Tableau

by Michael Kanuckel

  “Doctor Leonard only knows what a cunnie looks like because he saw a picture of one in a medical text,” Bronson fired right back. “And his picture is in the book next to the phrase ‘wet behind the ears.’ He’ll learn, though. He’ll figure out how to keep his head down- long as he doesn’t get a headful of bullshit from you.”

  Ezra only stared some more, half a smile playing on his lips.

  “Let me tell ya somethin, Beckitt,” Bronson said. This close, the big man enveloped Ezra in a cloud of fresh cologne and sweaty sack. “The press loves you. Right now. Any girl down there in Low Town would get right down on her knees for you. Right now. Things change, though. People forget. Loveless will go away, he’ll get buried under a ton of concrete and a whole barrage of little colored pills, he’ll be nothing but a drooling meat puppet and the world will keep right on rolling. And once the last hand’s dealt, you’ll still be here. Now you gotta ask yourself- how do ya want things to be? Ya wanna have the aid and succor of your fellow brother Guards, a shelter from the storms that come in this life? Or do you want to butt heads with every man-jack of us until ya find out there’s harder heads than yours out there?”

  Ezra kept the stare going a while longer. The only sounds in the white hall of Purgatory were the whisper of the air conditioning and the hum of the fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling.

  “Good talk, Beckitt,” Bronson said. He brushed into Ezra as he passed him by, rocking the smaller man on his heels a little. “See you around.”

  When Ezra got back to his office and got a Chesterfield going, he saw that he had a message from Jim waiting on the placid blue display of his vidscreen. He flicked a finger at the pulsing box and it bloomed in front of him, a gaudy little techno-flower in a garden Ezra only walked through because he didn’t have any other choice. “Wanna grab a bite? Put down a couple drinks?” the message said.

  Ezra sighed. Frankly, there was nothing he’d love more in the world than to just lock up his office, get out of this damned tower, and slide into a booth over at Big Mamma Detta’s. Have a big bacon double cheeseburger and a seven-seven or three. But Kevin Peters bothered him. High Guard Mitchell Bronson really bothered him. Telling Ezra to take a hike was akin to leaving some ground beef out on the counter and telling your dog to just leave it alone. So, he brought up the keyboard and typed out a reply.

  “Have to take a rain check, Jim,” he typed out, looking at the glowing keys displayed in front of him through a veil of smoke. “Looking into something. Officially unofficial. I’ll get back to you later.”

  He sent the message off with another flick of his finger, finished his smoke, and headed out.

  Four

  Hatis City University was a party school. Those pupils interested in serious academic pursuits went to Wuster, where the various houses of the learned were somber, grey, and covered over with thick ivy. Hatis was for the kid on a football scholarship, or the unruly child of a wealthy family; come in, spend four years chugging brewskis and snoring through lectures, play ball, get laid, make straight Cs, and come out the other side with a batch degree to show the folks that you weren’t a complete screw-up.

  Maybe Ezra was a little cynical, having foregone college himself. He had worked, here and there and everywhere, since he was a kid, and finally fallen into the idea of becoming a Guard one fateful night when he was a security guard presiding over a parking lot. Of course, technically he had gone to school- all High Guards had to train in the disciplines of the Law in Wuster. His course of study had been a bit different than that of the average college student, though- and not a frat party to be found. Oh well.

  Because he had no idea where he was going, Ezra had taken a prowler. Usually he rode the trams around town, but in order to do that effectively one needed to know what stop to get off at. He hated driving. Once upon a time he had loved to drive…but that was back when a car was still a car, with a real engine under the hood, and not some glossy toy built out of the same stuff as the vidscreens and phones, with all the personality of a hair dryer. The prowler struggled on the gentlest of grades (completely ideal for driving around a city built up the sides of a giant hill), little Ithur engine whirring like it was going to catch fire, and Ezra craned his neck to peer up at the street signs like a damned tourist as he passed them by. He was irritated, and wondered what the hell he was doing out here, and he wanted a smoke that he couldn’t have in a damned company car- the power window circuit was disabled in all Guard prowlers, per the rigid no-smoking statutes the idiots in charge thought made the world a safer, cleaner, healthier place. He couldn’t find East Laird Avenue, not to save his life.

  That he was on campus, of that there could be no doubt. The sidewalks were crawling with the youth of d’Haventh and beyond: girls with their heads shaved on the sides and poofs of rainbow cotton candy hair floating this way and that above their tiny pixie faces, snub noses pierced, lots of makeup around bitter glittery eyes searching everywhere for signs of a patriarchy to quash while they stomped along the streets in knee-high boots and outfits that wouldn’t make a decent swimsuit; boys with purple topknots and earrings and facial tattoos, in sharp heels and pants so tight it was a wonder they didn’t lose a leg due to lack of circulation; dude-bros in their flat-brimmed, sideways ball caps, sports jerseys, and jeans that defied all natural laws and stayed up despite being belted underneath their asses. The bright and shiny future of a nation.

  Don’t begrudge the young people their youth, Ezra thought as he looked on them. They only have it for such a little while, after all. And you were plenty dumb yourself, as a lad.

  He finally spotted a tiny green sign for East Laird Avenue hanging from the top of an old-fashioned wrought iron lamp post on the corner of the sidewalk ahead. The sign pointed the way into a tiny one way alley tucked between a used book and record shop with no apparent name and a dusty show window and a coffee place called Muddy’s. He had trouble negotiating the turn even in his compact prowler, drawing looks of ire from pedestrians waiting impatiently for him to move and a series of honks from the luxury car behind him. Ezra flipped the bird to everyone in general and nosed on into the alley, the driver behind him accelerating before his prowler was even fully clear and almost clipping him. Ezra grinned a tight little grin, imagining the look on the driver’s face if they had collided and he got out to start some shit and got greeted by a flash of his silver star- and his silver .45s.

  East Laird Avenue was a narrow and a winding way, hemmed in on both sides by long brick buildings. The alley was paved in cobblestones that were quaint until one remembered that Hatis City never had cobbled streets; these were new and purely for effect, as authentic as glue and screw flooring patterned to look like stone flags. Ezra drove on past the shop buildings and dumpsters that almost blocked the alley completely and then the way opened up and he could see some green. Sidewalks bordered hills of green lawn leading up to rows of big old houses with wraparound porches and beds of flowers; student housing, the old domiciles split into single room apartments. Each floor probably had a shared bathroom, a prospect Ezra shuddered to consider. Sharing a bathroom with four or five other young men, who came home drunk to spew everywhere but in the toilet and do God knew what in the shower? No thank you. He moved along the quiet avenue at a crawl, getting suspicious glances from students going about their business and paying them no mind, looking for 384.

  The house at 384 East Laird Avenue was an awful, baby poop shade of yellow, trimmed in brown. The splintery porch was lined with a motley crew of mismatched indoor furniture, sprung sofas and recliners coughing up their guts through shredded upholstery. A poorly stained coffee table stood in front of a peeling office swivel chair, topped with overflowing coffee can ashtrays and a huge red ice chest grimed black along the sides, the top open. On one of the lumpy old couches, a youth was having himself a summer afternoon nap with a jacket thrown over his head, hands clasped between his knees as he lied on his side. Ezra pulled in at the curb and stepped out of his prowl
er, surveying the place while he (finally) lit up a smoke.

  Far cry from what Kevin Peters expected, I bet, Ezra thought. He probably dreamed of college like it was in the movies- dorm rooms and frat parties and coeds, oh my.

  As Ezra stood there, another car pulled in behind his. The car was a compact Makross model much like his unmarked prowler, only painted black and white with some sort of insignia on the doors and a bubble light on the roof. When the door opened he could read what the gold shield painted on it said: HCU Security. A big man turned sideways and unfolded himself from the driver’s seat, adjusting the big utility belt hanging from his waist and resting his large hands on it as he stared Ezra down. The man looked like he had probably played some college football, got a reputation as a tough guy who never lost a fight because none of the other drunks at the frat parties would actually fight him, and went on into a career of private security work and bouncing at titty bars. Ezra had seen him before- not this particular guy, but he knew him from his look and posture.

  The big security stood there for a minute, hands braced next to the taser and bear mace on either side of his big belt. He didn’t have a gun. He did have a fuzzy handlebar moustache, sideburns, and mirrored sunglasses. The short sleeves of his uniform dress shirt were rolled up over his freckled biceps. “Can I help you with something, sir?” the security officer said.

  Ezra pitched his cigarette into the street and pulled out the leather case holding his silver star and ID badge. “Nope,” he said, flipping the case open. “Good response time, though.”

  The big security guard relaxed a notch, dropping his hands to his sides. He kept his distance though, and Ezra could see the shape of a sidearm strapped against his shin underneath the black dress pants of his uniform. “Students are on edge, sir,” he said. “Especially here on East Laird. A kid just died here.”

  “Yeah,” Ezra said.

  “Goodwin’s the name,” the big security guard said. He’d made some internal decision and moved in closer to Ezra, offering his hand. Ezra took it and shook; he could feel the strength in that rough hand as it enveloped his own, but the security guard was one of those guys who only shook firmly- he didn’t have to prove himself by going for the big crush. Up close, Goodwin smelled of decent aftershave and clean skin. He was sweating in the damp summer heat, but his uniform shirt was dry. “Sam Goodwin.”

  “High Guard Ezra Beckitt,” Ezra said.

  “You here about that kid Peters?” Goodwin said. “I’d heard that was all over and done with. The Guards were already here, two three days ago. The apartment just got opened back up, and there’s already some new kid from the list all set to move in.”

  Ezra frowned. “The list?” he said.

  “Waiting list,” Goodwin said. “Hatis U is backed up on housing, there’s a list of applicants waiting for a place to open up all the time. As soon as Peters dropped- uh, as soon as it was announced that Mister Peters would no longer be in residence here, the next kid on the list was notified. He’s already on his way in from wherever.”

  “Pretty cold,” Ezra said.

  Goodwin could only shrug. “Yeah,” he said. “Can’t argue with ya there. It’s a cold world, High Guard Beckitt- and college is a business. Kids drop out, kids flunk out…kids die. There’s always another one ready to step in. Personally, I wasn’t so keen on the idea of going into debt for the rest of my life just to get a degree to hang on my wall but hey, that’s just me.”

  Ezra chuckled, but then a frown creased his face. “It’s a pretty hectic business, this housing thing,” he said. “A waiting list backed up, kids desperate to get in…maybe someone got desperate enough over it to take drastic measures.”

  Goodwin frowned as well. “Drastic-?” he said. Then his eyebrows raised up behind the mirrored glasses. “What, you mean to say someone might kill a resident to take their apartment? That’s a little farfetched- if ya don’t mind me saying so. Pulp stuff. And it wouldn’t work anyway, High Guard Beckitt. No way.”

  “Why not?” Ezra said. He didn’t really think the idea had legs either, but it felt good to stand out in the fresh air and shoot the shit for a bit. He shook a Chesterfield from his pack and lit it, offering Goodwin one. The big security guard declined with a shake of his head.

  “Well first off, a kid would have to have access to the waiting list,” Goodwin said. “Only the Department of Housing has that list, and every scrap of data in the university network is secured in a system called the Crypt. All information about housing, student loans, curriculum, grades, all of that, it’s locked down tight and hard. I have to go through three different passwords and a goddam Rorschach test just to look at my schedule every week.”

  “Okay,” Ezra said. “What else?”

  Goodwin leaned back against Ezra’s prowler, standing next to him now with his arms crossed over his chest and any thoughts of his mace and taser forgotten. “Well,” he said. “Kevin Peters is just dead. He wasn’t shot or stabbed, he didn’t hang himself or take a bunch of pills with a bottle of whisky because he was flunking out. Hell, the poor kid hadn’t even started yet- the semester doesn’t get rolling for two more weeks. He’s just…” Goodwin trailed off, waving his big hands in the air. “He’s just dead. Sometimes shit happens, you know?”

  Ezra nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve heard that. You got a problem with me going in and taking a look around anyway?”

  “Nope,” Goodwin said. “You wouldn’t have got far if I hadn’t dropped by, though. The apartment doors in these houses take a key card. Which you don’t have- because if you did, the Dean would have called my boss and my boss would have radioed me and let me know that you were here and going in. But it’s a slow day. I’ll be happy to play doorman for ya.”

  “All right,” Ezra said. He took a last drag from his smoke and pitched it into the street. “After you, Mister Goodwin.”

  -

  There were ragged screw holes to either side of the door to apartment 3C, left over from the infrared Crime Scene- Do Not Pass device that had been mounted there to alert the Guards if anyone tried to return to the scene of the crime like killers were always doing in bad fiction. The third floor of the big house was hotter than a hay loft in high summer, and the hallway smelled like every horrible meal that had ever been fried in the communal kitchen down on the ground floor. Mister Goodwin produced a swipe card and opened the apartment door, gesturing to Beckitt: open, says-a-me.

  “I’ll leave ya to it, then,” the security guard said. His broad face was covered with a greasy sheen of sweat, individual droplets gathered at his temples and running down his cheeks. Goodwin offered his hand again, and Ezra shook with him. Then he reached into the flap pocket of his uniform dress shirt and pulled out a simple white card on decent stock: Samuel R Goodwin, Campus Security, it said, followed by a phone number. “If you should have any other questions for me,” Goodwin said. “Or hell, if ya wanna grab a beer or something some time. You seem like a one to sit and have a few rounds with, High Guard Beckitt.” With that, the big security guard sketched Ezra a flippant salute and went on his way.

  Ezra tucked the business card into his pants pocket and used his fingers to swing the apartment door open. Heat like from a blast furnace washed over him, combined with the smell of heavy-duty cleansers. The tiny one room apartment was empty: no chairs in the living room area; no table in the kitchenette; no bed against the wall. The apartment had a tiny stove between two cupboards that looked like it had been state-of-the-art about ten or fifteen years ago that was an even uglier shade of yellow than the house itself, a mini-fridge good for holding a few cans of Pipsee and a takeout box of leftovers, and a single basin stainless steel sink. Everything else was gone, cleaned out by the Guards who had come before him. Ezra didn’t know what he’d expected to find in here- and it was too hot think. His white shirt was plastered to his back underneath his suit jacket. He pulled the jacket off and let it slip to the bare linoleum floor, and loosened his tie as well.

 
; The apartment had one window. There was an old-fashioned AC unit mounted in it; he could just barely see it between the heavy blackout curtains covering the window and giving the tiny space the dim lighting of the back of a cave. Maybe he would have missed the AC unit if it wasn’t white, all but glowing in the gloom. I don’t know what I’m even doing here, Ezra thought, crossing the room and almost wincing at the loud echoes of his boots on the floor. And the damn thing probably won’t even start working before I’m ready to go- but it’s too damned hot in here.

  Ezra pulled the curtains aside, letting in some light. He heard something whisper in the still, hot air, and looked down. There was a long white envelope stuck to the inside of one curtain; it had been sealed shut with a strip of tape, and then stuck to the curtain when someone dropped or flung it away. The AC unit forgotten, Ezra knelt down and pulled the envelope free; the tape came away with a low purr and a generous dose of fabric fuzz. The business-size envelope felt smooth as cotton as he rubbed his fingers over it. Frowning, he turned the envelope over so he could read what was on the front. It was addressed to Kevin Peters, Apartment 3C, 384 East Laird Avenue. The return address was Collin McKelvey, Vice President of Team Sports, Hatis City University. The envelope was empty.

  Just a piece of trash the cleaners missed, Ezra told himself. But it’s not like I’ve got anything else going on today.

  Five

  The administrative offices building for the university looked just like administrative office and professional office space buildings everywhere- a lot of glass and a lot of steel, all arranged like a bunch of blocks set up by a three year old, a duckless pond with a fountain spraying up out of the middle reflecting the building behind it. The parking lot was full of late model Makross luxury sedans and a few imports that had to cost almost as much as the structure they were parked parallel to. Ezra pulled his prowler up against the curb in front of the revolving door at the main entrance and ambled in.