I, the Constable

by Paula M. Block

  “That’s good,” Odo replied. “I was hoping to run into a Ferengi financial manager who apparently comes in here sometimes. A man named Hilt. Do you recognize that name?”

  “Sounds familiar,” Pug answered, glancing at the constable’s glass. “Are you sure you don’t want that freshened up?”

  “I’m fine,” Odo repeated. “I have another question for you. Have you ever heard of something called Sludge Liquid Investments?”

  Before Pug could respond, Odo heard a sharp cough come from the far corner of the bar. Pug glanced in that direction, and suddenly his cordial demeanor evaporated. “Never heard of it. I don’t know anything about anything. And if you’re not going to buy another drink, maybe you can leave the seat open for paying customers.”

  “Well, thanks for the conversation, Pug,” the Changeling said. As he slipped off the stool, he snuck a discreet look toward the corner and saw a burly Ferengi with a tooth sharpener dangling from his lips. Something about that guy, he thought, is making Pug nervous.

  Back on the street, Odo waved down a skimmer and headed for the next saloon on the list. Mulling over his brief encounter with Pug, he wasn’t sure whether he’d learned anything important. Yes, it seemed that Hilt had patronized the place. Maybe. And the mention of “Sludge” had both triggered a response and brought an end to his welcome in the bar. Maybe. Clearly he was no closer to finding Quark.

  Maybe.

  At the second tavern, Odo waved off another anxious valet. Passing under the portico, he noticed that the exterior bore a strong resemblance to the previous one, right down to the low-relief carvings of famous Ferengi financial heroes that enhanced the entrance. Maybe Frin just got tired of coming up with new décor for each place, he thought.

  Inside, the saloon was a bit more crowded than the first, possibly due to the time of day, but by slimming down just a bit, the shape-shifter managed to squeeze into a spot at the bar between a Tellarite and a Ferengi. The Tellarite was speaking loudly to a woman, a human, Odo thought, or perhaps a Betazoid, judging by the hue of her dark black eyes. Not wanting to risk having his brain picked by the woman, he turned from the bar just in time to glimpse the Ferengi he’d spotted at the previous place, still sucking on that tooth sharpener, quietly slip in and seat himself at a booth.

  Hmmmm, Odo thought. I seem to have picked up a tail. Maybe my time with Pug was worth something after all.

  After a few minutes, he exited the bar, making a point of tipping the valet with a handful of snips, and then casually walking away. When the valet turned to greet another customer, the shape-shifter backed up against the wall and morphed into a carved replica of a financial hero. Seconds later, his tail stepped out of the tavern, looked around, and then engaged the valet in a short conversation. The valet pointed down the street, in the direction that he thought he’d seen the smooth-faced customer take, and both men stared at the empty thoroughfare. Rolling the tooth sharpener around between his lips, the Ferengi held a puzzled look as though pondering his quarry’s disappearance, then turned and walked away.

  Odo shimmered back into his humanoid form, and began to tail his tail. Finally, he thought. A lead. He kept his distance, cautiously hugging the walls of the buildings they passed. The Ferengi seemed to have a destination in mind, and the constable was actually starting to enjoy the chase. And then the modified combadge on his uniform chirped.

  Odo ducked into an alcove and peeked down the street. The Ferengi didn’t seem to have heard, because he kept walking. Tapping the mechanism, the constable said, softly, “Odo.”

  “It works!” he heard Rom’s voice exclaim. “But you didn’t activate the visual!”

  “I don’t need the visual right now,” Odo hissed. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now. Was there a reason for this call?”

  “Oh . . . uh . . . yes!” Rom said, his voice suddenly anxious. “I . . . uh . . . I did what you said, Odo. I contacted a Ferengi security consultant. He’s on his way over to my office. I’m waiting for him now.”

  “That’s good,” Odo replied. “I’ll be happy to learn what he had to say when I return. But right now I’m busy.”

  “Nooooo!” Rom’s anxious wail was quite audible through the combadge. “I told him you’d be here. You’ve got to come over nooooowww.”

  Odo frowned. Maybe I shouldn’t have made those adjustments to my communicator, he thought. Oh well, too late now. “I’ll come as soon as I can, Rom. But at the moment I’m following an important lead.”

  Rom’s voice became even more stressed. “But I don’t know anything about Hilt’s death other than what you told me,” he whined, “and he’s going to want to know more. He’ll demand to talk to you. After all, you found the body!”

  “Rom,” the shape-shifter recited calmly. “You’ll be fine. You’re the nagus—the most powerful executive in all of the Ferengi Alliance.”

  “I know,” the voice over the comm quivered. “But what if he gets mad at me?”

  Down the street, Odo watched as his prey disappeared into a crowd. Resigned, he acquiesced. “Okay, Rom,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Chapter 9

  “Quirk, chief of security for the capital region,” the Ferengi introduced himself, with a stiff nod of his head.

  “Odo,” the Changeling responded. He took in the uniformed humanoid who was standing ramrod-straight in front of him. His posture made him appear a bit taller than the average Ferengi—at least the ones that Odo had encountered to date. “Excuse me, did you say ‘Quark’?”

  “No, sir,” the Ferengi responded. “I said ‘Quirk.’ ”

  “A common mistake,” said Rom, stepping between them with an ingratiating smile. “Both names are derived from the same Ferengi word for ‘splattered mud,’ but different regions have different mud—”

  “What can I do for you, Chief Quirk?” interrupted Odo, eager to be done with the formalities.

  “I’m investigating the murder of Financial Manager Hilt,” the Ferengi said. “I understand that you were the last person to see him alive.”

  “Actually, I never saw him alive,” Odo clarified. “Apparently, I was the first person to see him dead, other than the person or persons who killed him. And that’s what I reported to the grand nagus.”

  “I see,” said Quirk. And he made a notation on the small padd he was holding. “First . . . to . . . see . . . Hilt . . . dead,” he muttered aloud as he tapped at the digital keys. He looked up, his moss-green eyes meeting Odo’s. “And what is your business on Ferenginar, Mister Odo?”

  “Just Odo,” the Changeling said. He glanced over at Rom. “I’d assumed that the nagus had filled you in.”

  “I was just getting to that,” Rom said hastily. “Odo, um, very kindly volunteered to come to Ferenginar to help me find my brother, Quark. He’s disappeared.”

  Quirk turned his attention to Rom. “Missing Persons is an internal security subset handled by my office,” he said. “Was there some reason you didn’t want me involved?”

  Rom gulped audibly. “I . . . uh . . . it’s just that Odo knows Quark so well that it seemed obvious to reach out to him. And Odo wanted to help and . . .” He gulped again. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal . . . I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

  “Feelings have nothing to do with it,” Quirk responded crisply. “I really don’t care. I have enough to do. What I don’t understand is why Odo here would be the most obvious choice to search for your brother. Perhaps you could enlighten me.”

  “My brother’s bar—his main bar, I mean—is located on space station Deep Space 9 in the Denorios Belt,” Rom began. “And, uh, Constable Odo—”

  “Former Constable,” Odo clarified for Quirk’s sake. “I retired.”

  Quirk nodded, then slowly dropped his gaze to the constable’s uniform with a puzzled frown. Odo opted not to explain.<
br />
  “Um, right,” Rom continued. “Odo was the chief of security on Deep Space 9 for many years. He was . . . he is, I mean, very familiar with Quark’s, uh, habits and behavior.”

  Quirk nodded and began entering the information into his padd. “So you’re friends,” he summarized.

  “Yes,” said Rom.

  “No,” said Odo. “I would not say friends.”

  Quirk frowned and deleted part of what he had written down. “Not friends. Acquaintances, then?”

  “Let’s just say . . . I like to keep my eye on him.”

  Quirk studied Odo’s face for a second, as if trying to decipher the comment. The shape-shifter offered him an innocuous smile.

  “Perhaps you could tell me about your investigation so far,” Quirk said at last.

  Odo succinctly laid out the steps he’d taken since he arrived on Ferenginar, and listed the people he’d talked to while Quirk took notes. “I haven’t ascertained a motive for Quark’s disappearance yet,” the Changeling concluded.

  “Latinum,” Quirk said without looking up from his padd.

  “Well, I can’t state that for certain,” Odo said. “That’s certainly a possibility, but—”

  “No ‘buts,’ ” Quirk stated confidently. “It’s always latinum. There’s really no other motive for anything on Ferenginar.”

  Rom was quick to nod in agreement.

  “All right, let’s say it’s latinum,” Odo allowed. “How do you think that would affect Quark’s disappearance?”

  “Well,” said Quirk, idly rubbing one of his lobes, “from what you say, Quark disappeared at approximately the same time that Hilt died. Do you think that Quark is capable of murder?”

  It was a question that Odo had asked himself. Rom, on the other hand, refused to even consider the possibility. “No!” the nagus said. “My brother couldn’t possibly kill anyone!”

  “Well . . .” said Odo.

  Quirk’s sharp gaze returned to Odo. “ ‘Well’ what?”

  “Forgive me, Rom,” Odo said, “but you seem to be forgetting about the Klingon that Quark killed in the bar on the old station. You were the primary witness,” he added.

  “Me?” sputtered Rom. “I don’t remember—”

  “As I recall,” Odo interrupted, “what you said at the time was, ‘My brother fought a desperate hand-to-hand battle with the Klingon and was forced to kill in self-defense!’ ”

  “Are you sure that was me?” Rom asked.

  “Does Quark have any other brothers?” responded Odo.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Quirk. “The motive’s still latinum. It’s always latinum. There’s only one way to proceed.”

  Odo turned back to him. “And what would that be?”

  Quirk smiled. “Follow the latinum, of course.”

  Odo rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he grunted.

  “All right, here’s how I plan to proceed,” Quirk noted, shoving his padd into a pocket. “I will begin looking into Frin’s financial records. And Hilt’s as well.”

  Odo cleared his throat. “You should know that I’ve already done a preliminary search of those records.”

  “And I’ll bet you found nothing unusual.”

  “That’s correct,” the Changeling replied, noting that Quirk looked very smug.

  “That’s because you looked at their public accounts. You need special clearance to get where I’m going to go, probing their subterranean Deep Cap accounts. That’s the hermetic passage into the bowels of every Ferengi’s portfolio.”

  “And I gather that you have that clearance.”

  “I do,” Quirk said. “I can probe places even the nagus can’t reach.”

  “That may be true,” Rom said, lifting his chin defiantly. “But I’ll bet that my brother, Quark, could do that.” He held that position for a few seconds . . . and then slowly sank into a more familiar slouched stance. “If only we could find him,” he added sadly. He stared out his office’s large window, down the rain-slick streets of Ferenginar, and sighed. “Where’s Quark when you need him?”

  Chapter 10

  Quark opened his eyes—and realized that he couldn’t see.

  I’m blind! he thought. Somebody help me! he shouted.

  Or rather, he tried to shout. But nothing came out.

  I’m blind . . . and I’m mute! Am I dead?

  No, I can’t be dead, because I have the mother of all headaches.

  Have I been buried alive?

  He blinked. Then he blinked again. He could feel that he wasn’t blindfolded. And yet the darkness was all-encompassing.

  Panicked, he began to flail about with his arms. Except . . . he couldn’t do that either.

  Am I paralyzed too? Oh, unjust universe! What did I do to deserve . . .

  Wait a minute.

  He suddenly realized that although he couldn’t raise his arms, he could feel them. They ached almost as much as his head.

  He could feel his hands, too. They were underneath him. He could even wiggle his fingers. Except wiggling his fingers made his wrists feel like they were on fire. Like something horribly tight was restraining them. And each little movement made the restraints dig deeper into his flesh.

  He screamed in pain. But of course, nothing came out.

  I’m tied up! Why am I tied up? And there’s a gag in my mouth . . .

  Suddenly he understood. I’m a prisoner!

  The thought relieved him. Not dead—that’s a plus!

  But the relief lasted only a moment. Why am I a prisoner? And where am I?

  He was breathing rapidly—but he couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen into his lungs. Not with that gag in place. He was beginning to see bursts of light in the inky blackness. But they weren’t in his prison. They were in his brain.

  Passing out . . .

  No. No. Stop it! Stop panicking, you idiot! Calm down! Calm . . . down . . .

  His breathing slowed and he began to feel better. A little better.

  Do something useful, he told himself. Try to remember how you got here—wherever here is.

  Nothing came to him, not at first. He couldn’t remember a thing.

  Except that whatever had happened was clearly Rom’s fault.

  It was always Rom’s fault.

  And that made him think of Ferenginar. Hadn’t he gone to Ferenginar?

  Yes! But what happened there . . . ?

  Slowly, recent memories began to swirl around in his brain.

  Rom.

  Ferenginar.

  Frin.

  Frin’s wives.

  And Hilt! I went to see Hilt!

  Suddenly it all began to play out in his mind like a holovid.

  No one was in Hilt’s outer office; the assistant’s chair was empty. Judging by the dilapidated state of the building, Quark suspected that the assistant’s chair in Hilt’s office was always empty.

  So he barged into the interior office without knocking.

  A male Ferengi looked up from his desk. Hilt! A gaunt fellow, with prominent cheekbones. Looked like he hadn’t eaten a good meal in a while.

  Hilt seemed surprised at the intrusion, but not unhappy to see what must have appeared to him to be a potential client.

  Quark started talking. Fast. “I’m a relative of Frin, the late tavern magnate. He was my uncle, actually. We were very close. I came by to check on the family—his loved ones. And I heard about the nagus’s new amendment to Rule 139. You know about that, right?”

  “Of course!” said Hilt. “I always attend the FECA meetings. One never knows when an opportunity might arise from them.”

  “Very smart. Tell me about yourself, Hilt.”

  And the lummox cheerfully went into a litany of his accomplishments over the years, during much of which Quark wandered around the sm
all office, studying images of Hilt posing proudly with a lot of lower-level Ferengi politicians. Then Quark spotted a framed document on the wall. Hilt’s certified business license, required by the Ferengi Commerce Authority to be posted in every operating Ferengi establishment. The certificate stated that Hilt had been a registered financial manager since . . .

  Since 2385.

  Probably about five minutes after the FECA approved Rom’s amendment.

  Quark thought about what a newly minted financial manager might do to secure a lucrative business opportunity.

  Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that Frin had passed away just a few weeks after the amendment went through.

  Turning back to Hilt, Quark interrupted the flow of self-congratulatory mush coming from the man’s mouth. “I get it,” the barkeep said. “My aunties seem to be in good hands. Those taverns are quite valuable. It’s so lucky they found you.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Or was it you who found them?”

  The comment made Hilt twitch. Just a bit, but Quark caught it, nonetheless. “Why, they found me, of course!”

  “Of course,” said Quark amiably.

  “And it’s a good thing they did. Someone might have tried to take advantage of them! But that won’t happen on my watch, no sir.”

  “I take it you’ll be managing the taverns for them, then?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Forgive my asking, but—do you know much about that line of business? It’s not as easy as it looks, you know.” He smiled. “I know about bars. You may have heard of me. I’m Quark, of Quark’s Public House, Café, Gaming Emporium, Holosuite Arcade, and Ferengi Embassy to Bajor.”

  Hilt shook his head. “I can’t say I’ve heard of you. But I can assure you I know all that I need to know.”

  “That’s good, that’s good,” Quark said, at last getting to the point. “You know, even though I’m not the primary heir, I feel that I must see some tangible proof to be reassured about the welfare of those lovely ladies. I’d like to glance at Frin’s records or get some documentation of the profitability of each tavern.”