The Ultra Thin Man

by Patrick Swenson

  Brindos inched toward the street, pulling his coat tighter around him, pulling the hat down over his eyes. On the street he’d just be a stupid Hulk out of his district, subject to ridicule similar to the kind received from those kids.

  At the same time, the attack on the Helk district had likely changed things. Since it had happened under the cover of night, the general public, particularly here, across town, might not have heard about it. If they had, it was possible any Helk found outside of the district would become a target, not just Terl Plenko.

  Conceivably, however, Brindos could work his way to the Orion Hotel without too much trouble. The trouble would definitely escalate once he got there.

  Out he went to the street. Not a soul there. The lights up and down the street seemed brighter than they should be, but toward the heart of the business district, the lights were even more numerous, glittering in the windows of the tallest buildings. In a flash of recognition, he saw the tallest building rising from behind the others, a single word near the top glowing in bright white LEDs: ORION.

  Here we go, he thought, walking forward, his right shoulder brushing against the building.

  The timing was anything but convenient.

  A vehicle turned onto the street off the side arterial in front of him and came his way. He didn’t look too closely at it, but it was black, and quite small. Definitely not a ground bus or some other public transit vehicle. Brindos took its appearance as a sign to hurry forward, thinking he might be able to blend into the night, or at the very least, hope they didn’t see him close to the building. Then he could turn up the arterial the vehicle had just left.

  A good plan in theory, but the moment the vehicle passed, the tires screeched on the wet pavement as someone inside applied the brakes.

  Goddamn it. Brindos ran for the corner. He heard the engine gun a moment, then the whine of reverse as the vehicle backed up. Could he lose them once he made it to the side street? Duck into another alley? Just before he reached the corner, the tires screeched again, the vehicle stopping. A door opened.

  “Alan!”

  Brindos paused halfway around the corner of the building, recognizing the voice. He turned and eased back to the main street. “Dorie?”

  “Get in!” She stood next to the back door of a small passenger car, her thin frame and black hair, the rain slicker, all recognizable in the streetlights.

  Brindos didn’t hesitate, running toward her and her open door. She bent down and disappeared inside just as he started to wonder how he would fit in there. It didn’t matter, because nothing was going to keep him from folding himself into this car.

  He nearly threw himself in, head first, crawling over the seat as Dorie held out her hands, coaxing him toward her on the far side. His head in her lap, looking at the back of the front seat, he pulled his legs in, jamming his knees into his chest.

  The car took off abruptly, the door pulling shut with the sudden speed.

  “Got you,” Dorie said in a whisper, one hand stroking the top of his bald head. The car took a sharp turn to the left, then accelerated again.

  “Thanks,” Brindos said, but he didn’t give her a lot of attention. Still facing away from her, he had a narrow view of the space between the front seats, the driver hidden except for the back of his head.

  The gray wispy hair a dead giveaway.

  The car slowed considerably, and then the driver turned toward him.

  “Hello, Mr. Roberts,” Joseph said.

  Brindos grimaced as a sliver of pain sliced into him.

  Joseph smiled. “I was right about you,” he said. “NIO through and through.”

  “Joe,” Brindos said. “I’m definitely through with the NIO.”

  Joseph twisted his head back to the front while the car made another turn, this time to the right. Dorie held Brindos around the middle, doing her best to keep him from sliding around.

  “You think so, Mr. Roberts?” Joseph said loudly over his shoulder.

  “Alan Brindos.”

  “Brindos. Yes, Miss Senall told me as much.” He turned toward the back again. “But honestly,” he continued, “do you really think you’re through with the NIO?”

  No, he thought. Not in the slightest.

  Twenty-five

  Jennifer landed her shuttle on the outskirts of Kimson, close to the main road into town. The night had given way to the light of day, although it was still quite early. That didn’t stop a good tourist town from rolling out its sidewalks and attractions early, getting a jump on the day.

  Forno and I hopped out and Jennifer told us to be careful, that it was possible word of what had happened at the tent city of New Venasaille had reached Kimson. We needed to lay low the best we could.

  Of course, finding out Jennifer Lisle had a copy out there made things even more interesting. Although Forno had killed the copy, someone here in Kimson could be waiting for her to make an appearance. She didn’t want to go barging into the Kimson police station, or connecting with any NIO office, if one even existed here. So we told her to mind her own advice and be careful.

  She knew that, and said she’d land the shuttle on the opposite end of town. She could track Forno’s earring if she needed to find us again. She fired up the shuttle and left us there.

  “The main road from the spaceport goes straight into Kimson,” Forno said. “A handful of blocks and it’ll run into Amp Street.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “I was here years ago too.”

  “That’s right. When you met Cara.”

  I nodded. “Things were a lot different then, obviously.”

  “Obviously. You know where the WuWu Bar and Grille is, then?”

  “Haven’t been there since that first visit, but yeah. I know where it is. Straight down on Amp Street from the Flaming Sea, a couple of blocks.”

  Forno nodded. “Should I go in with you?”

  “Be my bodyguard?”

  “I’m only Second Clan, but I’m bound to be bigger than anyone else in the WuWu.”

  “Comforting.”

  “Of course, I’m on the hit list too, if we run into any Thin Men.”

  I twisted his way. “Pardon? Thin Men?”

  Forno shrugged. “It’s the code word I found on the ultra thin level in the NIO basement. Those who’ve been copied are called Thin Men. Because of the Conduit.”

  The thin wire. “So Jennifer—the deceased one—she was a Thin Woman?”

  “They don’t make that distinction.”

  I took stock of our surroundings. Not a lot of places to hide here. The trees were sparse coming into town, mostly to allow tourists good views of the mountains, but they grew taller closer to the town itself and were a bit more numerous.

  “We can’t just walk in on the main road,” I said. “We’ll have to take whatever cover these trees will give us.”

  We took to walking, skirting the main road, and worked our way through the trees. Our progress was slow due to a low, dense brush, but it gave us time to pick the path that offered the most cover. Once in a while we came upon some of those blocky stucco homes stuck back in the trees. No roads or sidewalks led to them and I wondered how the homeowners managed the walk into town. We gave the homes a wide berth, and sometimes makeshift paths did indeed show up. We stayed off of them.

  After a half hour we started angling toward Kimson’s main road. Eventually we came upon a good dozen houses, and the first real streets. Now we hurried, slipping in behind the few trees that lined the streets, bolting out toward other trees, or a house or two, until we felt comfortable trudging along the side of the streets themselves. Tourists and locals around now. We could blend in a little, since Kimson’s tourist crowd included Memors and Helks as well as humans.

  Main Street appeared before us suddenly, wider and more maintained than any of the other streets. The bustle increased dramatically, the tourists more numerous, a number of ground buses and private transports passing by. As the day wore on, the buzz of excitement, the foot
traffic, the lines of ground buses—all of it would reach a sort of mad frenzy.

  Forno pointed us toward Amp Street, and we took off at a jog. Nothing that would make us stand out, since many of the tourists hustled from place to place, from gift shop to restaurant, from open doors to buses.

  We passed the Flaming Sea Tavern and its flickering neon sign, then slowed down again after a few blocks. The WuWu Bar and Grille sat on the same side of the street as the Sea. It was much smaller, and it didn’t have the panache of its bigger sister. The food wasn’t as good, the bartenders not as friendly. No cover charge. They had a license for prostitution, but the girls did their own advertising and found their own customers from the main floor.

  And they sure as hell didn’t have the Limbo.

  All in all, of the bars and brothels in town, the WuWu was the most laid back. The most quiet. It was exactly what I needed right now.

  A simple brown wooden sign hung over the entrance on a couple of chains, and simply said WUWU in huge red letters.

  We passed through a painted red door that swung freely on its hinges, and were just about to walk over to the bar when a man at the door stopped us.

  “Five squid, sirs.”

  I stared at him. “Since when?”

  “Last year. Still fifteen squid cheaper than that overpriced place down the street, let me tell you!”

  Forno said, “What? You didn’t know?”

  I gave him my “Shut up, Forno” look and dug in my pocket for the cover charge. Forno kept looking down at me, expectantly. “You don’t have any money?”

  Forno shrugged. “The Sea tapped me out.”

  “I paid for your Helk Ale.”

  “Yeah, nice of you. Thanks.”

  I sighed, then passed the man ten squid.

  “Appreciate it, gentlemen,” he said. “Enjoy yourselves. Any questions, see Talia at the bar.”

  We moved into the WuWu. It was still early, but a few patrons already nursed drinks at the bar, and a few more talked with some of the hired help at the various scarred, wooden tables scattered haphazardly on the main floor. I pointed Forno toward the tables while I checked in at the bar.

  Behind the lacquered bar, an older woman, maybe late fifties, early sixties, glanced at me as I stood next to one corner. Her black hair, cut shoulder-length, had streaks of gray so evenly placed that I wondered if she had colored it that way on purpose. She had on a long dress that seemed to be made out of light. The black material shimmered in the lights hanging down low from the ceiling over her service area, and as she came over to me I saw that the dress was covered in tiny mirror beads.

  “I’m Talia,” she said, smiling as she wiped down the bar in front of me with a rag. “You have the look of someone who needs to know something.”

  I smiled back. “I’m wondering if you might have a message for me. Taylor Williams.” It was the name I’d told Cara to use when she called in. “Might even be from yesterday.”

  “Sure,” Talia said. “I remember. Hold on.”

  She walked to the far side of the bar, to the register and waiter station, and hunched over a stack of papers. A moment later she straightened and returned to me, a note in hand.

  “Taylor Williams,” she said, passing the safe-note to me, still sealed.

  The paper, folded several times, had my alias scribbled across the top.

  “Can I get you a drink?” she asked. She smiled broadly, and her teeth also gleamed in the light. Her front teeth had been fitted with mirror caps.

  “Blue poison,” I said. “And a Helk Ale.”

  She looked at me, then nodded behind me. “Ah, for your friend at the back.”

  I turned and saw Forno trying to get comfortable at a small table near the rear of the WuWu. “That’s him.”

  “I’ll bring them to you,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  I paid her enough for both drinks, added a healthy tip, then joined Forno at the table.

  “Find your message?” Forno asked.

  Nodding, I unsealed the note. It had just two words. “Snowy Mountain.”

  “Nice,” Forno said.

  “Nice?”

  “One of the better ski resorts, but a little less known because it’s not as close to Kimson. Silly name, though, don’t you think?”

  “Could be worse. How’s the snow?”

  Forno snorted. “How would I know? Helks don’t ski. No snow on Helkunntanas, and we hate the cold.”

  That was true. Helkunntanas bottomed out at about eighty degrees in the habitable areas.

  “And we don’t exactly fit in the lifts,” he added.

  “So she’s at Snowy Mountain,” I said. “How do we get there?”

  “I used to have this nice flier,” Forno mused.

  “Jennifer’s parking her shuttle on the other end of town. If the NIO doesn’t track it down and take it back, maybe she’ll give us another ride.”

  “Her schedule’s not going to match ours, and she’s already in trouble with the NIO. I’m sure the word’s out about her. Another scapegoat added to the list.”

  “Then throw me another idea.”

  “About?”

  “Getting to Snowy Mountain.”

  Forno shrugged just as Talia arrived with our drinks. She put down two coasters, both embedded with flash membranes alternatively morphing between the WuWu logo and advertisments for other Kimson attractions.

  “Here you are,” she said, placing the drinks on the coasters. She winked and headed back to the main bar.

  A moment later, Forno said, “It’s a free ride.”

  “What is?”

  He’d taken a sip of his ale and picked up the flash coaster. A flick of his finger at the top of the image, and the membrane froze with an advertisement for Snowy Mountain. He held it up for me to see.

  It took a moment, but eventually I made out the smaller print near the bottom. “Resort bus to Snowy Mountain leaves every thirty minutes from the front of the Flaming Sea.”

  “There you go,” Forno said. “A free lift to Cara. Say, how did Cara get there?”

  “A flier. From the apartments she managed. I just told her to get out of town. At that point, I didn’t trust Jennifer.”

  “Or Cara.”

  I shot him a glance, but he was right. I took a sip of my drink. “And I guess I still don’t, considering the circumstances.”

  “Well, then,” Forno said, downing the rest of his drink, “I guess it’s time for us to smack the hills.”

  “That’s ‘hit the slopes,’” I said.

  Forno laughed. “Just messing with you.”

  I shook my head, but managed a smile. Forno was more human than just about any Helk I’d ever met. Of course, I really hadn’t met that many. I found that I truly did trust Forno now. I liked him, even though I hadn’t known him long, and didn’t know a thing about his past, other than what he’d said about being in the Kenn, and going undercover in the Helk underground. He could be abrasive and annoying, but what he lacked in tact, he made up for most noticeably with … well … size.

  I was glad he was on my team.

  Fifteen minutes later, after I bought some WuWu Wear—a warm coat and some rubber overshoes—we walked down to the Flaming Sea and did our best to look inconspicuous waiting along the sidewalk in front. When the resort bus arrived, we waited while other passengers loaded some of their equipment underneath in the storage compartments and placed their skis in the racks all around the sides of the bus. Then we entered the bus, having decided to sit apart from each other on opposite sides and opposite ends. The wide, somewhat rickety bus, nearly full, soon made its way down Amp Street.

  I’d been on any number of transport vehicles over the past week, but this one trumped them all. I felt every bump and pothole in the road out of Kimson, the vibrations making my teeth rattle. It was a resort bus, so it serviced resorts other than Snowy Mountain. The bus stopped at three other ski areas before ours, and it didn’t get to that first one until after
an hour’s drive. We endured a tedious drive up the first narrow, twisting mountain road to let off one batch of skiers, then waited for the skiers from the previous day to load on before continuing back down to the main road and the next resort.

  By the time we reached Snowy Mountain, a good three hours had passed. Now I knew why diehard skiers started out so early in the day.

  The spring morning, now inching toward midday, continued to do its damage to the resort, the snow nearly all melted in the parking lot, little rivulets working their way down the road. The sound of dripping water was everywhere.

  The sun reflected off the snow on the slopes and hurt my eyes a little as I scanned the parking lot, easily locating the modest ski lodge and the surrounding buildings: store, pub, snack shop, and ticket booth. Near the buildings I spotted three chairlifts that whisked skiers to the tops of the various runs. No fancy mag-lifts here on Aryell. Not yet.

  “It’s the smallest of the resorts,” Forno said, “but it’s still a big place. Where are we going to find her?”

  “The lodge. Like you, she doesn’t ski.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m going to look way out of place here.”

  “You think you’d blend in better in the pub?”

  “It’s a thought.”

  “Check it out. If she’s not there, then just stay there.”

  Forno held out his hand. “Expense money?”

  Again, I couldn’t help sighing. “You’re paying me back,” I said as I scrounged around for more money.

  “Of course.”

  He took off for the pub, and a short jog brought me to the lodge, its entryway broad and spacious, two large wooden doors protecting the main foyer from the weather outside. On my right, a gigantic stone fireplace crackled with a roaring fire, and a dozen overstuffed, high-backed chairs and couches ringed the hearth. I could see only a few people in them because of the way the furniture was situated around the fireplace. To my left was the registration desk, which took up most of the space behind the couches and chairs. In front, down the aisle between, was the entrance to the restaurant, and a wide staircase led up to the balconied second level.