“You talk to Rose?”
String cocked an eye prong. “But yes. She most willing to help. Unsure if pouchling problem. Say she will work it out.”
“Kendra can look after her sisters for a while,” David said.
A small dark man in a shirt and slacks rolled a metal cart to the table. He handed Mel a bowl of red sea curry, Della a plate of pepper steak, and David a plate of pad ka-prao. He set a stainless-steel bowl of sticky rice in the middle of the table, then looked at David.
“You need beer.” It wasn’t a question, but David nodded his head. The man looked at Della. “Sweet sour sauce?”
“Yeah, hon.”
He looked at String. “Hot mustard.”
“What about me?” Mel asked.
“You fine.”
David helped himself to rice, then spooned chicken, onions, broccoli, and the intense brown sauce onto his plate. He bit into a thin, tender sliver of chicken and speared a strip of onion.
“Where’s Pete?”
Della rolled her eyes and chewed a mouthful of rice. “He can’t get those Elaki straight on their terminals. That little one, that Ash, his keeps screwing up. It won’t accept his voice patterns.” She ate a baby corn cob from Mel’s plate. “Hey, but there’s a two-inch printout on your desk, Silver.”
“Of victim similarities?”
“Lot of it’s background information. It’s in the file, so you can scroll through if you want. But the graphs and comparisons—that’s all in the printout.”
“Just give me the rundown. Cut to the chase.”
“Pete’ll be disappointed.”
“I’ll look at it later.”
The waiter took David’s empty bottle and set a fresh beer on the right side of his plate.
“Okay. Similarities.” Della chewed a piece of steak, then wiped her mouth delicately with the corner of a napkin. “They all got some connection to Angel’s group. Those Guardians.”
David raised his beer, then frowned and set it down. “What connection, exactly?”
“Well. Dahmi. She went to the lectures. Assuming she’s part of it.”
“She’s part of it,” David said. She was the key, if he could figure it out.
“Okay, and Arnold. He’s actually doing research on the Izicho. Past and present. And he’s on the faculty with her.”
“Angel.”
“Yeah. Assuming Arnold was the target—and the reason the McCallums got whacked. And the Elaki. He worked with Arnold. Some kind of student at the School of Diplomacy.”
Mel stabbed a large piece of shrimp a split second before Della got to it.
Della glanced over at David’s plate. She fingered the collar of her shirt. “There’s the other two. That Beston bunch. Whole Elaki chemaki and pouchling. Two of the Elaki males from the chemaki had direct connections to the Guardians. They were some kind of gofers for the organization. Like, you know, somebody who works in a political campaign.
“And that couple with the teenage girl and the … what you call them, Elaki exchange students? The girl and the Elaki attended lectures pretty regularly. Elaki were doing some research work on them.”
“You know what’s funny about this?” Mel said.
David chewed a chunk of broccoli. “What?”
“I mean the victims. Not exactly movers and shakers there, in the organization. Know?”
Della leaned back in her chair. She sucked a piece of ice up from her glass, then pushed it into the pouch of her cheek. “Yeah. But if they’d gone after the big guys, we’d of been onto the political thing first off.”
“So?” Mel said.
“If they’re trying to put the fear into people, then it makes sense.” David spooned brown sauce onto his rice. “The hard-liners aren’t going to be scared off. And if you off them, you create instant martyrs. People get mad, and the organization flourishes. Plus, you get heat, because the big ones have the influence.”
Mel chewed another bite of shrimp. “If I were them, I’d go after Angel.”
Della shook her head. “Did you hear anything he just said?”
“Be worth it,” Mel said. “’Cause she’s got a heck of influence. Best she gets out the way.”
“If you’re looking for repression, and you go after the little people,” Della said, “then they get scared. They feel vulnerable. And you got no grass roots support.”
String waved a fin. “Angel too hard to get. Protection big. Still has Weid. Constant companion.”
“Weid?” Mel said.
“Elaki like a man/hench. Loyal companion guard the body. He be with her since early most days. They try to kill her, but Weid kill them.”
“Describe him,” David said.
“Umm. Small height—like human. Thick, for Elaki. Many scales missing patch. Bent up the eye prongs.”
David cocked his head sideways. Had Weid been the Elaki who was hanging around the dorm, watching him question Donovan and Dreamer?
String cocked an eye prong. “He has what you call the sexual aura.”
Mel waved his fork. “Ought to be able to spot him right off.” He swallowed. “But, you know, just out of curiosity, what is it exactly gives an Elaki his sexual aura?”
“Ah,” String said. “You see—”
David checked his watch. “Got a lecture.” He took one last drink of beer, wiped his mouth, and grabbed his jacket. Della was inching a fork toward his chicken before he’d pushed his chair in.
The waiter stopped him on the way out the door, offering a basket of fortune cookies. He took one from the bottom of the pile and broke it open as he went through the bead-covered door into the chill, black night. He crammed the broken cookie into his mouth and unraveled the white strip of paper. There was just enough light in the parking lot to read the fortune, printed in large black type.
WHAT BEGINS AS FLIRTATION COULD BECOME SERIOUS.
David tucked the fortune into his jacket pocket.
THIRTY-TWO
David stood in the balcony of the ward benden lecture hall. A draft of air came from his left, strong enough to ruffle his hair. He stayed back in the shadows, watching. The room beneath was warmly lit, the oak parquet floor waxed and gleaming, and the rows of folding chairs full. An Elaki, late and hurried, glided across the floor on his bottom fringe. David thought of ice skating.
The wall behind Angel Eyes was a bank of windows, floor to ceiling, and the night pressed close and black. David shivered, thinking of snipers. Angel stood before a microphone, her contralto voice enveloping her audience, most of whom were Elaki.
David leaned forward. Something or someone was moving, just outside the window. Someone with a light. Impossible to see much from inside. David watched, muscles tensing, as the pinpoint came closer. The light moved close to the door and disappeared. The door opened quietly, and an Elaki slid in.
Weid. David smiled with the side of his mouth, wondering about Elaki sexual auras.
The audience didn’t notice Weid. There were few fidgets, none of the humans coughed, no one whispered or left early. David could not distinguish the words, but he was affected by the rhythm of speech, the cadences that were alternately soothing and invigorating.
Then it stopped. There was a silence, then the humans applauded, self-consciously. Chairs scraped the floor. One human (One human? David asked himself) moved hesitantly toward Angel, but was swept aside as three Elaki slid across the polished parquet floor.
Weid appeared behind Angel. David saw Angel move sideways and lift a fin. Weid moved back and away.
Know each other well, David thought.
He turned and went down the stairs. Elaki were leaving, others talking in groups. The Elaki were tall, making it hard for David to see.
A large noisy group was forming, and David saw Donovan and Dreamer. He moved to one side to watch. Angel Eyes was still talking to a steady stream of Elaki, though she was inching toward the door. She moved sideways, then stopped when she saw him.
Her eye stalks slante
d in his direction, and the conversation stopped. The knot of Elaki encircling her turned and looked. For a moment it seemed that the room grew silent, though he later decided it had only seemed that way. His face felt warm. He folded his arms. He was aware that Weid had spotted him, and was studying.
The door opened and closed loudly, breaking the silence. There was movement from the left. An Elaki came quickly, rudely, through the crowd. She was intent on Angel Eyes, who seemed not to see the approach and was making her way to David.
Angel lifted a fin and David moved forward.
“No popcorn tonight?” There was something in her voice that sounded like a laugh.
David smiled. “I’d have brought some, if I’d known you were hungry.”
“I am hungry. But I would guess you have the questions?”
David saw a flurry of movement to his left. The Elaki who had pushed so rudely through the crowd was almost upon them. Her pouches were loose. A Mother-One.
The Elaki stopped. David looked back, wondering why, after being so forceful, she did not come close. She turned her back, and threaded her way into the crowd. David frowned. She had seemed familiar.
“Detective?”
David looked back to Angel. “I’m sorry?”
“I just said … do you think we might talk over a meal? Have you eaten?”
“No,” David lied. He was grateful he’d left Mel and String behind. Angel would best be handled gently.
“I know of a favorite place—”
“Angel?” Stephen Arnold caught sight of David and froze. “Hello, Detective.” He turned to one side, standing slightly in front of David. “Angel, the kids.” He inclined his head toward a knot of Elaki and humans, Donovan and Dreamer included. Weid stood to one side, close to the students, but separate. They were all watching. David wondered if he was imagining the hostility.
Could be the cop thing. Harassing the idol. Though in his opinion she hadn’t seemed harassed until Arnold showed up.
“The kids asked me to use my influence.” Arnold was smiling, but he looked exhausted. The skin on his face looked tight, and there were bags beneath his eyes. His shoulders were rounded, slumped over. “They’re going over to Brownie’s again tonight. They want to buy you a beer if you’ll come. And, of course, they loved the lecture.”
“Ah, Stephen.” Angel sounded tired. Maybe, David thought, even annoyed. “I think not tonight.” She waved a fin, almost touching Arnold, but not quite. “Why do you not go with them?”
“Maybe I will.” Arnold’s back was straight and stiff. He turned to David. “Anything to report, Detective?”
“Not just yet,” David said. “Have you been all right?”
“My daughter freshly murdered and tortured, Detective? No. I haven’t been all right. Do you know, Angel? That the police suspect me of having something to do with her killing?”
“But no, Stephen.” Angel’s voice softened as she turned an eye stalk to David. “I must be sure you are mistaken on this.”
“My main concern is for your safety, Dr. Arnold. I think you’re wrong not to accept our protection. Unless you know something I don’t?”
“I know that I’d be damn glad for whoever murdered my baby to come after me. I can handle myself. I’d just like a chance to handle them.”
“No, Stephen.” Angel turned to David. “Detective Silver is most correct. You should be careful. We could not afford to lose you now.”
Arnold put a hand on her back scales, just where her body flared. David noticed the quiver, quickly suppressed, before Angel moved almost imperceptibly, just out of reach.
She doesn’t like to be touched, David thought.
“Not to worry, Angel. Everything I have is backed up. All my notes, everything. The study’s complete. The conclusion—first draft is done, and I’m revising. The gist of it’s there.” Arnold nodded curtly at David. “I’ll leave you to your interrogation.”
“Actually,” David said, “we’re just having dinner.”
Arnold narrowed his eyes, then turned and walked away. David wondered why he had said what he did.
THIRTY-THREE
Angel had folded in the middle and tucked herself into his car without hesitation.
“I like this, David.” She peered at the lights and dials on his dashboard. “I have had the secret desire to ride in the police car. Much is the gadgetry.”
“You need to ride in a cruiser.”
“You have pouchlings, David?”
“Three.”
“So many.” She sounded wistful. “Are they the golden hair blue eyes?”
“What, with me for a father?” David shook his head. The car took a turn he did not expect, and his hands slid on the steering wheel. “My wife is dark, too. Brown-eyed, curly-haired brunettes. All three.”
“Is your wife also the police officer?”
“No.” David frowned, wondering how best to describe Rose. As always, she defied description.
“What does she do? She is like Elaki Mother-One, then? All time for the children.”
“Nooo. Rose is a sort of free-lance troubleshooter. She works with animals a lot.”
“I see. If you have animal misbehavior, she will train.”
David turned left onto Merton Avenue. Angel had programmed the car. He didn’t like the section they were heading into.
“No, she doesn’t train animals,” David said. “She protects them.”
Angel was quiet and David glanced sideways. The Elaki’s belly rippled—a genuine Elaki laugh.
David cocked his head sideways. “Why is that funny?”
Angel turned to him, and leaned back into the seat.
Caught you, David thought.
“Please excuse,” she said. “It just seem to be the funny. Animals call you wife for help. But how?”
“You should answer our phone for a week.” David laughed, but felt a little bit traitorous. He glanced out the rearview mirror. Where was this place?
Angel leaned close, pointing out the windshield. “It is there, see? Is Café Pierre.”
The Café Pierre occupied the bottom half of an old, white brick building built into the jutting triangle of the street corner. It was one of those odd places of peculiar and definite ambiance that seemed to attract Elaki.
The shutters were freshly lacquered in black, and there were lush red geraniums in the window boxes on the second floor. David would have expected tables outside. There were none. But then, Elaki would not care to dine al fresco. Not when a good strong wind could blow them next door.
“Okay.” David told the car to park. He crossed the street beside Angel, watching for traffic. She seemed oblivious to cars, preoccupied. She swarmed gracefully up the front stoop of the restaurant.
“Is charming place,” she told him.
A huge glass window on the side wall was dust-streaked and cracked in the top left corner. BAR was stenciled in large white letters. A red-checked curtain, thin and dusty, hung in the bottom third of the window. The door was two-thirds glass, with a wood bottom panel. RESTAURANT was stenciled across the top of the door, with PIERRE a few inches down in ornate script.
David followed Angel in. He looked around and blinked. An odd place. A period place.
The floor was ancient patterned linoleum, none too clean. A mahogany wood bar ran the length of the back wall, and on the shelf behind it were glass bottles of liquor. David looked closely. They were filled to varying degrees with amber and clear liquid, but they had to be fake. Liquor hadn’t been available in bottles for years.
There were fresh flowers behind the bar—black roses. Another vase sat on the wood ledge that separated the dining room.
“Good evening,” a man said, his voice low, depressed.
David gave him a second look. He stood beside the bar, arm resting on the surface. His trousers were loose cotton, black, banded tightly at the ankles over large, oversize leather work shoes. His pullover sweater was hunter-green, old and nubby, and the shirt beneath wa
s black like the pants, and buttoned all the way up to a tight collar. He wore a shabby black blazer, the lapels wide.
His face was harsh and hawk-nosed, and he didn’t smile. His hair was dark, short, and greased back over a round skull. His eyebrows were dark. He looked past David and Angel Eyes, into the night.
“What do you think?” Angel said.
“Smells good,” David said. It did. Garlic, gravy, wine.
The man looked at David, eyes flat and uninterested. “Order the beef bourguignonne.” His voice was rough, accented. David couldn’t place it.
“My table open?” Angel asked.
The man nodded, but did not look their way.
“Who is that?” David asked, voice low.
“That is Pierre,” Angel said, moving quickly away. David followed her to the back of the café.
The tables were mahogany, solid and round, perched on pedestals, so there was plenty of room for legs. The tabletops were high, like bar tables, able to accommodate Elaki, who would stand, and people, who could sit on tall, slat-back chairs with wide, padded armrests. Elaki and human could dine eye to eye prong.
The tablecloths were thin, striped, some of them had holes. They reminded David of dish towels his mother had used in their kitchen, before his father disappeared. Died.
He glanced up at the ceiling. Plaster? It was cracked from one corner all the way to the center, where a globe light hung from a nest of red ceramic flowers. Why did it make him think of genitals? From somewhere came a burst of music. Country blues.
“Ah,” Angel said. “The classic. Patseeee Cline.”
“Who?” David said.
“She was singer. Before you time, David.”
“How do you know her?”
“I know the music, David.”
David glanced over his shoulder. “I’d have expected something classical. Or jazz, maybe.”
“Pierre play what he like. What he like different, no pattern type. Most of it very good, but not my personal taste the calliope music.”
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