Find Sixkiller, I told myself, and you can get some sleep.
I called Leecey.
“’Lo?” She sounded sleepy.
“Did I wake you? You going to work?”
“Not today. Reduced hours, seeing as the park’s shut.”
“Great. Meet me at the Strellis Café on Parkway in a half hour.”
“What f–”
I hung up. If nothing else, curiosity would get here there.
I slammed a cap down over my head, grabbed my kit and peered out the door. True to Caro’s word, the coast was clear. I took the stairs and left by the laundry pickup exit.
Leecey was waiting for me at a table out on the street. Strellis Café was a tiny Toast and Tart café that struggled to compete with the large Beverage Club franchise down the road. I frequented it because it was close to the South sector tunnel entrance and because I had a thing for supporting indies. The owner, Bijou, had paid last year’s rent on the proceeds of my regular hollandaise eggs, cheese muffin and Russian tea breakfasts.
It meant I always got quick service and an extra-large smile. For the months after Dad died, that smile was the best thing in my life.
“The usual, Virgin?”
“Two, please,” I said, nodding at Leecey. “Breakfast’s on me.”
“That sounds ominous. What’s up?” she said.
“Who runs the Coastal Romani?”
She frowned and picked up the salt shaker, suddenly finding it riveting. “Why do you want to know that?”
“Why I want to know would take me most of the day to explain. I don’t need to meet them. I just need to watch them for a bit.”
“Watch them?”
“Like a stake-out. Just see who comes and goes.”
“They don’t like to be followed.”
“They won’t know.”
“I don’t think that it’s–”
“You said you wanted to help me, Leecey.”
“And you told me to stay away.”
I leaned back, hands wide. “Things change.”
She turned the shaker a few more times, then set it down. “I owe you more than I can ever repay, Virgin, so of course I’ll help you. But you gotta know, if they see us–”
“If they see me. Once you’ve shown me who, you’re out of the picture.”
Her lips pursed stubbornly. “I don’t think so.”
I saw her determination and sighed. “Fine. But we have to do this right away.”
“Don’t you mean after breakfast?”
I leaned back to let Bijou place a plate in front of me. The smell of the bacon sent a rush of saliva into my mouth. “Definitely after breakfast!”
She talked about the Park murder investigation and Detective Chance as we killed time on the Coast bus trip.
“She’s gunning for you, Virgin,” she said. “Been sniffing around Johnnie.”
“She’s been up to DreamWorks?”
Leecey nodded. “He won’t say nothing to her, but he’s not clean. It won’t help the picture she’s painting. And if he got busted…”
“Shit!”I closed my eyes. My brother tested every shred of patience I ever had and then some. But love was a funny thing. Forgiveness seemed to have no limits until it did.
“I’ve talked to him, Virgin. He knows what’s going on. Hey – here’s our stop.”
I nodded, trying to shelve that worry for the moment.
We got off the bus and left the terminal to walk out onto a boulevard of restaurants, sarong booths and the ocean. A tin-pan band tinged and clanged on the boulevard, and balloon animals bobbed on sticks in the breeze. The sun was bright and I felt an unbidden rush of pleasure to see the water and inhale the salt in the air.
She hailed a taxi, which drove us down the boulevard a few klicks until we reached a huge water silo.
“We’ll have to shanks it the rest of the way,” said Leecey.
I paid the cabbie. “Show me.”
After a couple of blocks on foot, we left the Esplanade to travel west, and I felt a pang of regret at losing sight of the water.
Within a couple more blocks, the retailers had dwindled off and the standard of rental housing had degraded to salt-bleached weatherboard cottages and dank, low salmon bricks.
Another two, and Leecey led me back toward the direction of the beach. Out here, washing was on lines, not in dryers, and gardens were tiny pockets of bead weed.
To the north of us lay a long strip of salt marsh, and in front, a tufts-of-brown-grass motor park.
“They live there?” I nodded at the box-shaped chalets in the Park.
“When they’re not on the road,” she said. “Been spending summer here for as long as I can remember.”
“Who am I looking at?”
“Vandlo and Sabina Heron. Herons are old Rom. Came from England a hundred years ago. Good people but mistrustful and private.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” I said.
“I’ll go and pay respects to the Herons and then visit with my stepmother. That’ll give you time to see what you need.”
“Keep an eye on your messages in case shit happens.”
She gave me a thoughtful look and glanced at the bulge in my jacket. “Don’t shoot any of my people, Virgin.”
“Not my plan, Leecey.”
She nodded. “See you in a coupla hours.”
She left the cover of the salmon brick low-sets and hiked toward the front of the motor park, taking a dirt boundary road around to the front boom gate. Two young Romani males came out to greet her.
After a friendly exchange, I watched her thread her way between chalets to the centre of the park. Greyhound-thin dogs leapt up at her as she approached a cabin with a large annex. I couldn’t see who spoke to her from underneath it, but she disappeared inside.
That gave me time to study the landscape around the park. It was almost midday now, and the sun bit its way through the sea breeze. The salt marsh baked beneath it, giving up glints of shifting water from time to time.
There was little cover among the low, succulent bush, so I turned my attention to the rows of residentials on the other two sides. No one was about on the streets. Cars sat parked in driveways like hot metal slugs, and noise was reduced to the flap of washing, the hum of air cons and some distant TV noise. Across in the motor park, though, there were shouts and the buzz of power drills.
I took binoculars from my backpack and scanned each and every house for anything unusual. One my first pass, I saw nothing but shoes left to shed sand on porches and towels hung across railings.
Where would they watch from, I wondered?
I scanned again and again until my arms began to ache and my eyes burned from squinting against the glass. I didn’t dare get up and walk along, for fear of being recognized. If the Korax were here, they would likely know me.
I sank back onto my heels and called Caro.
She answered on the first ring. “Anything?”
“Not yet,” I said. “You?”
“Rastas don’t get up before 3pm. Couldn’t be more dull. Where are you?”
“South of Cheyenne Beach.”
“The salt marshes? Nice.” Always one for sarcasm. “But listen. You have any problems, Hamish is just west of you. Call him. I’ll send you his number. Remember to delete it when we’re done.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll check back in a while.”
I hung up and got back onto my heels to do another scope.
Leecey had just emerged from the annex with a backward wave and walked down a row toward a smaller, pale blue van with yellow awning. A man called to her from across the way, and I held the glass on him for a moment. He looked like the guy in the alley, but I couldn’t be sure. If Sixkiller were here, I could ask him…
A woman a few houses away left her front door, carrying canvas shopping bags.
I swung the glass to her as she climbed into her car and reversed from the driveway, disappearing up the street with the zizz of an electric m
otor. Pretty most all suburbans had their food home-delivered, but there was still the odd pilgrim ready to battle traffic and crowds for the retail experience.
Her real-time shopping trip left a clear view through to the driveway of the next house and a hunched figure hiding inside a child’s plastic fort.
I rested the glass against the corner of the salmon brick and ratcheted up my magnification. It was definitely an adult male, not a child, wearing a singlet and shorts.
Now to get closer.
I counted the houses. Seven along. I ducked back down the side of the one I was at and skirted along the back. When I came to the correct house, I squatted down behind the vine growing along the back fence and thought what to do next.
I needed help for this, and it wasn’t something I wanted to involve Leecey in. With only a faint sense of misgiving, I called Hamish’s number.
“Yes.” His voice was curt like I remembered it.
“It’s Virgin. I need your help.”
“You’ve made a sighting?”
“Yes.”
Pause. “I’ve got a fix on you. Be there in thirty minutes.”
“But how will–”
He hung up.
I spent twenty-five of those minutes maneuvering into a position to see the Korax guy better. That wasn’t easy to manage considering the swing set, the pile of grass clippings and an upturned wheelbarrow that impaired my line of sight. I climbed the back fence and half buried myself in the grass. From there, I could see his back through the porthole in the kindy gym. Half of his tattoo showed along the singlet line.
“Better hope you don’t suffer allergies,” said a voice from behind me.
Hamish was crouched back at the fence, dressed in jeans and a dark shirt.
“Only way to keep an eye on him,” I said, scratching my arms.
“We should get him moving. Go wait in my car.” He pointed back down the lane. “Blue sedan. I figure the bike halfway along the next block is his. We’ll follow when he runs.”
“What do you mean, when he runs?”
He gave an odd smile that didn’t connect with his eyes. “Just wait in the car.”
I didn’t much like being told what to do, but I had asked for his help, so I crawled out of the glass clippings and joined him behind the fence.
“Dust off first, though,” he said, handing me the keys.
“He’s in the child’s cubby near the front driveway,” I said.
He nodded. “Saw him on my first pass.”
His first pass? I took the keys and headed off down the lane, shaking grass from my clothes.
By the time I’d climbed into the front seat, Hamish had disappeared. The inside was rental-car clean, although something told me this hadn’t been hired through regular channels.
Curious, I opened the glove compartment to see if he’d left any identifying documents, but other than the car’s spec chip, it was empty.
Hamish ripped the door open and was in the driver’s seat before I could close it.
“What are you doing?” he said in a voice that froze me.
“Umm… just looking for… There!”
A figure jumped a fence in front of us and ran away from us.
He jumped in and pressed the ignition. The car eased quietly along the lane toward the intersecting street. Seconds later, a motorbike buzzed past, and Hamish accelerated with practised ease.
I remembered how he drove back to the Park Sector from the Million Mile – competent and fast. We hadn’t spoken a word on the way home that night, and I found it hard to think of anything to say now.
He kept checking the rectangular unit attached to his steering wheel as we followed the bike at a distance.
“You put a tracker on his bike?”
He didn’t answer. I realized then that Hamish wasn’t one for restating the obvious, so I settled back and kept my mouth shut.
The bike’s route took us directly back to the city and eventually onto the Ringway. I’d expected to be heading south towards Mystere or northeast to DreamWorks, not back into the heart of the Southern Sector business district.
We passed by Cloisters and the Parks Southern offices, heading further east to the light industrial area. Finally, Hamish pulled into a loading zone in front of a lighting warehouse.
“Here?” I asked.
He shook his head and nodded across the road. “According to this, he went right in there,” he said, pointing to the security roller door in front of the undercroft parking.
“It’s called Roscoes,” I said, looking at the signage. I got out my phone and searched for them, but Hamish was ahead of me.
“Rigging company,” he said, head bent over his tracking unit.
I glanced at him. “Does that thing make coffee, too?”
“New generation multipurpose defence mobile.” He flicked his fingers across the screen a few more times.
While I was still waiting for my phone to download data, he gave a low whistle at what he’d read from his screen.
“What?”
“They contract exclusively to ComTel.”
A cold feeling crept through my body. “But ComTel’s our national communications company.”
“Criminals come in all shades, Ranger, from all kinds of backgrounds.”
“How… Where… The Marshal… How will we…?” I couldn’t organize my thoughts to speak properly.
“I’d say you’ve got problems.”
“I need to speak to Caro.”
He nodded. “Agreed.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
While Caro and I shared custard pie and strong coffee at her apartment, Hamish pored over his magic box.
Caro only had two chairs, so he sat on the floor, legs crossed, back ramrod-straight against the wall. I offered him food but he didn’t seem to hear me.
“Hamish doesn’t eat when he’s thinking,” said Caro. “Wish I was the same.”
Seemingly unaware of our conversation, he stretched his neck from side to side and sprang to his feet. “I’ll be back in a while.”
“Hamish?” asked Caro.
He looked at me not her. “Wash that grass off and get some sleep. I’ll be back to get you from your place.”
“Pardon?”
“You want your guy out? Then I have to do some reconnaissance. I’ll be back soon after dark.”
“How do you know where t–”
But he’d gone.
Caro sighed and cut us both another piece of pie. “Don’t ask me to explain him. I can’t. But I do know I would have died in Burundi if he hadn’t pulled me out of the crossfire.”
“What happened?”
“You can imagine it. Lines change all the time in conflict. What’s safe in the morning might be overtaken by your enemy in the afternoon. I made a mistake. He was in the area on ‘other business’ and caught my shortwave call. Next thing, I was being ridden out of the war zone on a two-stroke with no brakes and a flat tyre.” She gave a little shudder. “Never been so terrified before, but Hamish–”
“He makes me nervous.”
“When Hamish takes on a job, he finishes it. He’s obsessive about closure.”
“And Nate?”
“Finding Nate’s his current job. Maybe you better go home and get some rest like he said.”
I yawned. Last night’s lack of sleep had caught up like a wall of falling bricks. “Can’t think.”
Caro put out a hand and pulled me up. “I’ll walk you to the rank.”
I ran the cabby’s name and number on my SafeTravel app before I got in. He checked out, so I waved Caro goodbye, jumped into the back seat and closed my eyes.
He woke me to pay the fare, and I let him beep my One Card. The lift seemed to take a lifetime to get to my floor, and I was grateful that Heart wasn’t there when I got to my apartment.
I fell on the bed fully clothed and flaked out like I’d been drugged. At some stage, I woke and saw Aquila on the bed’s end. But then, it may have just been a dream.
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Full clarity and a dry mouth came some time later. I rolled over and opened my eyes when the air conditioner made a thunk.
Hamish, not Aquila, was standing at the foot of my bed with the air con’s remote in his hand. He wore black fatigues with deep pockets and a dark long-sleeved jersey.
“Crap!” I said, plucking at the sheet, even though I was dressed. “What are you doing in here?”
“Knocked a few times but you didn’t hear. Had to let myself in.”
I got up and grabbed my boots, walking past him into the living room. “What did you find?”
“Marshal’s not there. But the guy we followed told me this.”
I swallowed. “He t-told you? Just like that?”
“He knew it was the right thing to do,” he said with a disturbing smile.
This man had a serious personality disorder. “A-and?”
“He didn’t know where the Marshal was, only that he was being shifted out when the others arrived.”
“Others arrived? What’s that mean? And he didn’t happen to say when that was, did he?”
That smile deepened as he reached into one of his pockets, pulled out his next-gen coffee maker/defence mobile and showed me a message on the screen. “Wrote it down to be sure.”
I read the two words on the page.
Wet moon.
Some things clunked into place. The guy who’d been murdered in the park had said that. The Korax must be gaining illegal entry into the country through the park somehow, and I thought that I’d heard that. I grabbed my tablet from the coffee table and checked the lunar calendar online.
“The wet moon is tonight. We have to get to the park,” I said.
His eyes narrowed. “What? Out in the open?”
I stared at him. “You’re agoraphobic?”
“I deal in cities,” he said. “Not open spaces.”
I wanted to laugh but thought better of it. “Can you ride a horse?”
“If I have to,” he said.
“Great. I’ll explain my theory on the way.”
“Uh-uh. No spaces.”
“I… Oh…”
He put the next-gen away and retreated to the door. “Later.”
“But, Hamish–”
Peacemaker Page 22
