Going Concerns

by Watts Martin

  Gibson sucked in his breath and let go of her, then hurriedly put the crate back together—haphazardly, but she was too busy following his advice not to scream to correct him—and shoved it back on the shelf.

  “Is someone there?” a voice called.

  The cat scowled, taking Annie’s hand and hurrying back the way they came.

  A beam of light played across the stone floor as the guard raised his lantern. “Hey!”

  They sprinted for the exit.

  “Stop!” They could hear the guard’s footsteps behind them.

  “Play along,” Gibson hissed. He stopped and turned around.

  Annie almost skidded to a halt, hoping her eyes weren’t as wide and terrified as she thought they were as she turned.

  The guard ran up, wheezing but holding up his baton threateningly. She recognized him as the fox from the previous night.

  Scava beamed. “Excellent work.”

  “Work?” The Vraini narrowed his eyes.

  “Yes. You’re quite alert. Quite on top of things.” Gibson waved around. “You’d be surprised how often my partner and I do this and don’t see any sign of the watchman at all.”

  The guard lowered his baton partway, looking confused now.

  Gibson gave him a what, don’t you get it? look. “From the agency. Surprise inspection.” He held up his badge quickly; Annie noticed he’d strategically placed his thumb over his name, and didn’t give the fox enough time to verify what the badge was beyond something official-looking.

  “I’ve been here four years and they’ve never done an ‘inspection.’”

  “Well, you know Union’s been having some issues with the Guard poking around, and you know how they are.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Who’s she?” The guard gestured with his baton at Annie.

  The wolf straightened up hurriedly, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Every time she tried to form words she saw the fur again and a shriek threatened to burst out.

  Straightening up was enough to have an effect, though. The fox stepped back reflexively.

  Gibson gestured at her. “You’ve read crime stories before, right? She’s the muscle.”

  The fox’s eyes narrowed again. “You’d better come with me.”

  “Of course, although we’re on a tight schedule, so—”

  Annie reached forward and grabbed the baton, yanking it out of the fox’s hand.

  The guard yelped and made a grab for it. “Give that back!”

  She raised it. Despite her hands trembling, she could read in his eyes that she still looked intimidating. “Leave.”

  He took two steps back, then turned and ran.

  “I told him you were the muscle,” Gibson muttered, hurrying toward the exit. Annie dropped the baton and followed.

  Once outside, they both broke into a run, heading along the waterfront and then down an alley a block away. They’d made it halfway back to the street before Annie collapsed against a wall with a sobbing shriek.

  “What—“

  “I thought they were just—just—laundering money. Just smuggling. They’re killing people!”

  “Annie.” He took both her hands in his. “Look at me.”

  She did, taking a deep breath.

  “There haven’t been any strings of unsolved murders in the area, and certainly no cases of mutlilated bodies. And didn’t you recognize the scent?”

  She shook her head quickly.

  “Formaldehyde. Those furs are from a funeral home.”

  The wolf clenched her fists. “So you’re saying instead of killing people they’re just desecrating their bodies. Who would buy something like that?”

  “You’d be surprised what there’s a market for.” He ran a hand through his hair. “All right, I’ll return to the station tomorrow morning with my ‘anonymous tip.’ I can come up with something plausible that doesn’t point back at you as being the source.”

  She nodded. “I’ll…” She shook her head after a moment, feeling her eyes glaze over. “Lie in bed and fruitlessly try to fall asleep for a few hours.”

  “Good idea.”

  After about five minutes of walking in silence, Annie half-smiled. “The woman’s never the muscle in a crime story.”

  “The woman’s never six and a half feet tall. And if I’d said you were the femme fatale you’d have kicked my shin.”

  “You’d have deserved it.”

  “I know.”

  She laughed, then gave the cat a puzzled look. “You don’t live in the same neighborhood I do, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Then…”

  “I’m going home with you.”

  She stared at him. Was he flirting with her—again—at this, of all times? “I’m not in the mood for—for anything.”

  He spread his hands. “Annie—Miss Swift, if you’d prefer to go back to that—you need a guard. You’ve said so yourself. Maybe we’ll finally get you an official one in a day or two, but please—please—let me help in the interim.”

  Annie bit her lip, then nodded.

  FIVE

  ~

  “THEY DID A GOOD job cleaning up.” Scava had dropped into a crouch to examine the floor right after entering Annie’s apartment, just three steps ahead of her. She managed not to trip over him, but made a point of walking around him with exaggerated steps, which he stayed pointedly oblivious to. “If I hadn’t known there’d been a lot of blood here twenty-four hours ago I wouldn’t be able to pick out the remaining spots.”

  She paused, looking back at the floor blearily. “What remaining spots?”

  He rose to his feet, picking up a little bag of supplies he’d insisted on buying on the way here and setting it down on the dining table. “Don’t worry. Almost nothing. And it blends in with the wood and the dirt nicely.”

  Annie closed her eyes, feeling her temples throb. “I’ll get a blanket and pillow for the sofa for you.”

  “Excellent.” Scava headed over to the couch and seemed to examine it as critically as he had the floor, touching it in several places as if checking for bad springs.

  She shook her head, going to the closet for the pillow and blanket as well as sleeping wear. Rather than her nightshirt, though, this time she selected a terrycloth bathrobe. After dropping the bed furnishings on one end of the couch, she headed into the bathroom.

  When she came back out, Gibson was sitting on the couch reading one of her novels. “I’m surprised you have this.”

  “Why?” She couldn’t keep bitterness out of her voice, anticipating the snark to follow. At least he hadn’t grabbed one of the ones with the torrid covers.

  The Melifen looked up and smiled, expression and tone unexpectedly gentle. “I don’t know. I thought…I suppose I thought that this seems too dreamy for you. You just come across as so relentlessly down to earth.”

  She sat down on the couch, closer to the pillow and blanket than to the cat. “That’s what accountants are. We have to be practical. So we dream in books, I guess.”

  “It’s a mystery.”

  “I thought it was a pretty well-established stereotype.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t mean that. I mean the book is a mystery.” He held it up. “I know they’re selling it as a romance, going for a female audience. But it’s clearly a mystery with Callie Stone as the detective. She’s trying to figure out what the handsome and dashing Johnson Helm’s game really is and she’s doing classic sleuth work to find out.”

  “I like stories where the heroine’s got some smarts to her.” Annie shrugged and smiled wryly. “Although I think by now Callie’s on her fifth book of getting dragged into a dire mystery through a mismatched romance.”

  “Of course. If she finally found a matched one, there wouldn’t be another book.” He grinned. “Maybe she should settle down with a practical accountant?”

  She gave him a look, but he seemed to be sincere, not mocking. She let out a quiet laugh, leaning back against the sofa. “Maybe.”
/>
  Gibson set the book down and leaned forward. “Have you ever thought about being a detective? Professionally, I mean.”

  “I’ve done security work, but I’d much rather be an accountant. It pays better and it’s—”

  “I didn’t say security work. Security work is being a guard or a night watchman like that old fellow you stole the baton from.”

  “You mean joining the Guard.”

  “That would be one route. But I see you more as a private investigator type, for a company, or consulting on your own. It could be a whole new kind of business.”

  “I see you as more a private investigator type. But no.” She shook her head. “I haven’t seriously thought about it.”

  “Ah ha. You’ve amusingly thought about it, then.”

  She crossed her arms. “It’s…” She trailed off, unsure she wanted to complete the thought. It’s not something serious people do. Scava might as well be Exhibit A. “When I was young—barely more than a pup—I loved detective stories. Nonni Dan. I bet you don’t know those stories, do you? They were aimed at girls.”

  “Sure I do! The girls’ version of the Harlan Gamma series. I read a few of both growing up. You know, I always thought she was more interesting than Harlan was.”

  Annie laughed. “I thought she was, too, although looking back I see how many stereotypes she suffered with. So did Harlan, I suppose. But I read all the Nonni Dan books. I wanted to be her for a few years.”

  “And then you read the series about the young girl accountant, and decide to be her instead.”

  “No.” She couldn’t keep a hint of frustrated defensiveness from slipping into her tone. “I just…I just grew up.”

  “Grew up, or gave up?” He tilted his head. “Yes, I know you’re about to tell me that’s a crazy question. But look. Right now, you’re not employed. You’ve confirmed my suspicion that you like being an investigator. And you know you’re pretty good at it, don’t you?”

  “It’s not getting me anywhere other than deeper into trouble.”

  “Temporarily. After tomorrow you should be back out of this trouble.” He touched her shoulder. “But you’ll still be looking for work.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “Just—consider the possibility, that’s all.” He made a shooing motion toward the bed. “And get some sleep.”

  She sighed, rising and heading over to the bed herself. “Are you going to stay awake?”

  “It’s my plan. But I’m a pretty light sleeper.”

  “If you get tired, wake me up and I can watch.”

  “It won’t be necessary. Sleep.”

  ~

  Annie woke up the next morning to an unfamiliar noise. She sat up in bed, ears swiveling, until she identified it. Scava was snoring.

  Sighing, she pushed herself onto her feet. The cat made a startled noise, eyes snapping open. “I’m awake.”

  “Yes, now.” She headed into the bathroom.

  “I told you I was a light sleeper!” he called.

  When she stepped back out after a quick shower and forced air dry—it was supposed to be warm air, but the heating crystals hadn’t worked since a week after she’d moved in and the landlord still hadn’t replaced them—the scent of coffee hit her nose with startling strength. At first she thought Scava must have stepped out to get a cup, but no, that had to be…

  “Cream, sugar, or both?” he said, pouring fresh-brewed coffee into two mugs.

  “Just black, thank you. You ran out to buy coffee?”

  “No. We bought it last night.”

  “You said we were stopping to buy critical supplies!”

  “We were.” He handed her one of the mugs. “You never asked what I considered critical.”

  She laughed, taking a sip.

  “So. Do you have anywhere to be today, somewhere that’s not right here? I’m going to have to head back to the station with my new case-shattering anonymous tip, and while I’m hoping that’ll be enough in and of itself to get a guard posted here, there’s a good chance it won’t. I’ll come back here tonight to do guard duty if no one else does, otherwise I’ll try to see you tomorrow morning and give you a status report.”

  Annie considered. “I don’t have any work, but I can go back to Islip’s. They might have some new-to-me used books and they don’t seem to mind if I just sit there and read once in a while.”

  He patted her shoulder. “If you find a great book, let me know and I’ll buy you it as a gift.”

  “Coffee, and now books? Can you afford all this on a Guard salary?” She grinned.

  “No, but I don’t need to. I have an inheritance I came into a few years ago.” He shrugged. “While it wasn’t enough to just stop working and retire, it’s enough that I don’t worry much about money.”

  “And enough that you don’t worry about risking your job constantly?”

  “Oh, I was doing that long before the money came in.” He grinned and raised his mug to her in a mock salute, then headed on out.

  ~

  “Miss Swift?”

  Annie looked up from her book, startled. She’d ensconced herself in a small nook in the back of Islip’s, with two overstuffed chairs and a too-dim reading lamp. Rowell, the fox she’d met the first time she went to Scava’s Guard station, stood in front of her, dressed—as usual for every on-duty Guard she’d met save the Melifen—in the seemingly always-just-pressed dark red uniform. “Officer Rowell. Yes?”

  He took the seat by her. “I’m sure Officer Scava would have come by to inform you of this—even though he shouldn’t, strictly speaking, and neither should I.” He glanced around, then leaned forward, speaking more softly. “We went to Union Shipping’s warehouse with a writ of entry based on an anonymous tip that Officer Scava received about smuggled goods there, down to the exact box we should be looking in.”

  “And?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Whatever was supposed to be there wasn’t.”

  She started. “That’s im—” She cut herself off and cleared her throat. “I see.”

  Rowell lifted his brows. “Did Scava share any details of this tip with you, ma’am?”

  Annie fidgeted. “No details, no.”

  “But you knew about it.”

  She nodded slightly. “So why isn’t he here?”

  “He’s…busy with Captain Snow. She’s not very pleased. Again.”

  “Why? Scava didn’t do anything wrong! It’s not his fault Union—that the tip didn’t work out.”

  The Vraini raised his hands. “I know, but she’s concerned about…the appearances here. This tip came in right after he started working with you independently and without authorization. He is working with you, isn’t he?”

  She sighed. “Sort of. And that’s probably not helping him any more than it’s helping me, is it?”

  Rowell lowered his voice again. “I don’t think it hurts, ma’am. I agree with Officer Scava that there’s more to this than we know.” He gave another furtive glance around. “I wanted to let you know that we might be able to get the original informant—who I presume is the one who called in this second tip—to meet with us in person. And I’d like you to be there.”

  “What? He got back in touch with you?”

  He nodded. “With contacts I have, after our raid. He’s scared.”

  “So am I! And taking me with you can’t possibly be within your rules.”

  He looked uncomfortable. “No, it isn’t. But from what I’m picking up, you and Officer Scava work very well together as an investigative team. Maybe we can get you a provisional investigation license, make it retroactive. Or maybe we can just keep Captain Snow from knowing about it.”

  “I don’t see any need for me to stay involved—”

  “You know Union better than any of us do. You can not only fact-check his story, you might be able to fill in missing details.”

  She scratched the back of her ear, then reluctantly nodded. “I’ll consider it.”

 
; “Thank you, ma’am.” Rowell rose to his feet. “Scava should be, ah, free soon.”

  “Wonderful.” She stifled her sigh, realizing she’d been doing an awful lot more of it since she’d met the Melifen.

  Annie had gotten through another hundred pages in the book when Scava made his appearance. He didn’t say anything to her. He just dropped into the other seat in the nook, leaned back, and slapped his hands on the overstuffed armrests, closing his eyes.

  “So they moved the incriminating crate.”

  “So it would seem.”

  She sighed. “So we’re back to square one. No, we’re before square one, because now they know they’re onto us and they’re cleaning up.”

  “Well, yes, but we still have a break thanks to that original informant getting back in touch with Rowell.”

  “So Rowell’s the one that the source talked to originally, not you?”

  Scava shook his head. “No. He didn’t talk to any of us. It was a written anonymous tip. He might not be a he, even.”

  “So you how do you even know this is the same guy?”

  “Rowell has better street contacts than we do.”

  “Street contacts.”

  “You know, street contacts. People on the street, on the ground, mixed in with the seedier elements.”

  “Gangs?”

  “You could call them that.”

  She crossed her arms. “Your original source had to be someone on the inside. Why would someone working for a shipping company be running with a street gang?”

  “You’re thinking accountant. He might be a driver or a warehouse worker. Or he might know somebody in a gang. Family, friend, it doesn’t matter. Look, we got good evidence from him before—”

  “That didn’t go anywhere—”

  “—and you’ve just got to learn to be a little more trusting, Miss Swift.”

  “The way my life has been going I’m pretty sure I need to learn to be less trusting.”

  He laughed and stood up. “Should we get dinner together? It’s getting close to the right hour.”

  “Are you going to be a guard at my place again tonight?”

  “That was my plan, yes.”

  “Then why don’t we just meet back there at seven-chime?”