Titanshade

by Dan Stout

  His head hit the table and I grabbed the back of his shirt collar, spinning him around and shoving him in front of us as I ran him toward the back room. Propelling him forward strained my lower body. Pain danced along my legs and hips. I did my best to make the resulting grimace look like an angry snarl. This was no time to show weakness.

  Ajax was beside me, one hand on his revolver, scanning the crowd for hostile faces.

  We stormed into the back room, where a small group of men stood around a pool table. From the dice and scattered bills, it looked like they were in the middle of a game of craps.

  “Everyone out!” I barked and threw the Gillmyn down on a chair. The wooden legs creaked in a way that gave me a great shiver of satisfaction.

  There was a clatter of fallen chairs and toppled pint glasses as the room cleared. If any of the gamblers questioned how a middle-aged cop could push around a hulking knee-breaker like Simon, they didn’t bother speaking up. I kicked the door shut behind them and jammed a chair under the handle. Ajax shot me a look, but he followed my lead. He was practically radiating tension. Now that it was just the three of us, I decided it was time to clue him in.

  “Ajax, meet Simon. CI number 287-B.”

  Simon stood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re done here.”

  I couldn’t blame him. It’s a risky side job, being a criminal informant. To put his nerves at rest I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a wad of bills.

  “I told you he’s my partner. The kid’s clean.”

  At least I hoped he was. While Ajax had the distinct whiff of honesty about him, I knew that in Titanshade appearances could be deceiving, and innocence was a fragile and fleeting state of existence.

  Simon wavered, glancing from the cash to me. Finally his greed won out. He dropped back into the chair.

  “What do you want?”

  “The usual report,” I said, “but I need something additional, as well.”

  “Fine,” said Simon. “Let’s make it sound convincing.”

  I picked up a chair and flung it across the room where it struck the corner with a resounding crash, then sat down on another and pulled out my notebook.

  Simon had gotten onto my radar a couple years back when I’d found a dead roughneck in an alley. He’d been the loser in a particularly contentious argument over how to split winnings from a lottery ticket. Simon had witnessed the fight, and had been willing to roll on the guy who walked away in exchange for a few drinks. That had been the start of a long and mutually beneficial relationship as my confidential informant. He was a mid-weight thug in the city’s underbelly who did all his business out of the Hey-Hey, and he reported to me every two weeks or whenever I needed a tip.

  Simon rattled off a list of recent moves in the underworld, most of which I’d already heard from standing near the water cooler at the Bunker. I jotted them down anyway and listened to him complain about the mood around the neighborhood. Word of the Haberdine murder had spread faster than I’d expected. Rumors were flying, and everyone had a theory about what it meant for the wind farms, for the city, and ultimately for their own ability to make a living.

  Simon dragged a hand over the hairless green dome of his head and grunted. “And the situation’s not gonna be helped by you guys shaking me down in my backyard. Can’t you just use the phone like a civilized human being?” He glanced at Ajax. “No offense. I’m sure you guys are civilized too. Only with more, you know . . .” He waved a webbed hand in front of his mouth. “Tusks, or whatever.”

  I snapped my fingers in Simon’s face, and his watery eyes moved from Ajax to me. “What do you know about Squibs?” I asked. “Habits, temperament . . . anything at all.”

  Simon huffed out a wet sigh that stunk of algae and fish food.

  “What do I look like, a school book?”

  Ajax sighed and glanced at his watch.

  I turned my head toward the door and screamed an unspeakable insult about Simon’s parentage, sure to be heard in the bar. Simon grunted.

  “Nice, Carter.”

  “So,” I said. “Squibs.”

  His long arms spread in a shrug. “Look, I can tell you what I’ve heard, but I don’t know much.”

  “Just tell us what you do know, big guy.” I didn’t say it harsh but I didn’t say it gently, either.

  “Squibs’re like frogs.” He rubbed his head again, evidently straining to come up with more detail. “They like to stay wet. And wear hard armor.”

  “Hard armor?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Like ceremonial stuff. It’s like they enjoy touching firm material after spending so much time in the mud.”

  Simon seemed to pick up on our disinterest in this piece of trivia, and he hurried to elaborate as he popped a bottle under his boot like a stray beetle.

  “Think of a frog, sitting on a log and . . .” He trailed off, then tried again. “Or maybe a rock. A wet rock by the side of the river—”

  “We understand the metaphor,” Ajax said. “Get on with the story.”

  Simon grunted and resumed filling us in on everything he knew. I finally had to direct him to the area I was really interested in.

  “What about sex?”

  He blinked. “Sex?”

  “Yeah. Any preferences you know of?”

  “Hells, Carter, I don’t have any idea. Why’re you asking? You thinking about taking a walk on the wet side?”

  This was useless. I changed the subject.

  “Anyone you know got it out for Squibs? Any pimp or candy that had a bad experience, or someone holding a long grudge, running their mouth off when they’re drinking?”

  He shook his head. The Hey-Hey sat in disputed underworld territory, a handful of neighborhoods that shifted back and forth between at the overlap of two different outfits: the CaCuri twins and the Harlq Syndicate. It meant Simon was often a useful pair of ears, but in this case he wasn’t turning out to be the source of inside information that I’d hoped. Simon didn’t seem to be enjoying our talk either.

  “You know, you showing up like this is bad for business,” he said. “Second time in two days someone’s come in here throwing his weight around. Makes me nervous about our little chats staying private.” Simon crossed his arms and eyed Ajax.

  I leaned in. “You said I’m the second person to come in here. Who was the first?”

  “One of the CaCuri twins.”

  That could be useful. I motioned for him to continue.

  “Thomas made the rounds last night, gold on his fingers and running his mouth, telling everyone that this is a CaCuri neighborhood whether they like it or not.”

  “How’d that go over?”

  Simon’s gills flared. “Couple people mouthed off as they were leaving. CaCuri ran after and talked to ’em outside.”

  That explained the new dents we’d seen from the car.

  “Any of the Harlq boys come around to set him straight?”

  Ajax spoke up quickly. “This is Harlq turf?”

  I’d said it “Har-lek,” the best I could manage with human vocal chords, but Ajax pronounced it more accurately, with a deep thrumming undercurrent of menace. He’d also slid one foot back and dropped his shoulders. Almost, but not quite, a fighting stance.

  “It ebbs and flows.” I filed away his reaction for later reference. “Depending on who’s got more money and drugs that week.”

  I turned my attention to my informant and repeated my question. “Did the Harlqs come by?”

  Simon shuffled his feet.

  “Naw,” he said. “Seemed like CaCuri almost wanted ’em to, but they didn’t show.”

  Maybe that meant they were busy killing a diplomat. Maybe CaCuri was working hard to establish an alibi. Maybe it all meant nothing.

  “And the other twin?” I asked.

  “She wasn�
�t around,” he said. “Which was fine by me. She’s the scary one.”

  I grunted. Gangster types doing gangster stuff didn’t give us much to go on.

  “Alright. That’s it for now,” I said. I slapped Simon on the shoulder and tucked the wad of cash into his shirt pocket.

  Ajax turned for the door.

  “Not quite yet,” I said.

  Simon groaned. “Dammit.”

  I scratched the side of my nose. “You know we need to do it.”

  He stared at the ceiling for a long beat, then sighed. “Alright.”

  “Where do you want it?” I asked.

  Simon tapped the space between his right eye and nose, a delicate stretch of skin on a Gillmyn that would swell and bruise dramatically without any real damage. The butt of my gun followed a moment later. We crashed one more chair for good measure, then let ourselves out. Simon stayed behind, his rapidly swelling face a testament to the way he’d refused to talk to the cops. I dropped a small wad with the bartender as an apology for the damages. I’d turn in a receipt for the expense account later. Confidential Informants are a standard expense.

  Jax kept tight to my side as we held our hands over the entrance vent, the remaining clientele staring daggers at our backs. Once we were outside he turned to me with fire in his eyes.

  “You want to tell me what all that was about?” His voice crackled, the needle-sharp teeth in his speaking mouth tapping together.

  I walked away, putting a little space between us as I pulled the car keys out of my pocket.

  “Just getting background,” I said.

  He closed the gap again. “Yeah? That Gillmyn give some insight we needed to talk to candies?”

  I spread my arms as we approached our ride. “You never know when we’re gonna run into some Squibs, is all.”

  My new partner grabbed my outstretched arm and spun me so that I fell against the rear of our car. I found myself staring into livid eyes, deep-set above powerful jaws with teeth more like horns than molars. His biting jaw was still, but his mandibles clenched as his voice rose from the sharp-toothed hole in his neck.

  “Squibs have a parliamentary system,” he said. “They eat a largely vegetarian diet supplemented with occasional fish. Their monarch is a figurehead, but she’s immensely popular, and the nobility still pulls most of parliament’s strings.” He tapped me in the chest, flipping my tie to one side. I didn’t move, and he kept talking.

  “They have shorter lifespans than we do, and significantly shorter than humans. They put great pride in the longer-lived of their species, and elders are venerated.”

  “Alright,” I said, “point taken. It was a wasted trip.”

  “Oh, no. I think that it was certainly worth the risk of pissing off a bar full of half-drunk lowlifes in order to find out Squibs wear ‘hard armor.’ It’s not like we couldn’t have picked that up from the royal seal—the one with their queen in full plate mail. Because after all, we probably would have assumed that they preferred some of that soft armor that’s so popular lately.”

  I adjusted my tie, keys jangling in my hand. “In my opinion sarcasm is unprofessional.”

  “Apologies. It’s a bad habit I picked up in college.” Ajax leaned forward, bringing his biting jaws closer to my face as he plucked the keys from my hand. “You know, where I took poli-sci courses about the Southern Crossing cultures, like Squibs. Or you would’ve known”—he held my gaze—“if you bothered to ask me what I could contribute to this case.”

  Jax turned away and unlocked the passenger door. Before entering he turned back to me. “My point,” he said, “is that the next time you think we need intelligence, you ask your partner what he knows first.” He slid the keys across the roof of the car. “Now are you driving or what?”

  I know when I’m beaten. I didn’t say a word, just got in and started the engine. There was no more putting it off. It was time to visit the candies, and Talena’s photo still weighed heavy in my pocket.

  5

  BRYYH HAD TOLD US TO go to the Estates, a former old money neighborhood teetering on the verge of gentrification. Up there the candies were high class and didn’t prowl the streets. Her order made sense, given the fashionable way the candies in the photos had been dressed. But I knew better. So instead of the Estates we drove along the south end of the Borderlands, where the air was colder and the tricks came cheaper.

  Young men and women for sale stood in carefully rehearsed poses, some swooping or parading while others teetered on the cobblestones, drunk or high on whatever was easiest to get that week. Some of them had probably been out here since last night. When the roughneck crews rolled into town the derrick workers could blow through a month’s wages in a night or two. The entire illicit economy of the city had evolved to take advantage of that opportunity. Titanshade never sleeps, and it has no shame. Which is why we could count on open prostitution even in the early morning.

  Ajax scanned the crowd, absently scraping the side of his left tusk with one mandible. “How often does Vice sweep down here?”

  “When they get enough complaints. But it doesn’t change anything. The candies aren’t the problem, it’s the pimps.”

  “And the johns.”

  “And the johns,” I conceded. “No matter what way you cut it, the wrong people get arrested down here.”

  I parked the car in a fire zone, pulled out the three pictures of candies the captain had given us, and spread them on the dash of the car. I tapped the picture of Talena. Frosted blond hair pulled up in fashionable curls, she wore layered clothing topped by nice furs.

  “When we find her,” I said, “I’ll do the talking.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a pause while Jax looked at the photos. Each showed a young, well-dressed woman, two humans and one Mollenkampi. Both the humans’ hair was done up immaculately, and all three would have looked comfortable walking into a high-end hotel like the Eagle Crest.

  “It’s the layers that give them away,” I said. “If they could afford rooms in a place like the Eagle Crest, they wouldn’t be wearing that much clothing.”

  Like almost everything in the city, the weather got colder and less genteel the farther you got from the mountain. Most people in Titanshade dressed for the neighborhoods where they lived or worked. It made it easy to distinguish the haves from the have-nots at a glance. Only the truly rich could afford to wear a single layer of thin fabric, while people who moved from neighborhood to neighborhood wore layers that could be peeled off or replaced as needed. People like cops, or candies who made visits to posh hotels.

  Ajax looked from the photos to the bleary-eyed candies milling around on the streets.

  “I don’t think we’re going to find these girls in the Borderlands.”

  He kept his voice neutral, but the newly minted detective was uncomfortable with ignoring Bryyh’s direction. I couldn’t blame him, considering I’d already pulled him along on one unexpected stop.

  “She’ll be down here.” I pointed at Talena’s photo. “And she can tell us where to find the other two.”

  “You know her?”

  I ran my tongue over the dry edge of my lips. “I knew her mom.”

  There was a slight hum from Jax’s speaking mouth. It was a soft, sympathetic sound. I saw him glance from Talena’s photo to my profile, looking for family resemblance.

  Smart, I thought.

  I took a breath and prepared to launch into an explanation, but his oversized jawbones clicked together, and I held my tongue. He’d done the math, knew she couldn’t be my kid.

  Even smarter.

  “Alright,” he said. “When we find her, you do the talking.”

  I’d expected a little more pushback from him after the dustup at the bar and was grateful that I didn’t get it. But I wanted to be clear about something.

>   “Look,” I said, “Talena’s no candy.”

  Jax nodded.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “I mean it.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not arguing, Carter.”

  I saw his glance drop to the picture of Talena on the dash. Even well-dressed and done up, to a cop’s jaundiced eye she clearly had an air about her that said “for sale.” I gave up.

  “You’ll see when you meet her.”

  * * *

  We prowled up and down the Borderlands’ strips in the Hasam, keeping an eye out for the faces in our photos. Candies peered back at us from the usual spots: shaded in doorways or shadowed under the awnings of closed buildings, dark figures in silhouette, only legs and the bottoms of shorts showing, clothing that was slightly too skimpy for the chill of the fog in the air.

  The candies were a mix of Mollenkampi and humans, in roughly the same ratio as their clients. Some johns and janes liked to cross species lines, and human and Mollenkampi parts are compatible, but there was no chance of reproduction. “About the same odds as you getting your gym sock pregnant after one of your more romantic nights in,” the sergeant had told me on my first day working Vice.

  I passed on that nugget of wisdom to my new partner, and he snorted.

  “You shouldn’t judge,” I said. The slow parade of flesh continued past our windows. “Sex is ninety percent mental, kid.”

  “Maybe at your age.”

  I shot him a disapproving glare.

  “I wasn’t judging,” he said. “People take solace where they can find it.”

  I glanced over at his massive jaws and the thick plates that covered his hairless head.

  “Right,” I said, and shifted in my seat. “Anyway, that’s why I asked my CI about Squib preferences. If our vic had some company in that room, I’d like to know about it.”