The tourists sat in small groups, ostentatiously dressed in expensive walking or cycling outfits, noisily comparing notes on maps and guidebooks or off-world newsprints. The locals—most of them wearing casual outfits that wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow on any of the settled worlds of the Alliance—also kept to themselves, swapping hilarious gossip about their neighbors or playing some local card game, which looked to be an improbable cross between cribbage and tonk. They paid no attention to the tourists, who returned the favor.
Phule wasn’t especially interested in either group, except for a particular pair of tourists. He’d already determined that neither Beeker nor Nightingale were in the cafe or on the nearby streets. He took a sip of his coffee, opened the newsprint, and sat back in a position where he could see along the street in both directions without lowering the paper or otherwise making it obvious he was looking for someone. He figured that even if someone noticed him scanning the crowd, they were most likely to assume he was—like at least two other men in the cafe—a bored tourist awaiting his wife’s return from a shopping expedition.
An hour passed; Phule bought a second coffee and some kind of sweet pastry, overtipping the girl behind the counter—if he had to sit at his table a long time, he didn’t want her to get too annoyed at him, maybe even decide he looked suspicious and call the authorities on him. He’d already lost interest in the newsprint. But he’d made up his mind to stay here till after lunchtime, then move on to someplace else and take up the vigil there—unless he got a break first.
After another hour, he was beginning to regret the two coffees, good as they were. There was a restroom inside the cafe, of course. But to use it was to risk missing Beeker or Nightingale, should they by chance pick that very moment to pass by. He sat there a while longer, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he wondered what professional detectives did in this situation. Finally, after convincing himself that the odds of missing his quarry were so slim as to be negligible, he gave in to the inevitable and went inside.
Naturally, he’d been gone mere seconds before Beeker and Nightingale strolled slowly past the cafe, stopping to read the menu and peer inside before moving on down the street. But by the time Phule was back outside, they’d turned the corner. He never knew how close he’d come to finding them.
Worse yet, he never finished reading his newsprint. If he’d gotten as far as the sports section, he could have seen a headline reading: “Rot’n’art Edges NB in Alliance Cup.” In smaller type, just below, it read, “Greebfap Beams in Shot at Beeper to Ice OT Win.”
* * *
“Why do you want to go to the captain’s hotel?” asked Sushi. “Rembrandt ordered us not to let the captain know we’re here trying to help him. Or did you forget that?”
Do-Wop shrugged. “I didn’t forget nothin’,” he said. “Thing is, we’ve seen Nightingale twice already. So we know she—and Ol’ Beeky—has gotta be close. But the captain, he don’t know that. So we’re gonna leave him a ’nonymous tip sayin’ the people he’s lookin’ for are right here under his nose.”
“Well, that makes sense,” said Sushi. He found a piece of paper and jotted down a brief message. He folded it, wrote on the outside “To Capt. Jester,” and stuck it in the pocket of his jumpsuit. “OK, let’s go,” he said.
They walked over to the local bike shop, where they rented a tandem model, the cheapest alternative for two traveling together. True to form, Do-Wop was initially reluctant to trust himself to the “two-wheeled thingie.”
“Aww, come on,” said Sushi. “Little girls can ride these things. What’s the big, brave legionnaire afraid of?”
“Fallin’ off and breakin’ my neck,” said Do-Wop, eyeing it warily. But after a little more joking, Sushi persuaded him to give it a try. Sure enough, he picked up the knack in short time and admitted that it came close to being fun. That was likely to change the first time he took a fall, but Sushi coached him in the basics, and soon he was satisfied that his buddy was ready to roll.
With that settled, they hopped on the rented tandem and set off for Phule’s hotel. Not surprisingly, La Retraite Rustique was in a considerably fancier neighborhood than their own modest digs. Several of the neighboring properties appeared to be large country estates, perhaps in the same family since the time of the Founding. So when the two of them pulled their well-used tandem up to its front door, the doorman appeared ready to direct them to the delivery entrance.
His attitude didn’t improve when Do-Wop tossed him a small coin and said, “Yo, bud, make sure nobody messes wit’ da ride.”
“I am certain it will be perfectly safe while you are gone,” said the doorman with just the faintest emphasis. His left eyebrow lifted a fraction of an inch.
“Great, I knew I could trust ya,” said Do-Wop as he followed Sushi through the door. The doorman gave the door a baleful look, then turned to the coin he’d caught in midair. After a moment, he shrugged and pocketed it. After all, it’d buy him a coffee or a nut bar no matter where it came from.
Inside the lobby, Sushi and Do-Wop stopped and looked around for a moment. For all its pretense at rustic simplicity, La Retraite fairly reeked of money. The hardwood floorboards were nearly a foot wide, with tight, clearly delineated grain that indicated old-growth timber to a practiced eye. The art on the walls was all original, and while the artists’ names weren’t familiar to the two legionnaires, Sushi suspected (rightly) that they would be to any visiting connoisseur. Even the lighting was of a discreet tone that gave a suggestion of candlelight without the trouble of wax drips or smoke.
Their admiration was broken by a deep voice. “May I be of help, gentlemen?” The tone somehow made it clear that the final word was included as a matter of courtesy, with the speaker carefully reserving his personal opinion as to its relevance.
“Sure,” said Do-Wop—coming here was his idea, so he felt entitled to take the lead. “We’re lookin’ for Captain Jester, Space Legion. This is where he’s stayin’, right?”
“Offhand, I couldn’t say,” said Robert, the concierge—for that was who had greeted them. “Perhaps you could tell why you want to know.”
“Just so happens, we got a ’nonymous message for him,” Do-Wop said out of the side of his mouth.
“Really,” said the concierge with a hint of a smirk. “And what makes you think we would convey anonymous messages to our guests—assuming this captain is, in fact, one of our guests?”
“What, are you playin’ the dumbs with me?” said Do-Wop, putting his hands on his hips. “Yo, I can play the dumbs, too.”
“Relax, buddy,” said Sushi, putting a hand on Do-Wop’s shoulder. He turned to the concierge. “My friend here didn’t quite make himself clear. We need to get a note to the captain, and there’s a little something to make sure it gets to him.” He offered the message, along with a folded bill. “If he asks, you didn’t see who brought it, OK?”
“I’m afraid it’s not OK,” said Robert, looking down his nose at the note and the bill. “I don’t see what legitimate business one of our guests could have with the likes of you two.”
“Whaddaya mean?” growled Do-Wop, making a fist. “Y’know, this honker’s startin’ to rack me off …”
Sushi grabbed his partner’s arm. “Easy, buddy. The guy thinks we’re not fancy enough for his place. We’ll get our message to the captain some other way. Come on.”
“OK,” said Do-Wop, glaring. “I guess we better get outta here before I stink up the rich people’s air.” He turned on his heel and walked away so rapidly that Sushi had to hurry to keep up.
* * *
According to the literature in Phule’s hotel, travelers came from light-years away to enjoy the annual Floribunda Fete on Hix’s World. And, to judge from the variety of costumes and accents Phule saw and heard around him in the hotel dining room and in the nearby town, that was no exaggeration.
Unfortunately, what he’d seen of the festival didn’t impress him. Maybe it just wasn’t a guy thing—most of the male tourists
he saw seemed as little interested in the abundant flowers as he was. Just as likely, he was too focused on trying to find Beeker and the Port-a-Brain to have much attention left over for the colorful blossoms that decorated every home and business he passed. Some of the ones he noticed were sort of pretty, but he wouldn’t have come halfway across the galaxy to enjoy them. Probably he wouldn’t even have crossed the street.
On the other hand, it did seem that Beeker must have come here for the festival—as he’d discovered, the planet was booked solid for weeks in advance. As far as Phule could tell, his butler had never shown any particular interest in flowers. Of course, as he’d already discovered, he knew far less of Beeker’s tastes than he’d realized. Maybe it was Nightingale who’d convinced him to come, though that seemed out of character, too—or maybe he just didn’t know her all that well. Obviously, somebody had made advance reservations for the couple well before Nightingale had joined Omega Company. He stared out the window at the gardens where he’d seen Nightingale two days earlier, trying to figure it out. How could he know so little about people he’d lived with for months—in Beeker’s case, for years?
He realized that beating his head against these puzzles was beginning to give him a headache. What he needed was a walk in the fresh air. He slipped on a light jacket—the evening air could be brisk, even in Floribunda season—and headed downstairs to the gardens. But no sooner had he entered the lobby than he was waylaid by Carlotta, the receptionist at La Retraite Rustique.
“Captain Jester,” she said, wide-eyed. “I must warn you—you are being followed by two very suspicious men!”
“Really?” he said. “What do they look like?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I have not seen them myself, but they approached Robert, the concierge—he was immediately put on his guard, and sent them away without telling them anything. But you must be aware at all times—you may be in danger!”
“A Legion officer is used to danger, ma’am,” Phule assured her. “But I think I’ll have a word with your concierge in any case. No point walking into something blindfolded if you can get advance knowledge. And thank you for the warning.”
Robert looked so competent, distinguished, and professionally discreet that Phule easily could have believed he’d been selected for his role by Galactic Central Casting. The concierge nodded politely as Phule approached him. “Yes, sir?” he said with an inflection suggesting that he was awaiting orders.
“Your receptionist tells me a couple of fellows were asking about me,” said Phule. “She says they were suspicious characters, so I thought I should follow it up, just so I don’t get caught off guard. What can you tell me about them?”
“Not a great deal, I’m afraid, sir,” said Robert. “They were rather young; I’d guess in their early twenties. They were dressed all in black—that seems to be much the fashion at that age—and they asked if you were staying here. I sent them right away, of course.”
“Asked for me by name, I assume,” said Phule.
“Exactly, sir,” said Robert. “Name, rank, and branch of service—Captain Jester of the Space Legion, they said. Well, I didn’t like the look of them at all. Not that I’d have given them information even if I thought they were princes. That’s not what Madame employs me for, if you know what I mean.”
“And I’m glad to hear it,” said Phule. “Can you tell me any more what they looked like?” Phule had no idea who might have some reason to be looking for him. He’d settled accounts with the Intergalactic Revenue Service sufficiently to get them off his back for several years to come. He didn’t think the Lorelei Mob wanted anything more to do with him, after he’d shown them what kind of muscle the Legion could bring to bear on its targets. And while he’d probably left some ruffled feathers behind, he hadn’t made any real enemies on his visits to Cut ’N’ Shoot or Rot’n’art.
“Well, as I said, they were young and dressed in black,” said Robert. “Both males—I don’t think I said that. One of them was probably of Earth Asian ancestry; the other was big-city trash of some sort, to judge from his accent.”
“Hmmm …” Phule pondered. “Thank you; I’ll have to keep an eye out for them.”
Outside in the garden, he mulled over what the concierge had told him. The description he’d been given could fit dozens of people, including several members of his own Legion company—Do-Wop and Sushi in particular. Of course, it was unlikely that the two of them were on Hix’s World. The expense alone would have prevented it. In any case, if the concierge was describing them accurately, the black-clad youngsters would be fairly obvious here on Hix’s World, with its crowds of casually—but expensively—dressed tourists and ecologically correct locals. But if the two really meant him trouble, he’d have to be on the lookout. Just what he needed—something else to worry about.
Chapter Thirteen
Journal #840
A person fond of an orderly existence will find much to admire about life on a military base. (Given the rarity of chances to admire the military, one probably ought to appreciate the few that do present themselves.)
* * *
As soon as Phule had left, the concierge walked briskly across the lobby to the owner’s private office. He knocked, waited an instant, then opened the door. At her desk, Madame looked up at him, annoyance turning to expectation as she recognized him. “Well, Robert. How did Jester react to our little ploy?”
“He seemed to take it at face value,” said Robert, easing into a chair without awaiting his boss’s invitation. “He managed to act as if he had no idea what those legionnaires were up to. We know better, of course, but he was quite convincing.”
“He’s a damn good actor,” agreed Maxine Pruett—Phule’s old rival from the Lorelei casino wars. “Do you think he knows I’m planning to turn this joint into a new casino?”
Robert shrugged. “Why would he show up here if he didn’t suspect it? The only other possibility is coincidence—which is too far-fetched to believe.”
Maxine wrinkled her nose. “I see your point. The question is, what are we going to do?”
“Realistically?” Robert drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, then said, “I see only two ways to play it: plow ahead and hope no one catches on before we’re home, or get out before everything collapses around us.”
Maxine nodded. “What do you recommend?” She raised a quizzical eyebrow.
Robert chuckled. “Is this an intelligence test? If we pull the plug now, I’m personally going to lose a lot of money, and so are you. My instinct is to stick it out. On the other hand, if we’re caught …”
“Hix’s World throws the law books at us,” said Maxine, not letting the pause drag out too long. “High risk for high profit, or bug out now and lose it all—and no guarantees with either choice. But my gut instinct is the same as yours. That gives us another problem …”
“Whether to eliminate Jester before he ruins our entire plan,” said Robert, nodding. “Luckily, those two flunkies of his aren’t going to pose any threat to us.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Maxine. “I’ve run up against the Space Legion before …”
“Forget them,” said Robert, waving a hand. “The Legion is a laughingstock, even in military circles. And that’s saying a mouthful, if you have any idea of the level of incompetence and corruption in the Alliance military as a whole.”
“You haven’t had them shooting cannons over your head,” said Maxine. “I have—and that makes me want to think twice before I call in the rough boys to deal with Jester.”
Robert leaned over the desk. “All right, then. We wait and see how he responds to my hint that someone’s after him. I’m hoping it’ll scare him off—or at least slow him down enough to let us finish our business before anything else threatens us. If he doesn’t scare off—well, we’ll have to see what kind of trouble we’re in at that point.”
“That’s my Robert—I can always depend on you to argue for the plan with the least risk,” said
Maxine.
“And it’s gotten me a long, nearly trouble-free life,” said Robert. “But least risk isn’t no risk. If circumstances dictate, I’m ready to take steps against Jester. If that doesn’t work, I have a bag packed, ready to go—and if the fellows with badges and handcuffs are close enough behind me, I’m content to leave without it. I advise you to make similar preparations.”
“You’d think it was a crime to try to make a profit,” said Maxine dryly. “The damn Settlers’ Bill of Rights wasn’t supposed to kill off business, was it?”
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” said Robert. “I’m equally sure that the party now in power has consistently interpreted it so that our little enterprise can be seen that way. A good attorney could probably convince an appeals court otherwise. But there’d be a lot of expense and other unpleasantness before we reached that point. I’d just as soon grab my profit and get out before anybody comes around asking questions.”
“Good point,” said Maxine. “All right, we wait and see. But be sharp—I don’t want any surprises. If Jester starts snooping into something we don’t want him to know about, I want you to tell me instantly.”
“Not a problem,” said Robert. “Believe me, I have as much to lose as anyone. Do you need me for anything more, Madame?”
“Right now, no,” she said. “Remember—keep your eyes on Jester!”
* * *
“There is definitely somethin’ weird goin’ on back there,” said Do-Wop as he and Sushi walked down the path from La Retraite Rustique.
“Really,” said Sushi, stopping and putting his hands on his hips. “I am, like, completely blown away by your powers of observation.”
“Yeah, well, I guess not everybody would notice it,” said Do-Wop. He looked back over his shoulder, as if to ensure nobody was watching them. “You sorta hafta know what you’re lookin’ at.”
“That would never have occurred to me,” said Sushi, scaling unprecedented heights of sarcasm. “What exactly made you suspicious? Perhaps I can learn something from you.”
Phule's Errand Page 18
