Bloody Sarah left as the icy night air closed over us. I turned to Jay Ostrow. "Okay, Deadeye, you stay with me and Marantha. Learn the business. You may inherit someday." I thought, just for the hell of it, I'd feed him a line. "I'm not immortal, you know."
Like lava down a slow hill, a smile spread across his face. "Yeah."
The creep.
I gestured with my head toward the west and the three of us turned and headed on foot for the Rear Guard.
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Cops
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The Eyes were out, Blue Moon just beginning to touch the dunes with its special light, and the column was on the move. The sharks were silent as they hunched into their parkas, kept an eye on the shadows, and concentrated on conserving warmth and putting one foot in front of the other. As the three of us dogged the grit on the way to the rear guard, that dull ache in my neck grew into a class seven headache. My stomach became queasy as I was filled with an overwhelming feeling of dread. The feeling wasn't there so much because of Deadeye Jay as it was the responsibilities of the number two job. To chase away the spooks we kicked around the possibilities about Nance's shooter and then chewed them over again.
Marantha kept asking questions about this suspect or that suspect, then she'd turn the questions and suspects inside out and ask them all over again. I kept trying to answer the questions and every answer I came up with she had either a better answer, a flock of other answers, more questions or an objection. I was beginning to steam my hosties until my brain dropped into gear and I realized that Supercop was only thinking out loud. After that I sort of threw in a grunt now and then and just listened to her think. Once I glanced at Deadeye Jay. He was totally absorbed in what Marantha was saying.
Since I still identified with the fox more than with the hounds, it gave me chills the way Marantha Silver could chew on a fact and worry the damned thing until it either yelped out an answer or died from a broken heart because it couldn't produce for her. When that was done she'd take that worn out old fact, put it together with another tired piece of information and start chewing and worrying all over again. No wonder the Ministry of Justice dropped her in the crowbars when her investigation into top government dirty fingers led her to the First Minister's office.
There was something else about the way she worried the facts. She was buried in them, using their impossible puzzles as a place to hide the same way I used rage. The more I listened the more I was convinced she was worried about more than who shot Nance Damas. After we had left the end of the walking column behind and there was just the three of us, I put out my icy cold hand and stopped her.
"Tell me something, Supercop."
"What?"
"What's eating you?"
She burst out with a laugh, her words buttered with anger. "Being here on the grit isn't enough?"
I let go of her arm and placed my hands beneath my armpits. "Sure, that's enough. Enough for me or a thousand other pieces of rat bait I can think of. I don't think it's enough for you, though."
"Maybe."
"You got something on the gnaw. Spill. Maybe I can help."
She was silent for a long time. She sniffed against the cold, or perhaps it was a tear. "It's Herb. I'm worried about him."
"About being killed on the hunt?"
"No. There's no man alive who's better with a knife than Herb. No perp's ever going to get the drop on him. But it's changing him. He's becoming different. He doesn't smile. He doesn't laugh."
"Marantha, doll, killing people tends to make you real serious." I glanced at Deadeye. "Just ask him."
"It scares me, Bando. It's like he's dying inside."
"Hey, you want me to take him off hunting down perps? You got pull in the front office. I can do it."
I could tell she was wrestling with my offer. Finally she lifted her gloved hand and patted my cheek. "I love you for that, Chief." She lowered her hand. "I'd be doing it more for me than for him. He's a man, not a little boy. I couldn't do that to him."
"Hell, lady, the way Herb thinks about you, there isn't anything you could do down to and including sawing off his left leg that he wouldn't blush, kiss you, and say thanks. The guy worships you. Let me take him off the hunt."
"If he asks to be taken off. Only then, Chief. Promise?"
True love, I thought to myself. One of these days I'm going to have to get someone to sit down and explain it to me. "Sure."
She took my hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. "And keep what I said here between us, okay?" She looked at Deadeye. His face was turned away. "Jay, can you keep it shut?"
Without looking at her he nodded and answered, "Like a tomb."
I nodded and squeezed her hands back. "I won't say anything, on one condition."
"What condition?"
"Tell me where you got the gloves."
I could see her teeth flash a smile. "The Mihvihtians. Some of them were dealing in leggings, gloves, and coats. I traded some fire cubes for them." She rooted in her kit bag for a moment and then held out something. "Here. I got them for Herb. Maybe I can get another pair before he returns."
Deadeye stuck a hand in my face. Gripped in his fingers was a pair of gloves. "Here."
I frowned at him. "You sure?"
"I'm sure. Go ahead."
"If you want 'em back later, just ask."
He turned and looked at me, that smile again on his face. "No need. The shark I took 'em from the last time was dead, too."
A real casket of chuckles. I put on the gloves and nodded at Deadeye. "How long you want to drag this thing out?"
"What thing?"
"About your brother. I'm not a real patient man, so if you're high on mental water tortures and subtle pain, you're wasting your time and mine."
He stared at me for a beat, then glanced away. "All I did was lay a pair of gloves on you. Don't make a thing out of it."
"In that case, thanks."
Marantha lifted an arm and began waving. "Hey! RC! RC! Over here!"
As I winced against the pain in my warming fingers, I turned and looked into the night. In the dim light of the moon I could see a shark wearing a sheet walking toward us. Every now and then there was a moon flash from the star pinned to his chest. "Watson? Is that you?"
"Thought you could use a hand with the cop work." It was Stays. When he was standing next to us, Stays nodded once at Deadeye and looked at me. "Chief, some dust was spotted way south of us by the right flank guard just before sunset."
"Riders?"
"Maybe. Nazzar sent out his Best Ten to scout it out. Also Alna wanted me to tell you she's working for Mercy Jane for the time being, and that she couldn't find Nkuma." He snorted out a little laugh. "There wasn't a loose down or drop of alk in the column that could be had short of murder. Yet I see you found some real good stuff. How'd you get the thumpers, Sherlock?"
I shrugged and looked away. "Nothin' but top flight police work." I looked back at him. "Maybe we ought to send a party out to try and chase down Nkuma."
"Maybe it's time to face that he might be dead."
That ache in my neck along with that sense of dread finally owned me. "Let's go." I turned toward the west and began walking, my gloved hands thrust beneath my armpits from force of habit. With those who'd freeze to death that night, along with the populations of corpses we'd discovered or created since we'd been dumped by the prison ship, it seemed power stupid to be investigating one little attempted murder and worrying about one guilt-ridden mau lost in the dunes. It was like throwing snow flakes into a volcano.
I was afraid of what Nazzar's best ten would find down south. If it was riders, it'd be the Hand, or maybe Kegel's gang. One way or another it would mean another decision I would have to make, another responsibility taken on by a chili pepper who'd made a career out of avoiding responsibilities, especially for others.
On the vids I once saw a juggler whose comedy routi
ne was to play someone trying to learn how to juggle. He would try one ball, get the hang of that, then someone would threw him a second ball. Once he got used to juggling two balls, he'd call for another. What he was then thrown was an anvil followed in rapid succession by a running chain saw, three lit sticks of dynamite, and a filled goldfish bowl complete with goldfish. That's the way I felt right then. I was just waiting for the goldfish bowl.
"Halt!" screamed a voice that made me jump half out of my sheet. "Who goes there?"
"Asshole!" I cursed.
There was a pause followed by, "Advance, Asshole, and be recognized."
Stays, Marantha, and Deadeye weren't very successful in keeping their snickers quiet.
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Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?
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It was so cold your piss'd freeze before it hit the grit by the time we got back to the Rear Guard. Mig Rojas was up to his ears trying to work the new sharks into his organization. He dumped the four of us on a hard case named Leo Carvecci, his second in command.
Carvecci had a nervous habit of dislocating his right thumb and bending it until it touched the back of his wrist. His crowbar handle was Locks and he took us all the way to the rear where the walking part of the rear guard had watch positions set up to cover the rear approaches to the column. On one of those dunes overlooking the way we had come in was Jordie Woltz, brother of the dead rapist whose death, along with the deaths of six witnesses, had earned Nance her reservation in the Crotch. Carvecci went back to the settling in and we got to work.
Jordie Woltz was a haystack, tall and slender with sandy hair and eyes that never seemed to look anyone in the face. When we found him he was squatting just below the crest of a dune studying the western approach to the column. He glanced at Marantha, Stays, Deadeye, and me, then back at the west. "What do you want? I been good." He turned slowly and looked up at me for a second time. "This is about Nance, right?"
We gathered around and Marantha began the questions. Jordie's answers seemed straight enough to me, but I wasn't trained to wring the shit out of a tone of voice or an eyebrow twitch like Marantha was. Stays just squatted there, his arms folded across his kneecaps, studying Jordie Woltz. Deadeye just studied me.
"Yeah, I knew that Nance was the one who tortured my brother to death," Woltz began. "I don't hold anything against her on that account. If she hadn't killed the bastard, I would've done him myself. I mean he took that poor woman and raped and murdered her. That was Nance's lover, you know."
"Yeah," I said. "We know."
"I can see why you're looking at me, but like I said, I would've killed the bastard myself. A guy doesn't get to pick his brother, you know."
I scratched my chin and studied him, thinking about all of the times I'd been on the receiving end of a sometimes less than gentle interrogation. I never liked getting thumped, but just then I understood the urge to pound the shit out of a suspect to get some straight answers. Marantha came on meek and gentle.
"Jordie," she began, "When the shot was fired two nights ago, where were you?"
He grinned. "It's funny talking to cops without a lawyer."
"You think you need a cockroach?" I asked.
"Why?"
"It's like this, sly. If we think you did it we'll try and fry your ass. We don't toss killers back on the street because you didn't get read your rights or were potty trained wrong."
"Man," he said to me as he laughed, "I guess that good cop, bad cop stuff is in the blood, huh?"
"Answer the lady's question, sly."
He shook his head and looked at Marantha. "I can answer your question, sure. That night I was running messages for Mig Rojas. I was up at the left flank guard when the shot was fired. I'd just given a message to Ow Dao. He can back me up on that, because we both looked at each other when we heard the shot. That all?"
"Not quite," answered Marantha. "Who was on watch here when the shot was fired?"
"Down here? I don't know. Like I said, I was up running messages. Ask the Match."
"Did you love your brother?"
The question had shocked me. Surprised me. Left field stuff.
"I hated him. Just like I told you."
There was a slight pause followed by Marantha asking just loud enough to hear, "You never loved him?"
Jordie shook his head and whispered, "Never."
"Why? It's not normal to hate a brother from birth."
The suspect burst out with a laugh. "I never claimed to come from a normal family." He glanced over his shoulder, indicating a few other sharks who were on watch. "Maybe around here, though, my kind of family was normal."
He has a point there, I was thinking, when Marantha poked the obvious open sore one more time. "Why did you hate him, Jordie?"
"My business," he hissed. "Okay? End of discussion." The tone of his voice was very strained. Jordie Woltz went back to studying the night.
Stays, Marantha, Deadeye, and me looked around at each other for a moment. Marantha nodded at me, we stood, walked around the dune, and back toward the east. "That would seem to wrap up that," Stays remarked.
"Maybe," answered Marantha.
"What, maybe? It's pretty clear Jordie was bunged by his brother and that he hates his brother's guts. That blows the motive. On top of that he's got an airtight alibi."
"Maybe," said Deadeye. "But hating the brother could be an act."
I looked at the hitter, then at Marantha. "What about the alibi?"
"First we have to check it out with General Dao. If he confirms it, then we have to check out if the general is lying."
"Lying? Why would he lie? Unless—"
She nodded. "You've got it. What if Dao wants to be boss? Stays knows him. What about it, Martin?"
Watson thought for a long time before he nodded and answered. "He was a big time mountain bandit chieftain back in China. Back in the Crotch he bossed one of the strongest gangs in the crowbars. Maybe he still thinks he ought to be number one."
"Hell, I expected to start eliminating suspects. Now we got more than when we started. Where do we go now?"
"We could begin with the message Jordie was supposed to carry to Dao," Marantha answered. "Did it originate with General Rojas, or was the Match responding to a message from Ow Dao?"
Deadeye jumped in, his voice excited. The hitter sounded like the detective business was turning him on. "You mean, if it was a response, Dao could have known Jordie was the runner for the night and sent his message as a setup to give Woltz an alibi?"
"Yes. It could have been prearranged so that they could each give the other an alibi." She paused for a moment. "There's something else."
I felt terribly discouraged. There were simply too many details to sort out and loose ends to nail down. "What else?"
"Jordie is making convincing sounds like someone who was sexually abused."
"That's what I said before Deadeye peed on it by saying it was all an act. I don't get it," I said. "Which side're you on, Supercop?"
She smiled. "I'm on the side of the truth, which means making certain when we take a step there's something besides air and wishful thinking under our feet." She smiled, and I felt not just a little bit patronized by her expression. "Bando, perhaps it is as you say. But what if he did love his brother? Love turns into other things, but it never dies. What if Jordie and his brother were lovers? It's not a rare thing. What if Nance tortured to death Jordie's lover? And there's more."
"What more?"
"What if Jordie did hate his brother, perhaps to the point of obsession?"
I held out my hands again. "Then it's the way I said. He'd be happy to have his brother killed. You heard him say it a couple of times. He said that he would've killed his brother himself."
She nodded and looked at Deadeye with her eyebrows raised. "Yeah," said the rookie. "But what if what he wanted to do was to have out his revenge on his brother himsel
f? Nance might have gypped him out of that, and for only one little rape. Jordie may have been raped hundreds of times."
At that point I was really discouraged. If every suspect had a story that had to be looked at nineteen different ways, I couldn't figure out how we'd ever nail Nance's shooter. Marantha's face, however, was very excited. She looked and sounded like a little kid in the middle of a mountain of Christmas presents. Deadeye looked the same. "You people really get off on this stuff, don't you?"
She shrugged. "I like to hunt." She looked puzzled for a moment.
"What?"
Stays perked up his ears and held up a hand as he whispered, "Listen."
Deadeye turned his head and I strained my ears, but I couldn't hear anything. Marantha pointed up toward Jordie's watch post. We climbed back up the dune.
"Do you hear it?" Marantha asked Jordie. He nodded and pointed toward the northwest.
"There."
I squinted and could see a dull glow against the top of a distant dune. It looked like the reflection from a fire cube. After a bit my ears picked up a dull clatter like hundreds of rats running across a concrete floor.
"What is it?" I demanded.
"Our listening post out there must have picked it up," said Jordie. "They ought to have a rider in any second." He lowered the aim on his outstretched finger. "There."
First came the sounds of a lughox panting, then there was a shadow between two dunes. Jordie challenged the rider, and the rider gave the password. He also said something that made me plant my ass on the sand and shake my head.
"It's Nkuma! He's bringing in sharks he's collected from three different landings! He's got over fifty thousand cons with him!"
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The Ghost Rider
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They came in all that long night, joining the column as it moved toward the next dawn. In less than a day the Razai had increased its numbers from three thousand to almost seventy thousand and was strung out over twenty miles of desert. We needed more bodies to take on the Hand, but how do you control a gang of seventy thousand? We'd need more RCs, and what about languages? What about telling them about the law? Sooner or later the whole thing had to fall apart.
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