Everything was exactly the right word. It looked as though they had vacuumed. You could still see the imprints on the carpet where the desk had stood, the file cabinets, the bookshelves. They had taken no chances with notes taped under drawers or boxes disguised as books. The ceiling light fixture dangled by wires, and the globe which had covered the bulb was gone. One-way vision plastic imprinted with “Chicago Boardup” had been screwed up over the window holes.
I sagged against the wall. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am. You’re too nice a person for all this to happen to.”
She looked for a moment as though she was going to rant or turn hysterical, but instead she said, “I’m sorry too.”
She went down the hall to their bedroom, but I didn’t follow. I went out the front door and around to the study’s windows. There was nothing unusual about the tire tracks in the sod. The neighbors couldn’t see into the property well enough to notice the truck. I thought about trying to find the watchful neighbor who noticed me getting into Chen’s car, but she might have recognized me and probably wouldn’t be able to tell me anymore about the truck anyway.
Whoever stole Arno’s study knew him well enough to know where in the house the study was and that he kept all his records there.
I went back to the front door and rang again. Denise opened it after a few minutes. “Please go away, Benny.” Her eyes were puffed and watery.
“Only one more question, then I’ll leave. Who did Arno take into his study? I don’t remember ever having been in there. Who would have known where in the house it was?”
“You were in there lots of times, Benny. You’ve been having forgets again, haven’t you? You need to stop doing that. Every time you come back different. I don’t like you this time.”
“Who else has been in his study?”
She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. She seemed to get smaller. “Detective Kumar, of course, JB, that’s his accountant, that’s about it. He was a bit secretive about his study. He even cleaned it himself. I didn’t go in there. He always said he wanted a place where he could be by himself, where he could get away.”
“No one else you can think of?”
“Good-bye, Benny.”
I started to turn away, then shot one last question through the closing door. “Arno knew Che Chen, didn’t he?”
Denise closed the door, then opened it again. “Yes. Chen took over from me at Up Your News after I left to have little Arno. He’s also been in Arno’s office, several times. In fact, he was here just last week. I heard him talking to Arno about you then they moved to the study.” She closed the door again. I heard the deadbolt slide home.
Chapter 27
Chen was like the back of my hand. I thought I knew him, but upon detailed inspection, he turned out to have features I hadn’t expected. Finding out that he actually ran the whole news agency had been a surprise. He’d always seemed too strange and wild to do anything so respectable and businesslike. Yet he’d handled the fire efficiently, I’d seen him looking through stacks of papers with careful purpose and, even before the last week’s turmoil, he’d always known about international events and important legal decisions. I had thought he was just well read, as in fact he was, but I’d thought he was well read because he wanted to be, not because his job demanded it.
And he had a sinister aspect, or perhaps that was just my new-found perception. Ever since he asked me why the police hadn’t arrested me, just as they had arrested Jon Tam, I’d imagined a change in his attitude toward me. I couldn’t be sure if his demeanor had actually changed, of course, because I didn’t know what I’d had forgotten. Maybe we’d talked at times about him running the news agency or about his knowing Arno or maybe not.
It was possible that Chen held no relevant secrets, but I was beginning to rely on the idea that even after a forget, there is some peripheral memory of the actual events that lets you in on the secret if you probe hard enough and know what to look for. I believed parts of the memory were stored elsewhere, fragments, small islands, peninsulas of remembrance, places where you can fumble around at the crisp edges of the gap made by the forget. Or perhaps your brain fills in the missing spots, builds bridges with false memories which tend to be similar to the actual happenings because they are the most likely to be shaped just right to fit the gouge left by the forget.
In any case, I felt, or perhaps hoped, that my gut feelings about Chen and even about Carla were correct, that I could rely on those feelings, that I could make decisions by them. Each day I noticed things that reassured me of this. My feelings for Carla were foremost in my mind as a gut level reaction which I could trust.
Also, the way I dealt with the two hoodlums who approached me on the street, and my innate understanding of the tools of the trade which I found in my boxes at Arno’s, were based on unconscious knowledge, knowledge not directly accessible by normal means, but that came out when it was needed. The reactions came unbidden. It was as though I heard the echoes without having heard the originating sound.
I wondered too what other echoes I would hear in the future. Where would they lead me? The thought didn’t make me happy.
So I allowed my echoes to convince me that I hadn’t been aware that Chen had known Arno. They must have kept the fact of their acquaintance from me on purpose, but I wasn’t sure why they would do that. Did Chen pay for the killings? That seemed unlikely, but my miscomprehension of Kumar’s true character showed how inept I was at judging people.
To find out who had paid Carla and me to murder people, and to find out which persona inhabited Carla now, I had to rely on information from Chen. Relying on Chen for anything other than a laugh or a slap on the back of the head was a bad idea, I knew, but whatever scenario I played out, Chen was right there in the middle. I had to find him before I got myself killed, I just didn’t know where to look.
Back at Carbide’s apartment, I tried to relax with a beer and watched Up Your News’ update channel. Trying to relax is like trying to sleep or trying not to be afraid. The more you try, the harder it is. The big news of the day was a fire that burned the top floors of the Thump building by the north river. Death News had video of people jumping, their screams dopplering to a sudden stop. I turned the PAL to blues harmonica music.
The old guy playing on the street a few days before reminded me how much I used to like listening. Maybe I used to play. How would I know? I would have to buy a harmonica, put it to my lips and see what happened.
The image of me with a harmonica caused a spark of a scene to flare into existence in my mind. I vividly recalled sitting at a stop light in my car while playing the harmonica. I was still in school at the time. The image was accompanied by a memory of a sharp pain caused when a mustache hair caught between the harmonica’s comb and the metal cover. When the light changed, the harmonica was dangling from my upper lip by one hair. I’d yanked it off, so I could drive. The car was a Fairchild Seven. It was green as grass and had a huge splotch of bird shit just to the right of the crease that ran down the center of the hood. The harmonica was a Madcat Special. It had a blue comb with a black metal cover.
I rubbed my upper lip, still feeling the pain and feeling giddy at the same time. Chen had asked me if I could even remember the car I once drove. It was a green Fairchild Seven with bird shit on the hood. I shook out my hands to release some of the strangeness of the quirky remembrance. I hopped out of my chair and started pacing. Carbide’s apartment was bigger than mine. I could go eight steps before turning around instead of five.
By the time Carbide returned, I was back to myself. No more sparks had manifested themselves into flashes of memory, and I was again doubting my history.
Carbide dropped into the stuffed chair and let out a long sigh. “I haven’t worked that hard in years.”
“Moving stuff or making deliveries?”
“Moving. The Gnomes are moving around. I guess someone vacated some good space, or died or got kicked out or something, and now everyon
e’s moving to the next more valuable spot. It’s like they’re all on a ladder and the top one fell off, so they all feel the need to move up one step. What a pain.”
“Sounds profitable,” I said trying to look on the bright side.
“I guess, but I’m having trouble finding help. No one wants to work under there. They’re afraid they’ll get killed after they’re done, like old-time pirates who were shot by their captain after they helped him bury their gold. What’s more, the Gnomes have nothing better to do, so they stand around talking and watching us move their furniture and equipment, all the while complaining about how long it takes and how roughly we’re treating their precious junk. Yes, it’s profitable, but it’s work.”
“I’ll help you tomorrow,” I said.
Carbide’s eyes went wide and his eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “You! I doubt it. I need actual help, not just someone to make them think I have more people than I actually have.”
“No, I mean I’ll actually help.” Some physical labor was what I needed to clear my head, and also I thought that whoever intended to kill me was probably a Gnome and lived back behind Under The River where Carbide was working. Perhaps Chen now lived there too.
He looked suspiciously at me. “What’s your character’s motivation? I don’t find him believable.”
“OK, so I have an ulterior motive. I’ll still help. I’ll move boxes. I’ll hold up my end of the couches and desks and exercise equipment and armoires.”
“I can’t afford to have any of them see a member of my crew loafing. You’re not lying to me are you?”
“No one will see me loafing.”
He still looked at me suspiciously, but he also looked a little relieved. “OK, it will be just you and me. The other two I had helping today already said they couldn’t put in two days in a row like that. If you work hard, I’ll let you stay here for free for a few more days.”
Carbide eyed me, watching for a response to his initial offer. When I didn’t respond with a demand for cash, he smiled. “We leave at four-thirty in the morning.”
“Four-thirty? Can’t we make it more like ten?”
“No, those people have their clocks all messed up. They never see light. Most of them don’t keep track of time at all anymore. They go to bed and get up when they feel like it. The next woman we have to move, Ms. Poynting, told me to be there at five, so I’ll be there at five. You’re not blinking me about this, right?”
“No, I’m not blinking you. It just seems early, that’s all. Do you know who vacated the space at the top of the ladder?”
“No, and I don’t want to know and you don’t want to know either. What is your ulterior motive anyway?”
“I want to get a feel for the Gnome’s space. I think the people who are trying to kill me live there, I think they’re Gnomes.”
“You never said someone was trying to kill you.”
“It never came up.”
“What else never came up?”
“I used to drive a Fairchild Seven and play the harmonica.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“There are lots of things that never came up, Carbide. What do you want me to say? The more you know the more likely it is that I’ll get you into trouble too.”
“What a load of bricks. Are you trying to convince me to throw you out on the street? Well, I just might. I know I owe you a lot. You stuck your neck out pretty far for me in the old days, and I’ll help you if I can, but if you keep dumping bricks on my head I might just decide your friendship isn’t worth the shoveling.”
I guess I gawked at him because he stopped talking and looked at me. So I’d stuck my neck out for him. I couldn’t remember. I felt at ease with Carbide, as though we’d know each other for a long time, but I wondered what I’d done for him that made him feel like he had to pay me back. Beyond that, I felt like he wasn’t even viewing his help as a payback, but rather as just what friends do. I had the urge to whack myself on the side of the head, hoping the impact might jar some good memories back into the accessible parts of my mind. I wondered if Carbide knew Carla and if he knew what my relationship with her had been, but it didn’t seem the time to ask.
“Anyway,” Carbide continued, “If the person who wants you dead is down there, then why go inside? If they grab you, I’ll say I have no idea who you are, you just offered to help. I won’t second you. You’re a stranger.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got my disguise.” I held my arms out wide and grinned, probably looking like a moron.
Carbide looked worried anyway. I don’t think he thought much of my disguise or my chances.
Chapter 28
Before we left Carbide’s apartment to go to work, I took all my money and cards, which were contained in the two mismatched socks I’d found in the laundry at my apartment building, and hid them in Carbide’s laundry hamper with his dirty underwear.
I’d been in the Warren, which was the Gnomes’ hiding place, once before and entering it had been a much more elaborate procedure than getting into the police station. They had sniffers too, of course, right in front of the visitors’ entrance, but once past those, they had also searched me, then interrogated me while giving me looks that implied they would kill me if I were lying or if I tried anything untoward.
As it turned out, we didn’t go in the usual way and Carbide just nodded to the heavily armed guard at the south entrance to the Warren as we walked in. No doubt they had the sniffers going, but the complacency of the security guard startled me, even at five in the morning. The visitors’ entrance in the middle had flashy security. I began to wonder if it wasn’t all show. The people who had to work there or who brought in food obviously didn’t have to go through all that every time they went in or out.
I followed Carbide down a hall that curved gently to the right. After a few minutes, we turned left, then quickly right and entered into a cul-de-sac with five doors. He pressed the button for the middle one.
We stood staring at the door for a couple minutes before a dark haired, dark skinned woman wearing clunky gold jewelry opened it with a sudden rush. “Good, you’re here. And on time too.”
We went into her rooms and surveyed the effort. Carbide knew where her new quarters were. We carried a few things together until I had the route down, then we just moved at our own pace. We had a few boxes, but mostly we moved lamps and end tables and chairs which took only one person. We’d break down what we could, taking the drawers out of chests and carrying them individually. I worked more slowly than Carbide, even though I was trying to keep up my end of the bargain. While we shuttled her belongings, sometimes on hand trucks and sometimes by the arm-load, I was watching for anyone I knew. I was trying to learn what I could.
People went by, but no one paid us any attention except the woman whose things we were moving, Ms. Poynting. She watched us closely and pointed to the next item she wanted moved each time I returned. It wasn’t clear to me why the order could possibly matter, but she wanted something to do that seemed important, so she continued with her eponymous activity.
The new space looked the same as the old space to me. Based on the lingering aroma, I assumed they’d painted it the night before, but other than that I couldn’t see why she wanted to move.
We sat down for a short break at eight. Carbide explained that space further in was more prestigious. The rooms at the front were mostly filled with warehoused personal belongings and storage for some of the commercial tables out Under The River. Then came the apartments for underlings and petty criminals who could afford the rent. Only deep inside were the real Gnomes, and we weren’t even close to that part of the Warren.
“Have you moved anything into the warehouse area in the last few days?” I asked on a whim.
“Yeah, I helped them move some office furniture and equipment into the north side. Not valuable space there at all. It’s too close to the north entrance. The Gnomes like the south. They were keeping an eye on us though.”
“Do
you know who owned it?”
“What are you messing with, Benny?”
“Do you know who owned it?” I was thinking that maybe this was Arno’s study.
“One of the Pirates. You don’t want to mess with them. They’re dangerous. They kill people.”
The owner came into the room, and we stood up to move a settee, but I wanted to know more.
Around two in the afternoon, I saw Chen and he saw me. Carbide and I were moving a huge stuffed leather rhinoceros. I suspected it was sex furniture, though it wasn’t obvious exactly how it was supposed to be used. I was carrying the butt end and when we came around a corner there he was, talking to Rela. Chen turned and looked me right in the eye. My disguise felt tissue thin. I’m sure I swallowed hard.
Rela was carrying a machine pistol, one of those that fired ceramics that shattered into a hundred shards when it hit flesh. I paused, and got a better grip on the rhino’s butt. Chen winked at me, the bastard. Carbide began to move again. I kept shuffling along, my legs thumping into the rhino’s butt with each step, waiting for Chen to tell Rela who I was and wondering how much protection the rhino could give me from ceramic bullets. I knew if I ran, she would just alert the entrance guards, and I would be trapped, then killed.
But he didn’t tell her I was there, and she didn’t recognize me from our dinner at Arno’s house or from Chen’s Fairchild. He nodded to her a few times as part of their conversation, then he turned, looked at me again, and went into a room just down the hall. Rela went back east toward the entrance.
The disguise was getting hot. I grunted “Stop,” to Carbide, set down the rhino, then rubbed my hands on the harsh surface of my outer pants and tried to breathe easy, tried to settle my fear and anger.
After we dropped off the rhino, I told Carbide I had a side trip to do. He glared at me, but then told me to be careful.
Walking Shadow Page 17
