“And a communicator?”
“Definitely. I’ll make sure of that.” He laid a finger on my lips and stared into my eyes. “No more of those desperate measures, thank you very much.”
CHAPTER 14
THE BRIEFING WAS BRIEF, very: both Jan Hendriks and an informant had seen the Axeman in SanFran on Terra Three. HQ wanted us to follow up the sightings in person. Spare14 handed over my TWIXT liaison ID and one of their tiny but powerful black plastic communicators. I noticed that the ID read, in part, “certified police psychic,” which turned my earlier lie to Lupe Parra y Cruz into truth. The leather ID case had a tidy pocket on the back for the pink gel square that monitored radiation exposure.
Once we’d settled these details, I had a sad but necessary duty to perform. The Star Trek omen had proved true.
“I was really sorry to hear about JaMarcus Spivey’s death,” I said. “My condolences.”
“Thank you. He will be missed.”
His SPP poured out grief, but his face showed no expression at all. For a long moment we all kept silence. Eventually, Spare14 swallowed heavily and cleared his throat.
“Oh, by the way,” Spare14 said. “I did receive your e-mail, O’Grady. Very glad to see you back alive and well.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I figured I should respond as fast as possible.”
We both compulsively glanced at Ari, then looked away again, two heads swiveling as one.
“Shall I leave the room?” Ari said.
Spare14 glanced at his watch. “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said. “Danvers-Jones won’t reach this level for some while yet.”
“There’s a liquor store down at the other end of the alley.” Ari got up from his chair. “I’ll go see if they carry energy bars. O’Grady may need one later.”
Spare14 and I waited to speak until we could no longer hear his footsteps on the stairs.
“I realize,” Spare14 said, “that this reprimand produces a very dicey situation for you.”
“That’s putting it mildly. I’ve been thinking. The central issue is, am I really Nathan’s superior officer? In matters concerning the Agency, yes. Concerning TWIXT—what’s your opinion?”
“That you certainly were nothing of the sort on Terra Six. At that time you had observer status only.”
“Exactly! Here in San Francisco Four, he’s my bodyguard, and I’m in charge. But we were in San Francisco Six when the incident occurred.”
Although Spare14 kept his expression strictly neutral, I could sense his relief.
“We need to clarify this issue,” I went on. “The way I see it is this. He’s on loan to the Agency here on Four. I’m on loan to TWIXT elsewhere. I doubt if either of us is a superior officer to the other. Partners is more like it. A functional unit.”
“That’s an excellent way to think of it. It’s an unusual situation all round. I’m afraid that the Operations staff dislike unusual situations.”
“That kind of personnel always does.”
“Alas, quite true! I shall write and ask for an official statement on the matter, but I have no doubt that your opinion and mine will prevail.”
“Since I’m not his superior officer, I can’t sign off on the reprimand. I can’t remove it from his file either, of course.”
“Nor can I remove it, but I do have the power to modify it. I shall do so. There’s absolutely no reason for any sort of hearing, much less a full one.”
“Sure isn’t. For one thing, I’m not lost.”
“Quite. He was reckless, however. Although he was under no obligation to follow an order from you, it would have been wise to do as you requested. I’m afraid that note will have to remain in his file.”
“Yes, I have to agree. That’s just the way Nathan is.”
“It’s one reason I was so keen on having him join us. Not that you should tell him so. Please don’t! But we require agents who can and will act quickly. Sometimes that leads to mistakes. It’s merely one of the hazards of our peculiar sort of police work.”
“It’s the same with the Agency. There are times when caution’s counterproductive.”
“Just so.”
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
We both smiled at a job well done. Curiosity poked me about an entirely different issue.
“Please forgive me,” I said, “and tell me to shut up if you’d like, but about Spare Thirteen, I guess you guys don’t really get along?”
“We’re too much alike.” Spare14 made this remark with a perfectly straight face. “It’s a common difficulty with clones. We tend to get on each other’s nerves.”
“I can see that. I’m not much older than my sister Kathleen. We fought all the time we were growing up.”
“I can well imagine it. Thirteen and I were decanted at approximately the same time. He’s an hour and seven minutes older.” His expression soured. “He’s always held that over me.”
The buzzer from the front door sounded. Rather than picking the lock as he usually did, Ari had let us know that he’d returned. Spare14 got up from his chair.
“I’ll just go down,” he said. “Nathan deserves to know what we decided.”
They spent some minutes talking at the bottom of the stairs. When they came back up, Ari appeared more relaxed than he had since my return. Spare14 glanced at his watch.
“You’d really best get on your way,” he said. “I’ll contact HQ first thing on the morrow.”
Rather than distract Ari while he drove, I said nothing about the reprimand until we parked in the usual exorbitantly priced garage near South Park. As we headed out on foot, I brought the matter up.
“Do you think HQ will agree to Spare14’s solution?” I said. “That we’re equal partners, that is?”
“He thinks so, and his is the opinion that counts.” Ari caught my hand and grinned. “Well done, O’Grady.”
“Thanks, Nathan.” I returned the grin. “Crud! I could have worn my ring after all.”
“Just as well you didn’t. It might have been seen as flaunting our relationship. Spare14 could never have overlooked that.”
We hurried down the last block to the greenery of the park. Willa waited for us on her usual bench. Before we left, she told us that she’d be returning to Terra Four immediately after transporting us to Three.
“I’m meeting with your father today, Nola,” Willa told me. “He mentioned that you’d talked with him about the research arm. Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. You do know about his multi-purpose gate, don’t you?”
“I sure do. The one he built.” Her voice dropped into awe. “He built it. He built a gate.” She shook herself with a little shudder. “And the damn fool never told anyone about it. Well, sorry, but that was an affectionate use of damn fool.”
“I figured that.” I grinned at her. “He can be real stubborn.”
“You probably know that better’n I do. But come on, let’s get you and Nathan to Three. You’ve got a transport orb for Four to get you home?”
“Yep.” I patted my shoulder bag. “And this time I’m not letting go of it.”
Willa brought us through to South Park version 3.0, then switched focus orbs and disappeared back across the worlds. Ari used his communicator to call Jan, who said he’d come pick us up. I sat down on the bench to wait. While I carved myself out a space to operate in the overcrowded aura field of Interchange, Ari stayed standing and kept watch. I’d just managed to come to terms with the buzz and chatter of other psychic minds when I heard the rattle of the cobbled-together car and the blat blat of its horn. I noticed that the mostly black car had acquired some green fenders since I’d last seen it.
“You’d best sit in back,” Ari said. “Keep your head down as much as possible.”
“Are you telling me that someone could shoot at us?”
“That’s always a possibility here, isn’t it? But if the Axeman should see us …”
“Yeah, I get it. If he’s s
till on this world level, anyway.”
As I got into the back seat, Jan turned around to greet me. He was wearing another hideous shirt, this one lime-green with orange parrots on it. Big orange parrots, and one of them, stretched tight over a lump, looked as if it had swallowed a shoulder holster.
“What?” Ari pointed at the shirt. “Another one?”
“Allegedly, I’m from Aruba,” Jan said. “Tropical, you know. The Netherlands here on Three are mostly underwater.”
“Very well.” Ari slid into the front seat. “Where are we going?”
“Wagner’s first,” Jan said. “He’s the one source of illegal orbs that we know. I’m wondering if he’s sold any for Six lately.”
With assorted rattles and a cough from the clutch, the car started off. I slid down and turned sideways in the back seat to keep my head below the rear window. Since I could see out the side window, I noticed that the streets around the park were deserted on this Sunday morning. I doubted if many of the local citizens had gone to church. Sleeping off Saturday night struck me as a more likely explanation. Market Street, too, when we jounced and bounced across the streetcar tracks, lacked any sign of traffic.
“Say,” I said, “won’t Wagner’s be closed?”
“Theoretically.” Jan had to shout over the noise that the car was making. “But he lives behind the shop. If we pound on the door hard enough, we should be able to rouse him. If not, Nathan has his little ways and his pieces of wire.”
“The locks here,” Ari said, “are surprisingly low tech. Well, perhaps not surprisingly.”
Sure enough, when Jan pulled up in front of the bookstore, the front window was dark, and a stained cardboard sign on the door announced, “Closed.” Ari got out of the car and slipped his hand inside his shirt, unbuttoned to give him easy access to the Beretta. He looked up and down the street, then beckoned to me. I uncramped myself and slid out of the back seat. As soon as I got free of the metal compartment, I sensed old danger and pain.
“Ari,” I said. “Open the door. Wagner might be dead inside.”
Ari pulled a lockpick from his jeans pocket and strode across the sidewalk. As soon he touched the knob, the door swung partway open. Behind me, Jan swore and killed the engine. When he joined me on the sidewalk, he had his gun in hand. Ari drew his and kicked the door wide open. No one called out or shot at him. I ran a quick scan.
“The danger’s over,” I said. “Whatever happened, happened early.”
“Good,” Jan said to me. “Move! Let’s get off the street.”
I dashed across the sidewalk and followed Ari inside. Jan came in after me and shut the door. A dim glow from an open door behind the counter provided the only light in the store. We picked our way through the stacks of books and the maze of shelves with the occasional bump and Hebrew expletive from Ari in the lead. Now and then I heard the slither and thump of a pile of books sliding to the floor. I stepped over each heap and forged onward.
“Wagner!” Ari called out. “CBI! Are you here?”
Someone behind the wooden counter groaned and made a scrabbling sound, as if they were trying to haul themselves to their feet.
“Just lie still,” Ari said.
He kicked a last pile of books out of the way. Once he had turned on the gooseneck lamp, he glanced over the counter, swore, and holstered the Beretta.
“They did a pretty good job on you, didn’t they?” Ari strode around back and knelt out of my view. “Here. I’ll help you sit up. O’Grady, see if you can find some water and a towel. Hendriks, if you’ll guard the door?”
“Will do,” Jan said. “I need to keep an eye on the car, too.”
I went through the open door on the back wall into what must have been Wagner’s living quarters: a long, narrow, and surprisingly clean room. At the near end I found an easy chair and a lighted floor lamp. Books sat neatly stacked on an end table. In the middle of the room stood a narrow bed, made up with a faded blue coverlet, and down at the far end, a wooden table, two chairs, and a counter with a sink on one side and a pair of wrought iron gas rings on the other. Next to the single window, a freestanding cabinet held crockery. I found a serving bowl, filled it with cold water, and snagged a pair of reasonably clean dish towels.
By the time I came back out, Ari had gotten Wagner sitting up in a chair behind the counter. Mitch’s face was so badly bruised, scraped, and swollen that it looked like a meatloaf with a broken nose. Both of his eyes had swollen shut. When he opened his bleeding lips to draw a deep breath, I saw that he’d lost a couple of teeth.
“Pistol whipped,” Ari said cheerfully. “O’Grady, if you’d just get one of those towels wet and hand it to me?”
I did. Wagner mumbled a few words that might have been thank you. He squealed when Ari started to wash the blood off the wounds, but he held still for the process. I returned to his room, found a bathroom off the kitchen area, and rummaged around in an old-fashioned medicine chest, the kind that looks like a suitcase, till I found a bottle of aspirin and some iodine.
It took some while before Wagner could tell us what had happened. Even then, Ari mostly asked leading questions which he answered yes or no. The story boiled down to the Axeman and a goon wanting orbs for Six and Wagner not having orbs for Six or anywhere else, for that matter. The Axeman had flown into a rage. While the goon had held Wagner’s arms pinned behind his back, the Axeman had taken his anger out on the man who was telling him things he didn’t want to hear.
“Jeez,” I said, “it was his daughter who killed their supplier. What did the Axeman expect?”
Wagner turned his head slowly in my direction and peered out of the one functional slit between the lids of his left eye. “Ash?” he said. “Daughter?”
“You didn’t know?” I said. “Yeah, she is. She’s the one who knifed Scott Trotter.”
“Shit.” Wagner managed to say it again. “Shit.” He turned his head very slowly to scan the counter with his one working eye. He said a few words that I finally deciphered as “paper and pencil” when he made a writing motion with his right hand. The letter P gave his bruised lips a lot of trouble.
I found the requested items and gave them to him. He wrote slowly, painfully, but with less pain and more clarity than he could talk. When he handed the sheet to me, I read it aloud.
“Ash is on Six. That’s why the Axe is panicked. He can’t get there.”
“Well, well, well,” Ari said. “How very interesting! Do you know where he’s staying?”
No, Wagner didn’t. I got the distinct impression that if he had, he’d have been glad to tell us. The last thing he wrote, before we left him alone to heal, was, “I hope you get him. Kick him in the balls for me.”
On the way out Ari locked the door with his lockpick, just in case, he said, the Axeman tried to get back in.
“Is Wagner going to be all right?” I said.
“Eventually. Well, the teeth are gone forever, and he might lose the sight in one eye, but overall, he got off lightly.”
“Lightly?” Jan said.
“I once found the corpse of a man who’d been beaten to death with a pistol,” Ari said. “Not a pretty sight. Back when I was in the army.”
“Terrorist activity, I suppose?” Jan said.
“No. A jealous husband, a Jew, killed him, not a Muslim. That sort of thing happens in a country where men still worry about their honor.”
Call me paranoid, but for a brief moment I wondered if I’d been given a message.
We returned to Jan’s office, where he made us some decent coffee. He’d replaced Spare14’s metal percolator with a proper filter system. He took the desk chair, and Ari and I sat down on the sofa.
“I don’t suppose the Axeman’s gone back to the Playland hideout,” Ari said.
“Not likely,” Jan said. “The City Council found the money to have the place leveled and cleaned up. The project’s not finished, but the worst of the filth is gone, and there are workmen there most days.”
&nbs
p; “We can eliminate that, then.” Ari thought for a moment. “We’ve only got one other lead, Peri’s, that brothel over in Cow Hollow.” He glanced my way. “Is that really the name of the district?”
“It’s the old name,” I said. “It used to be a dairy farm way back before the Civil War. Old names last in San Francisco, but most people in SF Four would just call it Union Street now.”
“He may just be using Peri’s as a convenient place to receive messages,” Jan said. “I doubt if the madam of a high-class house like that would allow him to shelter there.”
“He might be threatening her life,” Ari said. “Blackmail would obviously be quite ineffective here in SanFran.”
“Unless she did something saintly and wanted to hide it,” I put in. “But yeah, after what he did to Wagner, threats are more likely.”
“Surely she has bodyguards,” Jan said. “I went over and cased the outside of the brothel. It’s quite splendid. You can see it from Union, but it actually fronts on the street around the corner. A big old-fashioned house, built in the shape of an octagon. With a cupola on top, no less!”
“Have you been inside?” Ari said.
“Unfortunately, not. I heard enough about it from the locals to realize that a man with my cover story could never afford its services. Rather than risk being thrown out, I never went in.”
“Pity.” Ari was suppressing a smile. “We could have used the intel.”
Jan started to speak, glanced my way, then gave me a sheepish smile. I did my best to ignore his embarrassment. I knew the building, or rather its respectable sister in San Francisco Four, a semi-public museum now with lots of open space inside. Before the conversion, it must have been a warren of small rooms and narrow hallways like all Victorian homes. The one here on Three probably still was.
“Raiding it is going to be a bitch,” I said.
“Whorehouse raids always are,” Ari said. “When I was military police, we ran a number of those, looking for men who’d gone AWOL. Not an easy job. We need to find out if he’s actually present before we risk it.”
Love on the Run Page 26
