“Chunglie?” the squatter said. “I nearly shit myself.”
“You’re in the right place then. Sorry, got carried away in the moment.” I holstered my pistols. “Marshal, meet Long Barnacle and one of his sons.”
I’d known Long Barnacle for years. He was a trader with his own ship and wore the platinum nipple chains of a high status Moordanaap although one time he got drunk and admitted they were plated metal. The platinum collar around his neck was a translator and the bag hanging at his waist did the same job as human pockets.
“I am Isamary,” the son said, choking on a mouthful of grubs. “Who do you people think you are, barging in here and pointing guns at us?”
“We think we are marshals investigating a homicide,” Marshal Harry said. “Sorry if we startled you.”
“What do you mean marshals? There are no marshals on Smuds.” Isamary had the bright glossy orange and black stripes of a Moordanaap in his prime, while his father’s fur was mostly silver.
Harry looked down at her uniform and pointed to the gold badge.
“There are now.”
“We do our own law in these parts,” LB said. “And what do you mean homicide? Who’s dead?”
“Big Sam,” Daisy Tubes said, aiming her guns into the room. If one of you admits they did it, I’ll let the other one live.”
“Stand down, Daisy,” Harry said. “Justice doesn’t work like that. The owner of this bar was murdered last night... and his bartender Big Sam... and we are investigating. Were you two sleeping here last night?”
“Yes?” Isamary answered.
“You don’t seem sure?”
“I am sure we slept here last night. I’m just not sure if I should answer your questions.”
“Of course we should,” LB said. “We are legitimate traders carrying out legitimate trade and have nothing to fear from the law.”
He grinned at the marshal. “At least on this occasion. Now, are you telling me they murdered my old friend Loow, while we were asleep downstairs?”
“You heard nothing? Two safes were blasted open and Big Sam had holes shot through his armoured hull.”
Long Barnacle pointed a thumb at the open hatch at the back of the room. “That door is soundproofed, so people can sleep while the bar is still open.”
“Ah... so... Long Barnacle is a very Earther sounding name,” Harry said. “Have you been to Earth?”
“No, we haven’t,” Isamary answered. “In the ancient tongue of our people, Long Barnacle means Aging Fraud With A Glint In His Eye.”
“And Isamary means Twenty Years Of Economic Dependence And Then He’ll Crash The Car,” Long Barnacle supplied. “Very perspicacious our ancestors. So how can we help?”
Marshal Harry drummed her fingers on the edge of an earth filled barrel. I hoped her shots were up to date. The toilets were steam blasted once every five years.
“There more people in the cellar?”
“Yes, a few.”
“In that case, I’ll have a look in the bar first, and then I want to talk to them.”
“We’ll come with you,” LB said cheerfully. “If anything is missing, we’ll be able to tell you.”
“Father might. I spent as little time in there as possible,” Isamary said.
“My son disapproves of my lifestyle,” LB admitted.
“I don’t call spending your life smoking, drinking and gambling, while mother does the real work, a lifestyle.”
“I do the things I am good at, and leave your mother to do the things she is good at—”
“And I didn’t crash your car.”
“That is true, and I am grateful for small mercies.”
CHAPTER 4
I led the way through to the bar.
“This is where I got most of my jobs,” I said, pushing the door open.
“Really?” Marshal Harry asked. “Wouldn’t an employment agency work better?”
“Depends on the jobs you’re after.”
No fancy booths here. A large room with chairs and benches clustered around tables. Holopics of the previous bar owners had hung on the walls, but they’d been flung on the floor.
“This is... nicer than I expected,” Marshal Harry said. “The green holopaint on the walls makes the place look almost... jolly.”
“Most of the regulars in here are forest dwellers,” I explained. “Green makes us feel safe.”
“That explains the leaf litter on the floor, in place of the carpet I was expecting.”
“Not been away from Earth long, have you, Marshal?” LB said. “That’s not leaf litter, that’s the bar snacks.”
He picked up a dried pickle and tossed it into his mouth.
“Right...” Harry decided. “You scan that side, Chunglie, I’ll go this way.”
I got my crime scene kit out and worked my way between the seats and tables. Isamary followed, watching what I did with the equipment.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing.
“It’s a general poker.”
“What’s it do?”
“It pokes things.”
“What’s that?”
I sighed and reared my front half.
“It is a delicate piece of equipment which can detect fresh blood spatter if I use it properly. Do you mind if I get on with this?”
“Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never seen a murder investigated before,” Isamary said. “Can I hold the general poker?”
“No.” I got on with the job and tried to ignore the one ton hairy ape watching everything I did.
“The regulars knew about the safe built into Big Sam,” LB bellowed. “Loow bragged on it. Frequently.”
“I already said that,” I pointed out.
“Pardon me for trying to be helpful,” LB said. He leapt the bar and passed a bottle to Isamary. “Let’s have breakfast.”
It surprised me when Daisy didn’t stop him.
“Sorry,” Harry said. “But you can’t touch anything in here, it’s a crime scene.”
“And I don’t drink breakfast,” Isamary said pointedly.
“But Loow owed me money—”
“Sorry, no.”
“So I figure he owes us breakfast.”
“Sorry, no.”
LB gave in and clambered over the bar. You can’t win an argument with the marshal, because she doesn’t counter argue.
I see in infrared, but my cybernetic enhancements let me scan the rest of the electromagnetic spectrum. I still found nothing out of the ordinary. The only fingerprints on the holopics were Loow’s. While the cybernetics were doing the work, my mind wondered. Or is that wandered?
“I have a question,” I said. “If Big Sam is programmed not to shoot the boss, how come Loow’s body is half disintegrated?”
“I wondered that,” Marshal Harry said. “I’ve called the crime scene bots, but they can’t get here for another six hours.”
“They coming from orbit?”
“Afraid so.”
“I know I’m new at this Marshal Service thing, but I think we could use more help around here.” I chewed a dried leaf.
“Afraid so.”
“Hah, I did fifteen years in the military police when I was young,” LB said. “Nothing changes.”
“Mum said she was proud of you back then.”
“Trading for forty years, supporting my family with my wits, doesn’t count?”
“Dis-honest trading brings shame on the whole—”
“Have you noticed,” Marshal Harry interrupted firmly. “There are no organic traces of the murderer in the office or on these holopics? No fingerprints, foreign DNA or biome traces.”
Biome is the aura of bacteria that lives on and around any organic being. So, odd when that’s missing from a room as small as the office.
“Are you thinking the killer is a robot?” I waved a claw. “Because I’m thinking an anti-grav drone could do the murders and carry off the takings.”
“Big Sam can out shoot any drone,” Daisy
scoffed.
“The building has no windows, and the doors were locked from the inside,” Harry pointed out. “So how did the drone escape with the cash?”
“Ah... so what’s your theory?”
“I’m trying not to theorise ahead of the facts, I’m just noting the oddities.”
“My theory is a time traveller did it,” Daisy said. I would have scoffed in return, but for the 50 cal blasters.
“I already scanned for chronotron radiation,” Marshal Harry said without looking. “And teleporter waste quarks, before someone suggests that.”
LB closed his mouth.
“So someone came in here and searched for the safe in a hurry,” I said. “Does that get us closer to the killer?”
“Not sure yet,” Harry said. “The back door was locked, and the front door shot from the inside, so the killer was in the building before closing time. If they have not left, that means one of the people downstairs is the killer. But it seems stupid to commit murder and hang around.”
“I did say, we’re not after a genius,” I pointed out.
“True. Right, Daisy, guard the lounge, let no one touch the bodies. Do not kill anyone. Let’s wake the sleepers and ask questions; lead on Macduff.”
“That’s not my name.”
“It’s just an expression.”
“Another one? That’ll be number thirty-three.”
I led the way to the back of the toilets. Marshal Harry’s eyes watered and she held her nose. The steps into the basement were broad, shallow and crossed the width of the building. Ideal for most body sizes.
“Is there a light switch?”
“To your left, just inside the door,” I said. “But we never use—”
My eyes and sensors were blind for a moment. The grumbling, complaints and shouted expletives of rudely awakened sleepers, were therefore the first things I noticed were missing.
“What the fu—?”
“Mind your language,” Harry interrupted.
“I have been a smuggler, a pirate and a gun for hire,” I replied with dignity. “I refuse to say `dang it` or `poot` when I am surprised.”
The cellar was empty. There were twelve pallets in the floor space, empty of bodies. They had scattered blankets on the floor. Along the back wall, lay a pile of dried leaves and straw, flattened through the middle.
“Aw look,” I said. “Loow kept my bed exactly the way I left it.”
A large, fat green butt blocked the long narrow window which led to the alley at the side of the building.
“There’s an exit no one told me about.” Harry pointed at the window and the butt. “Who does that backside belong to?”
“Big Walter,” I said. “Just a sec, I’ll get him.”
I trotted down the stairs, across the floor and climbed my front half up the wall until I reached him. His body was bulgy and pale green. It wriggled as I grabbed it in four claws.
“Quit that,” I shouted. “This is Deputy Chunglie, so you know I will shoot if you run.”
The wriggling stopped. I pulled. He stretched. I marched backwards and the pale green body stretched more. It was like grabbing hold of three tons of marshmallow and pulling. My mouth started to water.
“Chunglie.” Harry held up a hand. “Maybe you shouldn’t do that? What if he snaps?”
“He’ll be fine,” LB said, grabbing a double armful of green marshmallow tastiness. “Walt’s last meal got stuck in the window, otherwise he would have escaped. Walt’s species are very elastic.”
I leaned in and grabbed a big mouthful of Walter. The goo squirmed in my mouth. I was in gastronomic heaven until Marshal Harry pulled my mouth open.
“I’ve told you before- we don’t eat suspects.”
Walt’s head popped back into the room.
“That’s okay, Marshal,” LB said, dragging Walt to the middle of the room. He stroked the soft green flank.
“We’ve all been tempted to eat Walt, but he’s a mate.”
“A marshal? Don’t shoot,” Big Walter said in a metallic voice, raising half a dozen of his stubby limbs. “I surrender.”
Harry pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Sir, you are not under arrest,” she said, slowly. Everyone talks slowly to Big Walter. He’s an accountant. “We caught you attempting to flee a crime scene, but we are willing to overlook that, if you co-operate with our investigation.”
Big Walt’s face was smaller than the marshal’s and made up of two compound eyes and two small pincers for jaws. Compound eyes? Insect eyes, made up of hundreds of small lenses. There was a collar around his neck with various devices attached to it, and two boxes stapled between his stubby limbs.
“Big Walter will co-operate,” he said.
“Why did you run,” I asked.
“Because everyone else nebbish,” Big Walter said. His voice ran down to a whisper and then nothing. He smacked the metal box stapled between his third and fourth limbs a couple of times. Two small lights came on.
“Sorry, cheap nebbish hand knock off,” he said.
“Bought that from LB, didn’t you,” I remembered.
“I gave him mate's rates,” LB said, lurching forward and peering at the voice box. “Probably needs a recharge.”
“I... re....” Big Walt said. LB turned to his son.
“See if you can get this working,” he said. “Remember that job lot of voice boxes I got from Torko the Nemquist? Good quality end of line stuff.”
“End of line stuff eighty years ago,” Isamary muttered. He took different batteries from his pouch until he got one to fit. The lights on the voice box came on brighter.
“Hello, hello, hello?” Big Walt said. The voice was light, cheery and male. “End of year tax returns, what fun. Voice box seems to work fine.”
“Can you understand me?” I asked, rearing up and getting close to his face.
“No one understands you,” he said. “But I understand your words.”
“Don’t get cheeky,” I said. “Now answer the marshal’s questions, or the Queen of Shaws will need a new accountant.”
“Is your name really Big Walter?”
“No, my name is actually- Big Walter- which, in the nebbish of my people means- Big Walter- but all that comes out of this nebbish voice box is–Big Walter.”
“Ah... right... and you are a caterpillar form?”
“Yes. My species are Big Walter. I mean- Big Walter.”
“Right... so aren’t you a bit young to be working?”
“I’m fifty-eight tmesis old. My Big Walter’s first invention was a mix of seeds and leaves that hold back the change to a butterfly. Our adult form has no mouth and only lives long enough to breed and lay eggs.”
“That must have stopped your civilization developing?”
“You’re not tmesis- damn this voice box.”
“You are the Queen of Shaws accountant?” Marshal Harry spluttered.
“Yes?” Big Walt said. “Why is that so hard to nebbish?”
Harry waved her arms around at the damp, dark room.
“Surely an accountant can afford somewhere better to live,” she said. Which showed she still had a lot to learn about insects.
“Are you kidding?” Big Walt said. “This place is dark, cool, has Big Walter running down the walls, and Loow used to bring me silage every morning for breakfast. He was a nebbish to himself, that man.”
“So you are aware he is dead?” the marshal pounced.
“Ah...yes? Is that bad?”
“It is for Loow,” I said.
“Someone said the marshals are here investigating the nebbish of Loow, and we should get out before they stitched us up. No one stayed to help me nebbish out the window, though.”
Big Walter waved his pudgy little limbs. He had thumbs at the end of each leg, just enough to pick up a pen or tap a keypad.
“Who informed you that Loow is dead?” Marshal Harry asked.
“One of the bipeds who were nebbishing here,” Big Walter said.
“I am not good at tmesis bipeds apart, although I have been reading Chunglie’s Humanwiki.”
“There’s a Humanwiki?” LB said. “What’s the URL?”
“Chunglie’s what?” Harry turned to me and raised both eyebrows. I realized I could be in trouble.
“Well done, you drongo,” I hissed at Big Walter. “Look, we invertebrate species find it hard to understand mammals and especially humans. The few of us with experience of you wrote up what we know in a wiki. It’s been very useful...everyone said.”
“Everyone like who?”
“Mainly invertebrates,” I admitted. “But we are getting some Tooyr coming on, since more humans turned up in this star system. The Tooyr find it hard to stomach your baldness.”
“My what?” Harry put a hand on her head. “I’m not bald, I have a fine head of hair.”
“They don’t mean the hair on your head, Marshal,” LB said, stroking the orange and black fur on his chest. That humans have hairless bodies and are sickly and thin looking... it upsets people. We are used to fur, or spines on mammals.”
“Right... we have completely gotten off the point here, so I want to make two things absolutely clear,” the marshal declared with authority. “I am not bald, and I am not sickly. Now, can we get back to investigating the murders?”
“Nebbish?” Big Walter said. He leaned in and peered at the marshal’s head. “I thought that was a hat.”
Marshal Harry held up a hand. “No. We are sticking to the subject. How well did you know the deceased?”
“He knew me, better than I knew him,” Big Walter admitted, sadly. “I could not tell you what he nebbished to eat or where he nebbished, but Loow knew those things about me.”
Marshal Harry looked around. “He didn’t live in the bar?”
“No,” I said. “He has an apartment on Nonesuch Street. Number 2200 Cross Pennant B.”
“No,” LB corrected. “That’s his old place. He moved to Cross Abernathy D.”
“Are you familiar with that address, Chunglie?” the marshal asked me.
“Yes, it’s two floors below and three along from his old place. I wonder why he moved. That was a nice apartment he had.”
When Harry Met Chunglie Box Set Page 9
