“Your loss,” I said.
I turned my back to the bar and faced the hundred or so aliens who had crowded into the tavern, trying to think of what to do next. If the bartender thought he was likely to get killed for telling me what I wanted to know, it didn’t seem likely that anyone else was going to volunteer the information. Still, I hadn’t come down here just to quit and go home. I clapped my hands together. It wasn’t a sound most of them could make, and it got their immediate attention. “I need your help,” I said, then waited for the hoots, growls and squawks of derision and laughter to die down. “My name is Jake Masters,” I said. “I’m a detective. My partner is a member of the Broskog race from Alpha Gillespie III.” That at least got them to quiet down. They’d probably never encountered a Man who had an alien partner. “He was murdered earlier tonight. I’m after his killer.”
“Why do you care?” demanded a Canphorite.
“Because he was my partner,” I said. “And more than that—he was my friend.”
“Men don’t have alien friends!” yelled a burly Atrian.
“This man does,” I said. “I’ll tell you something else. I’m going to find his killer with or without your help, but it’s in your best interest to help me.”
“Ha!” said the Atrian.
“Why should we help you?” said a Mollute.
“Because the killer had no compunction about killing one alien. Are you content to wait around until he kills another?” I could see I had a few of them thinking, so I followed up on it. “You know and I know that the police aren’t going to pay much attention to a dead alien, so if I don’t do it and you don’t help me, then my friend is just going to be one more statistic that no one pays any attention to.”
A tall, well-muscled Patrukan pushed his way through the crowd and wound up standing just a couple of feet from me. Like all his race, he had slits for nostrils and ears, a massive chest, and was covered with coarse brown hair, not quite thick enough to be called fur. For a moment I thought he was going to take a punch at me, but then he turned to face the rest of the room. “I believe him, and I will help him,” he said.
“He is a Man,” said a Canphorite. “That means he is lying.”
“If he is lying, we will find it out and decide what to do,” said the Patrukan. “But his argument makes sense.”
“I will not help any Man!” thundered the Canphorite.
“No one says you have to,” replied the Patrukan. “But I will.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Now that we’ve got through that, I hope you can help me.” I pulled a bill out of my pocket. “This is a banknote for 100 New Warsaw drachmas. My partner was hired to follow someone—a man or an alien, I don’t know which—while I was off-planet on another case. The only thing I know is that he was paid with this, which is not a negotiable currency in the Iliad system.”
“Why did he accept it, then?” asked the Patrukan.
“He’d spent all but a couple of months of his life on Alpha Gillespie III. He wouldn’t have known what currencies were legal or illegal on Odysseus.”
“If he was such a brilliant detective that you took him on as a partner…”
“He wasn’t any kind of detective,” I said. “He was a very minor police officer on a planet that had almost no crime.”
“Then why—?”
“Because he was willing to risk his life for mine,” I said.
“That is the only reason?”
“Can you think of a better one?” I replied.
The Patrukan extended a hairy, seven-fingered hand. “I think we are going to become friends, Jake Masters.”
I took his hand. “Good,” I said. “I can use all the friends I can get.”
“My name is Goriejyxsol,” he said. I tried pronouncing it a couple of times, and got hoots of derision from those who were close enough to hear me.
“How about if I just call you George?” I asked at last.
“I can answer to George,” he replied.
“Good,” I said. “Can you also tell me who deals in New Warsaw drachmas?”
“No, I have never encountered this currency before. But I can help you find out.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. “I can’t afford to pay you much, but—”
“I have not asked for money.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You seem an honorable being. I am an honorable being. There is a killer on the planet, a killer who has murdered a member of a race that is neither mine nor yours. Should not honorable beings join forces to bring such a killer to justice?”
“Makes sense to me,” I said, “especially on a world where honorable beings of any race are in short supply.”
George turned and faced the crowd. “From this moment forward, Jake Masters is under my protection. If you harm or hinder him, you have harmed or hindered me. Is that understood?” There was a sullen muttering of acknowledgment and agreement. “I think it is time to go looking for the being who gave your partner this currency,” George said to me.
“Fine by me,” I said. “Let’s go.”
He began walking toward the door, and the crowd, which was still clearly hostile to me, suddenly parted like the Red Sea before Moses. Just who the hell are you, I thought, and what am I getting myself into?
We walked down a couple of crazily-twisting streets, then stopped in front of a small, dimly-lit dive. “We can talk in here,” said George. “It’s very quiet.”
We entered the place. There were maybe a dozen tables, but the interesting thing was that the table-tops ranged in height from about two feet above the ground to maybe eight feet. A couple of the smaller chairs looked like they were for toys or dolls; the bigger ones could have accommodated creatures that dwarfed a Torqual. There were no patrons.
Two Patrukans were standing by the door. They came to attention when we walked in, and one of them indicated a table in the corner. We went over to it and sat down.
“Do you come here often?” I asked. That seemed to amuse the Patrukan who had led us to the table, and he uttered a hoarse alien laugh.
“From time to time,” answered George. “What will you be drinking?”
“This place doesn’t look like it caters to Men,” I said. “I don’t think they’ll have anything for me.”
“I happen to know they’ve laid in a stock of Antarean brandy.”
“Then I’ll have some,” I replied.
He caught one of the Patrukans’ eye and made a quick gesture with his hand, and the Patrukan sealed the door.
“We won’t be bothered now,” he said.
“They locked the place?”
“Yes.”
“Just on your say-so?”
“That’s right.”
“You own it,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” He looked up as a robot came over, carrying two glasses on a tray. It gave me the brandy, and George got something green with smoke rising from it. He uttered a sentence or two in Patrukan and the robot replied in kind.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“I thanked it for bringing our drinks.”
“It’s just a robot.”
“Good manners are good manners,” replied George. “Now, tell me about your partner.”
“Like I said at The Purple God, he’s a Broskog from Alpha Gillespie III.”
“I’ve only seen one Broskog.”
“They’re pretty rare in these parts,” I said. “He’d only been here a couple of weeks. I told him not to accept any jobs while I was off-planet, but he thought this would be an easy one.”
“And you have no idea who paid him?”
“No,” I said. “My guess is that it was an alien. A Man would know how dangerous it was to pass that currency. I’ve got the police working on it.”
“Five minutes a day, or ten?” asked George.
I smiled ruefully. “That’s why I need all the help I can get.”
“I assume you searched your office for
any trace of your client?”
“Of course.”
“Possibly I can help there.”
“I was pretty thorough,” I said. “You’re welcome to take a look, but I don’t think you’ll find anything.”
“I’m sure I won’t. But I have a friend who might.”
“Oh?”
“A Cabroni.”
“Okay, I give up. What’s a Cabroni?”
“A native of Sybrenius II. Caronis have an extraordinarily well-developed sense of smell. He might be able to identify your client, at least by race and species.”
“It couldn’t hurt to try,” I said. Then: “What’s he going to cost me?”
“Nothing,” said George. “He’ll do it because I ask him to.”
“Another honorable being?” I asked.
“A reasonable one, anyway.”
“You know,” I said, “if he’s as good as you say, maybe he won’t have to go to my office. Maybe he can get the scent right off the money. Max didn’t have it very long.”
“Let’s find out.” George uttered a command to one of the Patrukans. I want to say he barked it out, but he didn’t; he never raised his voice, yet the two practically fell over each other getting to the door and unsealing it. One raced out into the night, the other re-sealed the door and took up his position next to it.
“I assume you just sent for the Cabroni?” I said.
“Yes. He should be here in a few minutes.” He paused thoughtfully. “Was your partner intelligent?”
“Max?” I said. “Yeah, I’d say so. Inexperienced, but not dumb.”
“Then we can assume he took the job primarily because he knew it would take him to the Alien Quarter, where he’d be less likely to draw attention.”
“Probably,” I said. “He didn’t realize how much he’d stand out even down here. Like I said, inexperienced. He was new to Odysseus, and couldn’t have known there were only three or four Broskogs on the whole planet.” I paused. “Still, our client wasn’t a lot brighter. He paid Max in illegal money. If Max died, we’d find it; and if he didn’t die, sooner or later he’d spend it. So either way, there was a pretty fair chance that the money was going to get traced back to the source.”
“What if the killer took it?”
“I wish he had,” I said. “It would make him that much easier to find.” I paused a moment. “The more I think about it, the more I keep coming back to the fact that Max knew something was wrong. He had time to leave me a message saying he was in over his head and was pulling out.”
“You think the killer’s still on the planet?”
“I hope so. It all depends on whether he got paid in drachmas or not. If he did, he’s gone—but there aren’t a lot of worlds in this sector where they’re legal tender, so my guess is he got paid in credits or Maria Theresa dollars, and that means he has no reason to leave. He’s loaded with money, he killed an alien no one except me cares about, and Forensics hasn’t been able to come up with a damned thing. Why the hell would he go? He’s safe right here.”
There was a sudden high-pitched whine, and the remaining Patrukan unsealed the door. His partner entered with the first Cabroni I’d ever seen. He looked like a five-foot-tall rodent with palsy, every limb shaking, his long black nose twitching constantly. At first I thought he didn’t have any eyes; then I saw that they were obscured by the long, thick hair on his face.
The Cabroni left the Patrukans at the door and walked directly to the table. George greeted him in a tongue I’d never heard before, all grunts, coughs and clicks, and then the Cabroni activated his t-pack. “Greetings, Friend Masters,” he said, the words coming out in a mechanical monotone. “I am pleased to meet you. My name is Wyllgerix.”
“May I call you Will?” I asked.
“If it pleases you,” he replied. “May I examine the money, please?”
I pulled out all five bills and handed them over. He held them to his nose and inhaled, then stood motionless for almost half a minute.
“These bills have passed through many hands,” announced Will. “Prior to you, they were briefly in the possession of a male Broskog. Prior to that, a female human. Prior to that…”
“Just a minute,” I said. “You’re sure that the person who touched the money prior to the Broskog was a human female?”
“Yes,” said the Cabroni. “The money was in her possession for…” It paused, as if considering. “For between three and four Standard weeks.”
“Thanks,” I said, gently removing the money from his hand and stuffing it back into a pocket. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“I have no use for liquids,” replied Will. “I am happy to have done a service for my friend Goriejyxsol.”
“Will you need help getting home?” asked George as the Cabroni approached the door.
“Do I ever?” he replied. Then he deactivated his t-pack, waited for the door to let him through, and he was gone.
“Max never named our client’s race or gender,” I said. “That narrows it down.”
“To half the planet.”
“No, the Cabroni gave us more than that. The woman had been in possession of the money three to four weeks. I’ve got a friend down at headquarters who can check the spaceport’s Customs and Immigration records for me. We’ll start with the assumption that she was given the money off-planet and brought it with her. That means we’ll check every woman who’s arrived on Odysseus in the past four weeks.”
“That could be thousands.”
“Hundreds, more likely,” I said. “We’ll start with those who have criminal records. You and I can’t access the records to check them all out, but the cops can.”
“They won’t,” said George. “When did they ever care about a dead non-human, especially a rotund blue being that bears no resemblance to a Man?”
“Not often,” I admitted. “But they’ll care about a live human who’s bringing illegal currency onto the planet.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “I suppose they will.” Then: “What’s your next step?”
“I suppose when it’s daylight I should take a good look at the spot where Max was killed.”
“I thought his body was dumped far away from the scene of the murder.”
“Yeah, but you can lead me to it.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I thought you were an honorable being, George,” I said. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“Why should you think so?”
“Come on, George,” I said. “All you’ve been interested in from the start is the identity of my client, the woman who paid Max with the drachmas. You haven’t asked a single question about who Max was following. Not one.” I smiled a tight smile. “That’s because you don’t have to. You already knew who he was following, George. It was you. So it figures you know where he was killed.” He simply stared at me, and I continued: “When we sat down, you told me you’d only seen one Broskog in your life. But just a minute ago, you knew what Max looked like. He was the Broskog you’d seen.”
George smiled that alien smile of his. “I’d heard you were good at your job, Jake. I wanted to see for myself.”
“It was you,” I repeated.
“Yes, it was me he was following,” he confirmed. “But I didn’t kill him.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Honorable beings do not lie to each other, Jake. I may not have told you that your partner was following me, but I have not lied to you.”
“Big difference,” I snorted. “How honorable can you be? Every thief and killer in the Quarter genuflects to you like you’re a god, someone outside the quarter hired my partner to follow you, you say one word and people jump to do your bidding. Who the hell are you, George?”
“I’m just an opportunist who tries to make the most of his opportunities,” said George. “And I assure you that I want your partner’s killer found as much as you do.”
“If you mean it, then it’s time to put your cards on
the table.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s time to stop withholding information and tell me what you know.”
“All right, Jake,” he said. “But before I confided in you, I had to make sure you were as good as your reputation. I trust you to use what I tell you only in our efforts to find your partner’s killer, and not to share it with the police.”
“You talk, and I’ll decide.”
“I’m sure you are an honorable Man,” said George. “I couldn’t ask for any more.”
“Forget the honorable crap and start talking,” I said irritably. He held up a hand, and I noticed that the two Patrukans at the door had taken a couple of menacing steps toward the table when they heard my tone, then froze when they saw his hand. “Please moderate your language, Jake,” said George. “Not everyone knows that we are good friends who are soon to become partners.”
“Including me,” I said.
“But you will.”
“Not if you don’t start telling me what I want to know.”
“All right,” he said. “As you have noticed, I am not without a certain cachet in the Quarter.”
“An understatement,” I said. “As far as I can tell, you run the damned place.”
“Not without help,” he said, not bothering to deny it. “I view myself as the guardian of the Quarter’s economy.”
“That means you take a rake-off on every transaction,” I suggested.
“Please, Jake,” he said. “I am explaining my position to you. There is no need for rude accusations.” He paused. “Without me, without the organization I have put together, anarchy would reign in the Alien Quarter. There would be gang warfare, there would be wholesale slaughter almost every night, and we both know that the police force would do nothing to stop it.”
“No, they probably wouldn’t,” I admitted.
“They would cheer all the murderers on, because each killing would mean one less unwanted alien to share Odysseus with,” continued George. “And indeed that was the situation until five years ago. That was when I arrived here. The Quarter had been run by six criminal kingpins who were constantly at war with one another, chaos was endemic, and most of the money went into the pockets of Men who never even entered the Quarter. I decided to structure our economy along the lines of a multi-planetary conglomerate, and I think it is not unfair to say we have prospered ever since I began to apply my methods. There are no gang wars, and almost all of the money stays right here.”
Masters of the Galaxy Page 15
