“Nothing is too good for my friends, right Chessie,” Sanchez said, raising her glass. Chessie bellowed a farewell meow and jumped out the open living room window. “Nothing good for cats to eat here,” Sanchez said impersonating the feline. “I’m off to the hunt!”
“About Auric Banks,” said Dorham as he refilled their glasses. “A suite at the Progreso is pretty expensive digs.”
“I considered that myself, and on a retired Marine’s pension to boot. Wonder if he has any other sources of income.”
“Good thought. I’ll do some digging into that tomorrow,” said Dorham just before he sneezed.
“Hey, Dorham—Ellis, mind if I ask something personal?”
Dorham shrugged. “Fire away.”
Sanchez was a little drunk and so was Dorham, so she felt emboldened. “What’s your story? I mean you obviously have a good head on those big shoulders of yours—why are you such a slacker?”
He didn’t respond immediately, watching his drink as he swirled it around in the glass. “That’s a really good question.” After taking another swig, he put the glass down on the coffee table and leaned back, crossing his arms.
“You might expect to hear some sort of sad tale, about how I got my partner tragically killed or how criminals gunned down my wife or some such nonsense. Truth is I guess I’m just not very motivated. I thought police work would be interesting and have a lot of action, so I used my aunt’s connections to get me a position. Problem is, most of the action was filling out reports. I got tired of that pretty quick, so… Well, here I am.”
“You seem to like computers. In fact, you’re damn good at them.”
“Yeah, I can hold my own there. I really should be in the cyber-crime division, but I think I may have burned too many bridges to transfer now. Even my family connections can only get me so far.”
“One more thing I gotta ask,” Sanchez said. “What the hell is up with those allergies? I’ve never been around anyone who sneezes so much. I mean, are they really even allergies?”
“Hah!” he laughed. “Well, you got me. I guess since we’re on this case together and everything, you might as well know…”
Sanchez already knew. There was a narcotic known as ‘saw blade,’ illegal on most worlds, including Quijano. It was derived from trees native to the planet Olybria. The drug gave users a euphoric mood, but also produced the symptoms of airborne allergies. Dorham’s extra happy moods combined with his constant sniffling were dead giveaways.
“… I’m allergic to cats.”
“Yeah, I thought that was the case—wait. Cats?”
“Cats,” he confirmed. “I love them, but ever since I was a little kid—”
“Wait, hold on a minute,” she protested. “If you’re allergic to cats, why do you keep Chessie?”
“Oh, she’s not mine—she belongs to my next door neighbor, Ms. Romero,” he grinned, pointing to the other side of the wall. “Ole Chessie just splits her time between the two of us. She’s a cat, you know—nobody really owns a cat.”
Sanchez downed her drink and poured another. “You’re allergic to cats,” she repeated to herself.
Dorham looked at her suspiciously. “What did you think it was?”
“Nothing, nothing…”
* * * *
As Sanchez sat down at the kitchen table the next morning, she noticed a solemn expression on Dorham’s face.
“The lab just forwarded me the final accident scene report,” he said, holding a datapad in one hand. “It confirms what we’ve known all along. The crash was no accident. Your uncle was murdered. I’m sorry.”
“Like you said, we’ve known for a while now,” said Sanchez, trying to tamp down her emotions. “How?”
“A small explosive device in the engine. They are still trying to figure out what triggered it. It may be that it was rigged to blow when the helicraft reached a certain altitude.” Dorham filled her cup with freshly brewed coffee. “Careful, it’s really, really hot this morning.”
Both of them sat in silence for a while. The lab report was a reminder of just how heinous the crime was, a horrible act against a decent and honorable man.
“Say, I wonder where Chessie is this morning?” she asked, trying to rally from the grim news. “Yesterday when I woke up I found her relaxing on my stomach. She wasn’t there this morning.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Honestly, I was. Fickle beast…”
Dorham’s laughter was interrupted by a noise from the living room. It sounded like something had been knocked over.
“There she is, right on cue,” said Sanchez smiling and standing. “I wonder what she’s gotten into.” She picked up her coffee mug and moved into the living room. “Hey, Chessie, what are you doing, baby?”
Sanchez halted abruptly as she saw a figure crawling through the open window. It was a man, not a cat. The intruder paused hunched over in mid-entry, with one foot inside and the other still out. Another uninvited guest stood near the sofa and both men froze as they saw Sanchez.
“You’re not Chessie,” said Sanchez just before she tossed the hot coffee onto the face of the man coming through the window. As he screeched in pain, she also yelled out.
“Dorham!”
Sanchez immediately struck out with her right foot, kicking the scalded trespasser. His head snapped upward, whacking against the window jamb and then he fell forward, his body collapsing onto the floor.
The other man’s right hand started to reach behind him, a motion Sanchez instantly recognized. Going for a pistol! She threw her empty coffee mug at him. It missed, but as he dodged the cup, it gave her a precious half-second. Sprinting across the room, she crashed into the man just as he pulled the gun from a back holster.
The handgun—it looked like a plasma pistol—flew out of the man’s hand and onto the floor. Her opponent recovered quickly. As the man flipped himself on top of her and started to reach for the gun, she used a free leg to kick the weapon, causing it to slide across the hardwood floor and out of sight.
“You bitch,” muttered the intruder as he grabbed her by the hair and the back of the pants, jerking her up off the floor. Suddenly, he dropped her. As she hit the floor, she could glimpse the guy twirling around like a rag doll and the huge fist of Dorham smashing into his jaw. The trespasser was knocked back into the wall. Dorham grabbed him by the shirtfront and struck him again—and again. The man was bloody and probably unconscious by now, and he lamely slid down the wall into a sitting position.
“Hey! What’s all the ruckus!” came a woman’s voice from the other side of the wall. “Keep it down or I’m callin’ the police!”
“It’s just me, Ms. Romero!” yelled back Dorham. “I am the police, remember!”
As he helped Sanchez to her feet, the man Dorham had beaten fell over onto his side.
“You’re pretty handy in a fight,” Sanchez said.
“It helps having some size on the other guy,” he grinned. “You’re not bad yourself, Sister.”
“A gun,” Sanchez said looking downward. “There was a gun—where did it go?”
“It’s right here,” said a voice from the other side of the room. The man Sanchez had thrown the coffee on was sitting on the windowsill, his face red with burns. He was holding the plasma pistol in his right hand and pointing it their way. “Both of you, hands up and backs against the wall.”
Plasma pistols didn’t have the range of a slug gun, but the weapon in the stranger’s hand was easily lethal at this distance. Sanchez had brought a pistol with her too, but it was safely tucked away in her suitcase—in hindsight, a serious strategic blunder.
As Sanchez considered a way out of their predicament, the man Dorham had beaten was stirring. He was pulling himself upright, struggling to get to his feet when the man with the gun pulled the trigger, shooting his companion in the chest. Looking shocked at the betrayal, the first intruder collapsed to the floor dead.
“Poor Antonio,” said the Window Man.
“We’ll call that collateral damage. Guess his share for the job goes to me now.”
“Exactly what job is that?” asked Dorham.
“What do you care?”
Dorham shrugged his shoulders while holding his hands high. “Just like to know what I’m about to die for, that’s all.”
The Window Man smirked. “Fair enough I suppose. You, you’re going to die for a polydrive.” He reached up with his free hand and rubbed at the welts forming across his left cheek. “And you, woman—you’re going to die for what you did to my face.”
As he raised the gun, Chessie jumped onto the windowsill next to him. Startled, he lurched away from the cat. Sanchez made a move to dash across the room, but it was too far. The man quickly recovered and tensed the weapon at her as she froze.
“Stop right there!” yelled the Window Man. He stood and raised the pistol higher, taking aim at Sanchez’s head. “If you think my burns are bad, a face full of plasma’s going to feel a whole lot worse.”
Suddenly, his body convulsed. The pistol fell from his hand and he stood there wearing a pained expression—until his chest exploded. Blood erupted from his upper body as a slug tore threw him and flew into the wall across the room. The Window Man fell face down onto the floor revealing two bullet holes in his back. Sanchez and Dorham also hit the floor in anticipation of more shots—shots that never came. Chessie ran into the kitchen, but quickly returned to the scene, sniffing at the fresh corpse.
“Chessie, get away from that body!” said Dorham as he stood up. “You OK, Sis?”
“I think so,” Sanchez mumbled, getting to her feet. “Yeah, I’m all right. You?”
“I guess so,” he said, moving to the dead man near the window. “Check the other guy for ID, will you?”
There was a rapping on the wall from the apartment next-door. “Hey, I said keep it down over there or I’m callin’ the cops! Whattaya doin’ anyway, havin’ a party?”
* * * *
With two dead bodies in the living room, Sanchez and Dorham sat at the kitchen table considering their next move. Given the events of the past thirty minutes, morning coffee had been cancelled in favor of finishing off the Oppegaard Premium from the night before.
“All right,” said Dorham as he put down his mobile. “Chief Inspector Mazorra is coming over with a couple of people he trusts to clean this mess up.”
“What are we going to tell him?”
Dorham considered for a moment as he killed the last of the vodka. “Nothing—we’re packing up your uncle’s polydrive and getting out of here before they come. Sanchez, tell me the truth—are you working with a partner?”
“No, I came here alone.”
“Well then, you have a guardian angel, and they’re a damn good shot.”
“Or…” pondered Sanchez aloud, “those guys had enemies.”
“Or I was the real target and the gunman thought it was me standing at the window. In any case, we owe someone our lives,” he said, busying himself at his home computer terminal.
Sanchez tried to clear her mind. “All right. What’s our next move?”
“We have to relocate, that’s for sure,” said Dorham as he juggled multiple virtual screens. “And we have to find Auric Banks. My gut tells me that he knows a lot more about what’s going on than we do.”
“He was awfully nervous at Uncle Leo’s memorial service,” Sanchez said, trying to recall specifics. “There’s another thing—I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it stuck in my mind. Banks said something odd to me just before he left. He said that he hoped things turned out well for me.”
“That could mean anything.”
“That’s what I thought at the time, but now I’m thinking he was referring to me finding Frank. Thing is, I hadn’t told anyone on Quijano about that yet.” She paused, drumming her fingers on the table. “I think you are right—Banks is involved in this some way, either as a suspect or as a potential victim. Either way, we need to locate him.” Sanchez grabbed her mobile. “I’ll book us hotel rooms somewhere in town. What are you doing?”
“Some quick research on Auric Banks. Remember our question last night: how does a retired Marine afford to stay at the Hotel Progreso?” Dorham slid a virtual screen her way. “Check this out. His financial records say he does consulting work for Gideon Universal, which is odd because those same records from two years ago indicate the income was coming from the Shurpali Mining Corporation on Tezrina.”
“Someone altered the records?”
“And did a half-assed job to boot.” Dorham pushed the console away for a moment, turning to his new partner. “Look, here’s the way I figure it. Banks had a falling out with Renata Darracott after the Victor Polanco assassination. I don’t know the details, but he resigned from government service just after she came to power. Anyway, someone took Banks under their wing as an investment, thinking he may come in handy down the line.”
Sanchez nodded, picking up the line of thought. “And then that day arrived. They get Banks to plant phony information in Uncle Leo’s computer.”
“Someone else rigs Leonardo Sanchez’s helicraft to crash, removing him as a threat to the government. They also leave behind evidence suggesting it was the work of a turncoat OMI agent—your husband.”
Wincing at the mention of Carr in such as role, Sanchez continued with the speculation. “Then this mysterious ‘they’ uses their influence to replace Rachel Randa, the original assigned investigator. They make sure you get assigned to the case because you’re a known screw-up that probably won’t come close to solving the crime—no offense.”
“None taken, I guess,” said Dorham with a crooked grin. “They release the evidence of conspiracy making it seem like Prince Karl has a strong motive for killing Leonardo Sanchez, but they mess up the timing and release it prematurely. Realizing their error and that I had the genuine polydrive, they send two goons to kill me and get the polydrive back.” Looking like he had an inspiration, Dorham grabbed his console again and started tapping at keys.
“But who is this mysterious ‘they?’” asked Sanchez in frustration. “To pull all of these strings, it has to be someone pretty powerful. And who had our backs just a while ago?”
“I’m betting Banks knows. Hold on those hotel reservations. I’m in the Constabulary Network accessing the biometric monitors… Yep, there he is!” Dorham tilted a screen her way, one that showed a video of Auric Banks walking through some sort of public transport hub. “That’s him boarding a shuttle up to the Quijano Starport four days ago. Let’s see… only two passenger ships left the starport at that time of day—one to Tezrina and one to Odessa.” Dorham slapped his hand down on the table. “He went to Tezrina.”
Sanchez looked doubtful. “What makes you so sure? Odessa is pretty remote. If he wants to hide out…”
“Think about it. If you were a black man and wanted to hide from someone, would you go to Odessa? Kind of hard to blend in with all those pasty-skinned blond people. No, he’s Tezrina bound, running back to the Shurpali Mining Corporation, or whoever really pays him his so-called consulting fees. I’ll send word to the Tezrina constabulary to take him into custody.”
Dorham was turning to his console again when Sanchez placed her hand on his arm. “Ellis, wait. Tezrina is Channa Maxon’s homeworld. I’m not so sure we can totally trust the authorities there. This isn’t just a murder investigation, it’s political—very political. We have to find Banks ourselves.”
“We?”
“We. Pack quickly while I’ll buy us two starliner tickets for Tezrina.”
17: Allies
Sarissan cruiser Tempest
Summit system
“Will there be anything else, sir?” asked Lieutenant Kuypers as she stood easy in the Commodore’s star cabin, a small compartment adjacent to the bridge. The area would normally have been the domain of the ship captain, but since Tempest wasn’t specifically equipped to be a flagship, Pettigrew had appropriated the space for himself.
>
“Officially, no,” Pettigrew answered in a cautious voice. “But unofficially…”
“Ah,” she said with an amused expression. “I wondered why I was hand delivering gunnery drill reports.”
“My clumsy way of getting you alone,” he said, gesturing toward the only other chair in the cabin. “I’d like to talk about what happened—with us.”
Kuypers lowered her head. “Look, sir—Chaz, I was forward with you and totally out of line,” she said, raising her eyes to meet his. “I’m really sorry.”
“I’m not,” he said, moving around to the front of the desk. “Or was I that bad?” he joked, almost hoping she would not be her usual honest self.
“Oh, no, it was great. I had a nice evening—very nice. But, I put you in an awkward position, I mean with your command. That wasn’t my intent and again, I’m sorry.”
Pettigrew smiled, trying to reassure her. It was odd to see the usually brash Kuypers exhibit this kind of anxiety. “I had a nice evening that night too. Why don’t you let me worry about my command position? I think I’ve done a good job with that over the years.”
A grin came to her face as she nodded, brushing some of the curly red hair away from her eyes.
“And I was wondering,” Pettigrew continued nervously as he pressed his hands together. “As you know, we get a month’s leave after Tempest returns home. I was thinking of using some of my time to visit Earth again. If you would care to join me for a few days, I’d be honored.”
Pettigrew stopped, waiting for some kind of reaction. Kuypers got to her feet and stepped close to him.
“Why, Commodore, are you asking me out? On a date?”
“An extended date,” he said, taking her hand into his. “We could Gate to Earth and spend a few days, then Gate back. What do you say?”
Chaz Pettigrew hadn’t asked anyone out on a date for years and now he knew why. Dealing with aliens was easy compared to asking a beautiful woman out. As he stumbled with what to say next, Kuypers mercifully interrupted by placing her index finger across his lips, then leaned forward to kiss him gently.
Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3) Page 16
