Dark Light

by Randy Wayne White

  “But not for you?”

  “Let’s just say that I blame the Guild for not taking better care of its men. Jake should not be living in this alley. He needs rehab and counseling to get off the juice, and then he needs a job. He’s very good with his hands. In another life I think he could have been an artist.”

  “Instead, he came to a bad end as a retired ghost hunter, right?”

  “You have to admit that, while the benefits are great, a lot of hunters end up drifting like Jake after they leave the catacombs. The Guilds take them in young, use them up, and then toss them out onto the street. They don’t do a good job of preparing them to lead productive lives in mainstream society.”

  “You made your point in that series on burned-out hunters that you did for the Curtain,” he said.

  “You read that series?” She looked pleased.

  “Hell, yes. Everyone on the Council, including Jenner, read it. Caused quite a rumble in management.”

  “Evidently not enough of one. Nothing was done about the problem.”

  “Jenner was still in charge at the time. He saw the series as just another PR issue. He figured he took care of it by giving the Herald an exclusive interview that highlighted all the work the Guild Foundation does with teenage boys.”

  “Hah. All those Hunter Scout programs are nothing more than thinly veiled recruitment operations for the Guild, as far as I’m concerned. It is a totally self-serving charity.”

  “The Guild sees the programs as a way of keeping young dissonance energy para-rez talents from experimenting recklessly with their budding ghost-rezzing abilities.”

  “In other words, you don’t want a bunch of young hoodlums forming gangs and using their talents to intimidate people, because it would be bad for the image of the Guild.”

  He smiled. “You’ve got it.”

  “All that those scout programs do is glamorize life in the Guilds. I doubt if any of the troop leaders bother to tell the boys that it would be smart to get some higher education under their belts before they go underground or maybe even consider a real profession instead of ghost hunting.”

  “You’ve made your negative opinion of the Guild’s outreach efforts crystal clear in the Curtain,” he said.

  “I’ve certainly tried.”

  “Speaking of outreach, how did you meet Jake Tanner?”

  “I told Simon and the men at the Green Gate that I wanted to talk to any hunter who could tell me about the alien abductions and the secret lab rumors. They suggested Jake because he was a juicer who had recently retired from the Guild. I tracked him down.”

  He decided it would be better for his nerves if he did not ask her exactly how she had set about tracking down a burned-out hunter.

  “I’m surprised that Tanner was willing to talk to a reporter,” he said instead.

  “He and Elvis took to each other right away. Jake trusts me because he likes Elvis. The problem is that because Jake uses juice, you never know how much of what he says is a fantasy from his most recent juice dream and how much is real.”

  Elvis muttered uneasily. Fontana glanced at him. The dust bunny was no longer a scruffy fur ball. He was partially sleeked out, all four eyes showing.

  Sierra stopped abruptly.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said.

  Elvis stared intently at a doorway halfway down the alley. He muttered darkly.

  Fontana followed his gaze and saw what looked like a portion of an old blanket or sleeping bag sticking out of the entrance.

  “That’s Jake’s crib?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Sierra said.

  She started forward, her face urgent and intent. Elvis chattered unhappily. She stopped again.

  “This doesn’t feel right,” she said, talking so softly that she might have been speaking to herself.

  Elvis mumbled, clearly disturbed.

  This doesn’t feel right. Fontana made a mental note to go over that odd comment at a later date.

  “Wait here,” he said, automatically sliding into the voice he always used when he wanted instant and unquestioning obedience. It was the voice he had employed underground when the safety of a team was at stake.

  Somewhat to his amazement, Sierra obeyed. Elvis appeared strongly disinclined to move forward, too. Maybe Sierra was simply trusting the bunny’s instincts instead of actually following a Guild man’s orders. Then another thought crossed his mind. Maybe Sierra was trusting her own instincts. Now, that was an intriguing thought.

  He walked to the grungy bedroll and looked down.

  “It’s empty,” he said. “Probably ran out of juice and went looking for a dealer.”

  “No,” Sierra said with shattering conviction. “He’s gone. Just like the others.”

  “You don’t know that. Not yet.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m sure of it. Come on, we’ve got to see if they took Hank, too.”

  “See if who took Hank?”

  “The aliens.”

  “Tell me you don’t really believe Jake was abducted by aliens.”

  She did not respond. Instead, she rushed toward the large trash container at the far end of the alley. Fontana followed. By the time he got there, she had disappeared behind the container. When she reappeared a few seconds later, her face was stark with dread.

  “He’s gone,” she said. “I’ve got to find him.”

  “What makes you think he wasn’t abducted, too?” Fontana asked.

  “Because his bedroll is gone. He packed up and moved, maybe because he saw what happened to Jake.”

  Chapter 14

  AT THREE O’CLOCK THAT AFTERNOON, IVOR RUNTLEY charged into the newsroom bellowing and waving his hands. Accustomed as everyone was to his frequent bursts of excitement, nobody looked up.

  Elvis, hovering above the coffee machine in his balloon craft, was the exception. He responded with his customary enthusiasm. He chortled and bounced up and down, nearly toppling out of the cardboard basket.

  “Listen up, everyone,” Runtley shouted, “the day’s print run is sold out. We’re getting flooded with requests for more details on the alien temple of love. Kay, I need another story about the secret hunter wedding-night rituals for tomorrow’s edition.”

  “Ask Sierra.” Kay did not take her eyes off her computer screen. “She’s the one who actually experienced the secret rituals in the alien temple of love.”

  “Forget it,” Sierra said. “I’m working on the alien abductions story. I’ve got some hot new leads.”

  Runtley stopped, briefly stymied. Both stories promised to be grabbers. He made an executive decision.

  “Kay, you’ll have to do the secret wedding-night rituals piece. That’s final.”

  Matt grinned at Kay. “Surely you got some inspiration last night when you went home with Ray Takashima. I saw the way you two were eyeballing each other.”

  “All I got last night was a hangover,” Kay said primly. “There was no inspiration of the sort to which you so crudely refer.”

  “Maybe you just don’t remember it,” Phil suggested.

  Kay narrowed her eyes. “In case you haven’t read it, Ten Steps to a Covenant Wedding: Secrets of a Professional Matchmaker strongly advises against sleeping with anyone on a first date or a second or third, for that matter.”

  Phil rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re reading some dumb dating manual.”

  “As it happens, my mother gave me the same advice,” Kay said in an acid tone.

  “So did mine,” Sierra volunteered. “It’s very sound advice, if you ask me.”

  They all looked at her.

  “What?” she said.

  Matt gave her an evil grin. “Is that how you got Fontana to marry you? By holding out until after the third date?”

  “Maybe you should write your own dating manual,” Phil said. “Ten Steps to Marrying a Guild Boss.”

  Sierra glared at each of them in turn. “One more word out of either of you, and there will be no more cookies, ev
er.”

  “Just trying to be helpful,” Phil said.

  “That’s enough, people,” Runtley snapped. “This is a newsroom. Kindly act like professionals. Phil, get me a photo of the alien love temple.”

  “Gee, boss, I dunno,” Phil said. “According to Kay, the alien love temple is hidden away in some secret underground tunnel.”

  “You’re a photographer, damn it, I expect you to get creative. How hard can it be to figure out what an alien love temple looks like?”

  “Well, I might be able to do something with the coffeepot and a couple of doughnuts,” Phil conceded. “I’ll get my camera.”

  Sierra’s phone rang. She pounced on it.

  “I think we found Hank for you,” Simon said on the other end. “Rumor is he’s holed up in a bar on East Wall Street. Place called the Firewall Tavern.”

  “Thanks, Simon. I really appreciate this.” She ended the call, yanked her purse out of the bottom desk drawer, and got to her feet. “Got a lead on my missing source. I’ll see you all later.”

  She paused long enough to collect Elvis from the balloon basket and then flew out the door.

  The last thing she heard was Phil making his customary announcement in a deep, resonating voice.

  “Elvis has left the building.”

  FONTANA LOOKED AT THE FILE SPREAD OUT ON THE DESK.

  “Tanner’s service records for the last six months of his Guild career are missing,” he said.

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Ray flattened his palms on the desk and surveyed the file, grimly thoughtful. “Occasionally paperwork goes astray, but under the circumstances, I’ve got to admit this looks a little strange.”

  Fontana engaged the intercom. “I need you in here, Harlan.”

  The door opened. Harlan Ostendorf appeared, looking seriously concerned. It was an expression he did well, because it came naturally to him. Fontana suspected that he had probably been born looking seriously concerned. Harlan was now in his midfifties, and the lines engraved by his serious view of life had become indelible.

  Harlan’s serious approach to his work was one of the two reasons Fontana had pulled him out of the accounting department and promoted him to chief executive assistant immediately after Jenner had been forcibly retired. The second reason was that he hadn’t trusted the man Jenner had installed in the position.

  “Any reason why the file of a retired hunter named Jake Tanner might be missing the records for his last six months of service?” Fontana asked.

  Harlan frowned, looking more serious than ever. “No, sir. That doesn’t sound right. But there are duplicates of all service records in Benefits. I’ll send Dray down to get them for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Harlan disappeared, closing the door quietly behind him.

  “There’s something else that happened six months ago that’s starting to bother me,” Ray said. He opened another file. “A hunter named Cal Wilson was killed in an apparent jungle accident. He evidently fell into a ghost river whirlpool. Could be a coincidence. There was an investigation, but—”

  “But Jenner signed off on the report declaring it an accident,” Fontana concluded, “so we should take the results with a grain of amber.”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “We need to find out if there’s any connection at all between Jake Tanner and Cal Wilson.”

  Twenty minutes later, Harlan stuck his head around the edge of the door. His expression had moved from serious to somber.

  “The duplicates in Benefits are missing as well, sir,” he said. “I had Dray check the computer archives. They’ve been deleted from there, too.”

  “Had a hunch that might be the case. Thanks, Harlan.”

  Harlan retreated into the outer office, closing the door behind him.

  Fontana considered the file. “Damn, she was right.”

  Ray’s brows rose. “Who was right?”

  “My wife.”

  It felt good to say that. My wife. The beginning of a real family of his own. No, don’t go there. Too soon. Too many things can go wrong. Starting with the fact that her real family probably considered him no better than a mobster.

  The door opened again.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir,” Harlan said. “But I thought I’d better remind you of the annual Crystal City Charity Ball event tonight.”

  “That damned fund-raiser. I’d forgotten about it. Thank you, Harlan.”

  “Also, there was another phone call from Mr. Burns.”

  “You told him I was unavailable again?” Fontana asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  The door closed again.

  Fontana reached for the phone. “I’d better tell Sierra about the charity ball.”

  Ray lounged back in his chair, looking amused. “You mean she doesn’t know yet?”

  “Not like I haven’t had a few other things on my mind.” He dialed Sierra’s number.

  Ray gazed at the ceiling. “Got a feeling this is going to turn ugly fast.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You can’t drop a bombshell like this on a woman.” Ray checked his watch. “Not when she’s only got a few hours to shop.”

  “I don’t see any major problem here. It’s just a fancy party.”

  “Obviously you’ve got a lot to learn about marriage,” Ray said.

  “You’re an expert? You’ve never been married.”

  “At least I had the common sense to acknowledge my lack of expertise and buy a manual on the subject.”

  Fontana looked at him. “There’s a manual?”

  “Ten Steps to a Covenant Marriage: Secrets of a Professional Matchmaker by Celinda Ingram.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re reading a book on how to get married.”

  “Bought a copy this morning.”

  “Why in hell did you do that?” Fontana asked.

  “Because Kay is reading it. Figured it would be a good idea to keep one step ahead of her.”

  “Damn. You can’t be serious. It doesn’t happen that fast.”

  Ray spread his hands. “Says the man who got married within hours after meeting the lady.”

  Before he could think of a rational response to that remark, Sierra answered her phone.

  “Hello?” She sounded distracted.

  He heard muffled traffic noises in the background. “Where are you?”

  “In my car. Simon found Hank. I’m on my way to talk to him.”

  A strange sensation exploded in his gut. Not panic, exactly, but something very close to it.

  “No,” he said. With superhuman effort, he managed to keep his voice calm and controlled. “You are not going anywhere.”

  There was a short, brittle silence.

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Sierra said quietly.

  He didn’t need Ray’s elevated eyebrows to realize he was not handling this well.

  “Listen closely, Sierra. I don’t want you meeting Hank alone.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I think Jake Tanner was involved in something very dicey, and I don’t want you following him down the same dust-bunny hole. Understood?”

  “You found something?” she asked quickly.

  “It’s more like what I haven’t found. Look, where are you supposed to meet Hank?”

  “East Wall Street. Place called the Firewall Tavern.”

  “Hell. Trust you to find your way to the Firewall. Out of all the dumps in the Quarter, you picked that one to walk into alone.”

  “What’s wrong now?” Sierra asked, sounding bewildered.

  “Don’t go into that place without me,” he said, keeping his voice very even.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a dive.”

  “That’s okay, I do dives.”

  “Not like the Firewall. Pay attention, Sierra. I repeat, do not go into the Firewall without me.”

  “You know, Fontana, we really must have a littl
e talk soon. Just because you’re my husband for a while, that doesn’t give you the right to order me around as if I were one of your hunters.”

  Well, at least she had referred to him as her husband, not as her partner in the investigation. He set his back teeth. “Please don’t go into that tavern until I get there. It isn’t just any Quarter dive. People have been known to disappear into the catacombs or get permanently ghost-fried when drug deals go bad there. Last I heard, journalists don’t have any special immunity to a mag-rez or a ghost.”

  She exhaled slowly. “Okay, those are all good, logical reasons for waiting. I’ll meet you outside the Firewall.”

  He allowed himself to breathe again. “One more thing.”

  “If this is another warning about the Firewall, you’ve made your point.”

  “This isn’t about the Firewall.” He was on his feet, taking his black jacket off the wall hook. “I forgot to tell you this morning that we’ve got a social engagement tonight.”

  “What kind of social engagement. Your family?”

  “I don’t have any family, remember?”

  “You never told me that. I know your parents were never married, but that doesn’t automatically imply that you don’t have a family.”

  “It does in my case. The social engagement I’m talking about is the annual Crystal City Charity Ball. The head of the Guild always attends. I need a date. In light of recent events, that would be you.”

  “Are you kidding?” She sounded outraged. “I can’t go to the Crystal Ball with you.”

  He winced and held the phone some distance away from his ear. He noticed that Ray was smiling.

  “Why not?” he asked cautiously.

  “You need a ball gown to go to a ball. I don’t have one in my wardrobe. Didn’t think I’d need one here in Crystal.”

  “So? Go shopping this afternoon. The Guild will pick up the tab.”

  Ray winced.

  “Damn it, Fontana,” Sierra said tightly. “You can’t just spring something like this on a woman—”

  Out of nowhere, inspiration struck. “Donovan Corley will be there,” he said.

  “Corley?” Sudden interest replaced the annoyance in her tone. “Are we talking about the same Corley who is the CEO of Underworld Exploration?”