Marion tapped his arm.
“What about her? You haven’t mentioned your mama. She still got that limp? I always feel bad on that. I set that ankle best I could, but it was broke worse than anything I seen.”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s dead now.”
“What happened?”
“She hung herself.”
Marion patted David’s hand. “Bless your heart, son. Bless your heart.”
“She left her soul down here, Marion.”
“Naw, David. Your mama’s troubles come before Little Saigo.”
“This place didn’t help.”
“That I grant you. How was she livin’ when she died?”
“How?”
“Where she live? What she working on?”
David scratched the stubble of beard on his chin. “She was peaceful enough, after she left the bank. She had money. But she lived in empty rooms. Not even curtains on the windows.”
“You gone have to quit being mad at her, David. She couldn’t help what she was.”
David rubbed his thumb on the stone floor.
“I can pay for information, Marion,” he said at last. “It’s in the police budget.”
“So you’re a cop, now, are you, boy? Offer this old woman money?”
“But that’s not how it work, David. You’re not supposed to pay, till you hear what I say. No cash from the man, till you show him your hand.”
David put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. “The offer was poorly worded, but honestly meant.”
“Ain’t nothing you got, tempt Marion. What you need, son?”
“Something’s going on down here.”
Marion laughed, and laughed hard. “Something going on here? You think so?”
“Something new, I mean. There are people watching this place, different people, deals going down, cops disappearing …”
“Funny you should say that.”
“What?”
“Cops disappearing. There’s folks gone missing, David. More than a few. And talk about midnight abduction.”
“You’re sure?”
“Down here, David, folk don’t need to make things up.”
“Give me details.”
She leaned her head back against the wall. “People don’t show up, who should be showing up, made people, under the right protection. And we all looking over our shoulders.” She cocked her head sideways. “Money. It be cropping up in places it shouldn’t.”
“Drug deals?”
“You said new. That’s not.”
“Anybody see anything?”
“Girl I know.”
“Can I see her?”
“Not likely. Real hard to reach. Some of what she says is true, the rest in her head. She comes to listen when I work at night, even though she hangs out with the rats. Moves back and forth. An odd one. She asked for my help, while back. Said folks was getting into her mind and stealing her thoughts.”
“Schizo?”
“Surely is. I told her I’d make her a magic box—something to protect her thoughts. She the one told me what happen to Paxon.”
“Who’s he?”
“A guy. Hangs around, pimping a little and such. This girl, she says that folks came into the tunnel and took Paxon. She saw it. And it may be true. He ain’t been seen.”
“Folks, Marion? Where did it happen?”
“She didn’t say.”
“How many? Men? Women?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“But how—”
“I don’t know.”
“You know everything else.”
“That’s gratitude.”
“I need to see this girl.”
“Luck with that.”
“You know where she lives?”
“I got an idea.”
“Where?”
“It’ll cost you.”
“Name it.”
“Not money, hon. You got to deliver that box. Think you can do that for me?”
“My pleasure.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The magic box was made of pine and sanded to a soft fine sheen. David tucked it under his arm and walked deeper into the tunnels. He headed toward the southeast section—the oldest part of Little Saigo, and the most dangerous. He would slip in from the back.
There were mag levs running through the southeast section. He remembered the publicity about them—“the future of transportation.” England, with help from Germany, had one of the first major mag lev railways, and had ditched them after the tragic maiden voyage of the British Charleton Lines, much the same way hydrogen aircraft had been abandoned after the Hindenburg disaster. Mag levs became a byword for untrustworthy technology.
The speeds had been incredible.
The Little Saigo contractor had planned a network of mag lev cars throughout his underground city, and had already installed roadbeds in the southeast area. They still worked, in sections, though there were parts of the roadbed that no longer functioned. What did function was controlled by the tunnel rats, who considered southeast Little Saigo, as well as a piece of every organized racket in the city, a particular piece of their turf.
Naomi Chessfield was a tunnel rat.
David smelled cigarette smoke. A metallic voice echoed through the tunnel, sounding austerely hostile.
“The part you have installed is not the proper fitting. You need part number—”
“Look, stupid, it’s a rubber belt, that’s all, it doesn’t have to be part number X47 series 12. It fits, it works, it’s safe!”
“Overrule.”
“Why?”
“Replacement with any part other than the designated part is a safety violation.”
“I got to go for a ride. I got to feel the wind, and I’m going to—”
David heard the clank of metal just as he turned a corner in the passage. A woman was hunched over a mag lev car, the side panel exposed for repair. A shower of sparks spewed from the panel.
The woman jumped back.
“Son of a bitch. You do that again and you’re scrap.”
She sat on the edge of the mag lev car and lit a cigarette.
He had expected someone older—some ragged unkempt hag. Naomi Chessfield was dressed in skintight black jeans and green leather boots. She wore a brown leather vest, with no shirt, and her skin gleamed whitely. Her hair was short, brown, and feathered like the plume of a bird. The grim visage of a rat was tattooed on her left shoulder. David tried not to stare at the swell of her breasts over the top button of the vest.
She squinted, took a drag of the cigarette, and kicked her left leg up and down, hitting the metal car with her heels. She put her face in her right hand, the left hand hanging loose, cigarette clamped between long, supple fingers. She sobbed once, laughed bitterly, and sobbed again.
David approached softly. She looked up suddenly, muscles tense.
“Hi.” David spread his arms and held out the box. “I have something for you.”
She cocked her head, watching him.
“This is from Marion. Maid Marion. It’s your … magic box.”
The cigarette burned between her fingers. David waited.
“May I hand it to you?”
She nodded jerkily.
He took a few steps toward her, but she held up a hand when he was two feet away. He stopped. She reached for the box. Her hands shook.
David put the box in her left hand, and took her right hand gently, placing it over the top of the box. His thumb came too close to the cigarette and he jerked it back.
“Sorry,” she said. She took a final drag, her cheeks going hollow. Greyish-blue smoke drifted in front of her face. She stubbed the cigarette out against the wall, adding to a score of other black burn marks. She put the rest of the cigarette in her pocket.
“How’s it work?” she asked.
David opened his mouth, then shut it.
“Well, it’s … it’s magic.”
“Yeah?”
He
thought for a moment. “Are there any directions?”
She looked on the sides of the box, and along the bottom. “Don’t think so.” She opened the lid about an inch. The hinge squeaked and she peered inside. “Nope.”
“I’m sorry,” David said. “Marion just asked me to deliver it.”
“I can ask her. Later on.”
The silence settled around them.
“You want a cigarette?” she asked.
“No. Thank you.” What would Mel do with this one, he wondered.
She smiled and patted the side of the mag lev car. “Wish I could give you a ride. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He nodded.
“This one doesn’t work. This stretch of track bed’s gone wrong. That’s the difference between high tech and low tech, right?” She swung her legs. “Low tech, things start to go bad, it just doesn’t work as well. But high tech?” She patted the hood of the car. “This was made during the age of didactic machinery. It goes glitchy, and that’s it. The whole thing comes to a stop.”
He stepped away from her and sat down, his back against the wall. “Marion was telling me about people disappearing.”
She nodded her head vigorously. “You know about that?”
“I’m interested.” He shrugged. “Maybe these people just wandered off.”
“That’s a comfortable thought.” She jumped off the car and paced in front of him. “But I saw them get somebody. Old Paxon. Nobody special, but he was harmless enough.”
“Who, Naomi? Who came for him?”
“How’d you know my name?”
“Marion told me. I’m David Silver.”
“A pleasure.” She leaned down and shook his hand. “God, Silver, all this temptation and you look at my face?”
He grinned. “Tell me what happened to Paxon.”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m a cop.”
“A cop? From up there?” She waved a hand toward the surface. “What do you care what happens down here?”
“I come from down here.”
“But you left.”
“I missed the sunshine.”
“It’s crazy up there.”
“You feel safer down here?”
“Things that can get you down here, I can handle. But when the others come after me—that’s dangerous. They haven’t found me down here. You’re right though, I do miss the sunshine. The heat. The rain. Can’t get a good taco down here, either.”
“That’s beginning to be true up there, too. You never leave?”
“Not too often. It’s dangerous. Sometimes … I don’t know, it doesn’t seem worth it anymore, and I want to go back to the surface. But I can’t do that, can I? You can’t give up. You have to hang in, hope for better times. Someday, maybe I can go back, live like everybody else.”
“You think that’s what happened to Paxon? You think he went back to the surface?”
“Paxon went to the surface all the time. He was a pimp. Worked the non-union girls and boys for Johns who like it with Little Saigo mole rats. You’d be surprised how many do.”
“Not really.”
“You don’t like pimps?”
“No.”
“I think some of them are hooked on the illegal part. And with naked mole rats, it’s anonymous.” She frowned. “Oh, hell, you being a cop, I probably shouldn’t tell you this. But it can’t hurt Paxon now.”
“What exactly happened to him?”
“It looked like a meet. Set up beforehand.”
“With a man or woman?”
“You know, I couldn’t tell? Usually you can get it from the walk. Anyway, they talked, then Paxon slumped down. I heard a whistle, and two guys came out of nowhere, and hauled him off. I heard one of them say … um, ‘last one tonight.’” She sat down beside him. “What you think is going on? ’Cause Paxon, he was with the rats. And he was protected.”
David shrugged. “You get much of a look at anybody?”
“Not much. They were ratty-looking. Dirty. Like they were dressed down especially for Little Saigo. Clothes didn’t go with the walk.”
David was suddenly aware that she smelled clean and scrubbed, and he was in need of a shower. He handed her a card. “This is my name and number.” He took a pen and wrote his home phone number on the back. “You see anything else, or remember something, give me a call, okay?”
“Sure, David.”
“Here.” He handed her a few bills. “You need this?”
Her hand hesitated over the bills. “I can’t. You already brought me my box.”
“Take it.” He got up. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
He remembered the wistful sob, the bitter laugh. “Look, why don’t you come out with me? I know somebody who can help with your problem.”
“I got people after me up there.” She stood up and dusted off the back of her pants. “You’re nice, okay, but you got no idea how powerful they are.”
“Try me.”
She shook her head. “You’re like a baby who kicks his foot, sees the curtain move, and thinks he caused it. Believe me, you don’t know these people. I do.”
“You aren’t what I expected,” he said sadly.
She cocked her head sideways, her eyes large and serious.
“If you change your mind,” David said. “If you need anything. Call me, okay?”
“Okay.”
He glanced back, once, over his shoulder. She clutched his card and waved it at him.
TWENTY-EIGHT
David hunched forward in the seat of the car, His wrist resting loosely on the steering wheel. The windows were down and warm air swirled through his hair. He couldn’t get Naomi Chessfield out of his mind.
A light flashed on the dash.
“Direction, David Silver.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Random pattern. Will query again in fifteen minutes.”
If he didn’t want to think about Naomi, there was always Judith Rawley.
He didn’t want to go home; the house was empty without the girls. Maybe he should go to the office. He didn’t like working at night, didn’t like the way his desk lamp threw shadows over the dark and silent precinct. But tonight he craved the familiarity of his desk, his files. Peace, quiet, and no interruptions.
He started to turn the car around, then didn’t. There was no guarantee that he would be alone. Lieutenant Halliday was frequently there, working late. He would go home.
The bullfrog was in the driveway, waiting like a malevolent Buddha. He drove around it without stopping to argue. There were lights on all over the house, and the girls’ night-light glowed behind the curtains. Haas’s Jeep was on the side of the drive. David put his car in the barn, and avoided looking at the empty rabbit cage.
The back porch light flicked on. The door was unlocked. Rose was in the kitchen, making coffee. The smell of it warmed him.
“David?”
She had her back to him. Her hair was braided, and loose strands curled around her ears and the nape of her neck. He put his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“David?”
“No. Haas.”
“You shrank then.”
He bumped his hips into her back. “Not where it counts.”
“Be careful, the coffee’s hot.”
She put the pot down and squirmed around to face him. He kissed her hard, pressing her back into the sink.
“God, I missed you, too. David, stop. No, listen. David.”
He stepped back. “What?”
“I found … is that blood on your shirt?”
David had a flash, suddenly, of Judith Rawley slumped in a chair.
“You look awful.” Rose ran her knuckles across his cheek. “Are you growing a beard?”
“Maybe.”
She put a hand behind his head and pulled him down for a kiss. “I hope you’re all right. I forgot to worry about you.”
“Ouch.” He took
her hand away.
“What is ouch?” Haas walked into the kitchen. His khaki pants were mud-stained at the knees and along one thigh. His shirt was torn, and his cheek bruised and scraped raw.
David’s jaw tightened. “Rose, are you all right?”
“She is fine,” Haas said. He sat at the table and put his chin in his hand. He winced, and moved the hand away.
David wrapped ice cubes in a dish towel, ran it under water, and handed it to Haas. Haas took it wordlessly and held it to the right side of his jaw. Rose put a cup of coffee in front of him.
David shook his head. He took the coffee mug and tipped it into the sink, watching the dark liquid steam, pool, and run down the drain. He poured a heavy slosh of Wild Turkey into the cup and handed it to Haas, along with two aspirin he rummaged out of the cabinet over the stove.
“Thank you.” Haas sighed deeply.
“What is ouch?” Rose touched David’s head again.
“Long story. Let me kiss the girls, and I’ll—”
She took a gulp of coffee. “Ooo, shit, that’s hot. David, listen.” She grabbed his arm. “I was right. They’re using animals, but Jesus, that’s not all … how did you get a lump on the back of your head?”
“Let me see the kids—”
“Sit. The girls are asleep, anyway, look at them later.”
David sat at the round wood table. “Mel and I were in an explosion.”
“You have concussion?” Haas asked. “I can see from the eyes.”
“Mel?” Rose said. “I should have known he’d have something to do with this. Is he all right? Why didn’t you call me? Oh, hell, you couldn’t call me. I should go and see—”
David grabbed her wrist. “Rose. He’s okay. Still in the hospital, but probably out tomorrow.”
“But what happened?” Rose asked.
“Remember the Elaki I told you about? Puzzle?”
“Elaki?” Rose hopped up and put more coffee in her almost full cup. “Listen, David, the lab we got into was definitely an Elaki operation. We’ve got documentation, but not courtroom stuff. They’re doing some kind of drug experimentation. God, it’s infuriating, why anyone … David, you look really bad. When was this explosion?”
Alien Blues Page 14
