me that he won’t fire you for missing work yesterday, or for getting locked up.”
Her eyes narrowed. Blankenship’s expression was just a little too smug.
“Helping Nick Walker escape justice, however, is another matter. He did fire you for that.”
Her face twisted into a snarl.
“Fuck you, Roger!”
“Fuck me all you want, but I’m not the one who obstructed justice. Maybe you’d like to explain why you did that?” He held up a hand. “And please don’t give me that long-lost cousin routine again.”
Connie turned her back on him and paced across the cell, trembling with anger. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then turned to face him.
“If I thought I could trust you, then I would tell you. Until then, I don’t think so.”
“You can’t trust me? I’m the chief of police!”
“You’re a two-bit bureaucrat in a third-rate town on a backwoods planet. Your galaxy view doesn’t reach more than three inches past the end of your nose.”
Blankenship’s eyes widened a fraction and his face burned red.
“And who the hell are you, Connie? When did you become so high and mighty?”
“I’m not ‘high and mighty’, but I am aware of things that you know nothing about.”
“So you’re not the woman I thought y
ou were?”
“No. And you’re not the man I hoped you were.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It isn’t supposed to mean anything. What it does mean is that, when we first started dating, I didn’t realize that you were hired muscle for Bert Carter’s racket.”
“What racket?”
“His union! You don’t really think he’s in it for anything but money and power, do you? All that bullshit about representing the working man? Did you really buy into that?”
Blankenship turned even redder.
“He’s a con man, Roger, pure and simple.”
“What does that make you? You’ve been working for him for over a year.”
She didn’t reply.
“Are you a spy? Some kind of infiltrator?”
“None of the above. I’m an observer, nothing more.”
He turned and glanced down the corridor to make sure the door was closed. He turned to her again.
“Are you observing me, then? Is that why you came on to me?”
She laughed. “I didn’t come on to you. It was a mutual attraction. We came on to each other.”
“Who do you work for?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“Maybe not, but I want to know. Tell me.”
“I don’t think I can trust you.”
“I’ve never hurt you, have I? I’ve never abused you in any way.”
She lifted her chin.
“The union meeting the other night—what were you going to do to Walker when you got him outside?”
“Nothing. Bert wanted him out of there because he was distracting the men from more important matters.”
“Bullshit. You were going to work him over, weren’t you?”
“No. I don’t take part in that.”
“But the men with you—they do.”
Blankenship frowned, looking uncomfortable.
“Bert pays me to keep order at those meetings. Nothing more than that.”
Connie took a moment to study her fingernails, then pinned him with her dark eyes.
“If I showed you evidence that Carter was dirty, would you arrest him?”