Mauve laughed. “This is the real me. The real me is my disguise. I don’t mind the recognition, signing autographs, but some days I still like to just disappear. And get rid of my two skinny shadows. When I mentioned to Westy that I had a lunch date with you today he wanted me to take the Stems. He was pretty insistent, but I blew him off. Anyway, I told him you were an ex-health agent, not some drooling psycho.”
Please don’t tell anybody else I was an ex-health agent…all right, Mauve? It’s personal. They ask you why you’re an ex, and I’d rather not get into it.”
Sorry.”
That’s all right.” No, shit, it wasn’t. Now what if Westy Dwork mentioned to Ferule Cangue that Mauve had just been befriended by an ex-health agent?
Did you mention I caught M-670 at the Toll Loveland thing?”
“Ah…sorry.”
Don’t worry about it.”
The cold from this morning had let up a bit but it was still dark, and now raining. The cobblestones of Beaumonde Square glistened like scales, and the warm lights of the shops that flanked this long strip they strolled down were reflected in the water gathering in the spaces between the stones. In friendlier weather, lovers would stroll here, sit on the stone benches or under the huge potted plants. In summer this strip would be full of ice cream eaters, baby carriages loitering. Now it was sparsely populated and hunched figures moved quickly.
The rain’s getting heavy, you poor guy,” Mauve laughed. Monty had his neck scrunched into the upturned collar of his overcoat. “Wanna poke around in some shops, or are you ready to eat?”
Whatever you want…I’m in no hurry.”
“I won’t subject you to my shop-browsing; you have to get to work.”
Actually, I was thinking of calling in sick today.”
Will your boss get mad?”
“I’ve never missed a day, but probably. If he wasn’t such an asshole, maybe I’d worry about what he’ll do to replace me, but I won’t ‘cause he is.”
Well, let’s eat first anyway, just in case you don’t call in. One of these restaurants, or would you rather we hit Quidd’s Market?”
Would you mind Quidd’s?”
I was hoping you’d say that. You passed the test.”
The immense structure housing Quidd’s Market was just one cobblestoned strip over from where they were, so they passed through the intervening mall building to reach the strip bordering the market. The pre-colonial Choom style was much in evidence, though the building had been restored and enlarged upon. The great central rotunda was meant to look like this planet, Oasis, as an invitation to the Earth people who initially settled here, and Quidd’s Market had been the major spot in this area for the Chooms to sell their wares and crafts and produce to the first of the military and civilian colonists so long ago. Nowadays the market rented its many tiny booths and stands to Earth people, Tikkihottos, people from many different worlds and even other dimensions, such as the Kodju with their popular stir-fried vegetables. All of the stands sold foodstuffs now, except for one tobacco shop, some stands quite old but many renting for only a year or so. Rents were high and a fad food might not be popular enough to pay the fees a year later.
The vast hall could be entered at either end, but Mauve and Monty climbed up the marble front steps. In a glass-roofed outer hall—a more modern addition—portable booths offered gifts, curios and souvenirs, clothing and leather goods. Mauve tried to get Monty to buy an umbrella but he resisted. They passed into the rotunda. Amplified voices blended into one echoing rumble. Faces peered down from a circular balcony above. The translucent, shell-like material of the dome wasn’t letting in more than a feeble luminescence today, and no amount of cleaning had restored it to its once bright glow.
The hall of Quidd’s Market now stretched off to left and right, seemingly endless. It was thronged, as always, though on weekends one could scarcely move. A real tourist site, but also the favorite shopping spot for the wealthy locals for whom these exotic selections, a treat to outsiders, were a staple. “Which way?” said Mauve.
Ohhh…why not left?”
Why not?” Mauve pushed her hood back from her head and smiled at him.
The espresso machine made a loud sound like an old-style aircraft coming in for a landing. This had to be Monty’s first stop, as always at Quidd’s Market, all other treats secondary. Next came desserts; they figured they’d work their way backwards. Picking out a dessert—as with anything here—was difficult in that you were afraid to make a choice, lest further along you discovered something better. They settled on a rich, fudge-like Tikkihotto candy, sweet enough to complement and offset the bitter espresso, and retreated from the crowds to talk a little, sheltering close to a broad support column between two stands and using the top of a trash zapper for a table.
I’ve got your tickets, by the way. Hope you’re free this Sunday night.”
Of course—thank you. That’s great.”
Row E. That’s fifth row.”
Wow. I’m much obliged.”
I have to warn you, we have our pukers every show.”
It will just add to the air of gritty realism, as Ferule Cangue might say.”
That sounds derogatory.”
Well, I do feel a little uncomfortable about seeing you mutilated. I mean, are we an audience or bystanders?”
You sound like Yancy Mays now. I feel sorry he was murdered but I didn’t care for his review. I know when I’m being victimized, and I’m not a victim if I’m scarred willingly, am I? And even if the rapists are different each night, Aurora isn’t really being raped…since she’s subjecting herself to it voluntarily.”
I think Mays meant that Cangue is making you a victim of exploitation.”
I want to do this. It’s powerful, and I believe in it. Yeah, it’s tough stuff. It isn’t some candy-coated musical. We’re rubbing noses in it. I’m part of it; I’m not exploited.” Mauve looked defensive, wary of him now. “So do you agree with Yancy Mays—that I’m no better than a real freak prosty letting herself be humiliated for money?”
A little bit. I know you honestly believe in it. I just think maybe your enthusiasm is blinding you a little to Cangue’s kinky ugliness.”
Life is ugly, Monty, and I don’t think I’m all that blind.”
I’m sorry. I haven’t seen it yet…I shouldn’t say anything. I’m just concerned for you, that’s all.”
They didn’t talk for a while. Monty eyed the milling people, many of them making hostile or blandly curious eye contact with him as they oozed past. Rather than drop the subject, he went back to it. “I may not like the play, Mauve, but I can still enjoy your work in it. I hope I haven’t insulted you, but I have to be honest to my feelings.”
I know…I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m so into the play.”
Things were better. “I understand.”
I know you told me you don’t like discussing how you became an ex, but you already told me a little so I assume you don’t mind telling me some more of it. Why the hell are you working at a newsstand in Blue Station? And don’t give me some crack about meeting interesting people.”
After what happened to me I wanted a job where I’d be alone—and something mindless. I just wanted to make enough to live and be numb and vegetate.”
So…what happened to you? With Toll Loveland and all that?”
Monty met her gaze. It wasn’t easy opening up after all this time of solitude and silence. He’d barely told Midge any of it in the year he’d known her. But all the noise and people made it easier to confess; just the two of them alone in a quiet place would have made him more unsettled.
He told her. About the night of Pandora’s Box. About Auretta Here. About Opal, the hardest part. How she’d become infected. About the vid message she’d left him.
He told her about Vern and the Bedbugs’ tran. He told her everything he’d told Beak today, except for his suspicions about Ferule Cangue. He told her about Shit for Breakfast, the sacrifice of the goat
and of Yancy Mays, about the cloned finger in The Godfucker. He could tell that she saw what he was closing in on.
You think Toll Loveland is still alive…and you see a similarity between his work and my play…”
Mauve. Can you possibly arrange for me to meet Ferule Cangue?”
You think he knows whether Toll Loveland is alive or not?”
He might know just that.” Monty didn’t unveil his ultimate suspicion.
Oh come on, Monty…”
Where’s the harm? I’ll do my best not to embarrass you or hurt your position with the play, I swear…but if Loveland is still alive, then he’s a dangerous mass murderer who’s gotta be stopped.”
Have you told the Health Agency or the police all this?”
Not really. If I’m wrong about Cangue, I’ll turn it over to them—if they believe me. My friend today was less than convinced.”
It is a pretty far-fetched idea.”
It suits Toll Loveland. How about Westy Dwork; can I meet him, too?”
Now, why him?”
Monty’s delivery was cold and matter-of-fact, and afterwards Mauve stared at him blankly, soaking it in. He said, “Westy Dwork is a researcher for Cugok Pharmaceuticals. Cugok is the old Greenberg Products plant, and that’s where Toll Loveland presented Pandora’s Box.”
Oh my God,” Mauve breathed at last.
Monty exchanged glares with passing people. Mauve watched him a few moments. “Worth looking into?” he asked, without glancing at her.
I’ll arrange it. Wow. So…” she chuckled a little, “I can see now why you wanted to befriend me. Rescue me from the Stems and all that.”
Monty faced her abruptly, his brow furrowed. “No…I didn’t know you were even an actress…I really did think you were in danger. It was your scars that caught my attention, but it was all just a remarkable coincidence.”
Let’s hope it stays that way, just a remarkable coincidence.”
Monty didn’t respond to that. He realized he’d be quite disappointed if Toll Loveland were not alive.
You know,” Mauve said, “I thought I sensed a difference in you today. In the coffeehouse you were focused on me. Today you’ve been distracted, focused on something else.”
I’m sorry. Now that I’ve got it all out in the open, I’ll focus on you again.” He grinned.
That’s the flirty ex-health agent I know. I’ll tell Westy and Ferule you’re my new boyfriend and that’s how I’ll get you backstage. How do you like that for flirty?”
“Sounds good to me. I just hope you’re a method actress.”
Now this is more like it. Why don’t you call in sick at work before we go on any further in our food binge?”
Good idea.” He did feel lighter, even with Opal fresh from his lips. Maybe because of it.
Mauve couldn’t find her hand phone in her pocketbook, cursing lightly as she burrowed in vain for it, apparently having left it at home, so they moved on in search of a pay phone.
Maybe we should take the train someplace for lunch,” Monty said as they pushed along through and with the crowd.
Ohhh—why?”
To lose our tail.”
What tail?”
Take it easy, don’t be obvious. Look behind you. There’s a very tall man in some kind of breathing apparatus.”
Mauve looked over her shoulder as an actress, pretending to glance at the food stand they’d just passed. Indeed, not far behind them a figure loomed above the river of bobbing heads. Bulky black plastic jacket, a black helmet with a black visor and black rubbery tubes connecting it to a device on the figure’s back. She faced front again. “He does look sinister, but I think you’re getting paranoid.”
He walked past us twice at the trash zapper back there and he looked toward us both times.”
So? I’m seeing a lot of people again and again.”
Just humor me a minute, then.” Monty took Mauve’s hand and hurried her along. The left-hand end of Quidd’s Market gaped open before them, the rain still pouring down out there, umbrellas dragging people along, wealthier people utilizing electromagnetic repulsor shields (also good for light muggings), a strange sight in such a heavy downpour as these individuals remained dry inside their expensive invisible bubbles, the rain exploding off the outlines. Mauve pulled up her simple hood.
The black-garbed giant stepped out into the torrents. Awkwardly weaving, as if inexperienced with this planet’s gravity, it turned from right to left. On the left, flat against the building, stood Monty and Mauve lighting cigarettes.
Hello,” Monty said. “Care for one?” He held out his cigarette.
The ungainly giant ambled on, down the slick marble steps, across slippery cobblestones like a drunken robot. Mauve pressed against Monty’s arm, shivering a bit. “Do you really think he was following us?”
You told me Dwork was insistent, didn’t you? You’d walk like that too if you had one leg in one boot and two in the other.”
What do you mean?”
We just saw the fattest Stem you’re ever likely to see.”
Oh…my…God. That bastard.”
You told Dwork too much about me, Mauve. Ex-health agent. Contracted M-670 at the old Greenberg plant. He’s worried.”
He always worries about me anyway, Monty…I told you how seductive he is with me. I think he’s jealous. He looked unhappy when I told him I was meeting you today.”
Maybe this is too dangerous for you. Christ, what am I thinking of, involving you in this? Forget backstage; I’ll find out about Dwork and Cangue on my own…”
No, Monty, you come backstage. I’m a big girl; I know when to be scared. That creepy worm Westy, having me followed after I told him no. I owe him one.”
Let’s go back inside. We can at least eat in peace, now.”
FIFTEEN
Monty was suspicious about opening the large envelope he signed for at the door to his apartment; it had no return address, and the only mail he normally received was bills and the mountains of glossy junk he tossed without ennobling with more than a glance. He held it to the light, sniffed it. What the fuck. He sliced the bottom of it open. It was from Beak, whom he’d seen only yesterday. He must have acquired Monty’s current address at HAP after Monty had foolishly neglected to leave it with him after Beak’s reluctance to accept help.
There were computer-generated portraits of two young human men in the envelope. There had been a witness to the flight of the men who had raped and killed Beak’s wife in the parking garage under the bank at which she had worked. Had she survived long enough, the exact faces and voices of the men—indeed the attack itself, as she had lived it—could have been reproduced from her memory as Pandora’s Box had been reproduced from Beak’s…but she hadn’t. It was too expensive and involved a process to be utilized in every rape or attack, certainly, but this victim having been the wife of a health agent, it could have been done.
Beak had enclosed a police autopsy report. Monty was appalled. Being stabbed was bad enough a thing, mutilated even worse. Her throat had finally been cut.
Monty went back to the photos. One looked like a typical mongrel punk; part white, part Hispanic or black, part Asian, with more tender care administered to his greasy black bouffant than to anything else the punk was ever likely to encounter. The other had black features but white skin and a blond crewcut. Monty imagined that the witness hadn’t seen them well enough or long enough to warrant having his memories recorded, played back, blown up or enhanced, and so these were only loose sketches really, but Monty was sure they were true to the spirit of the killers. Brutally emotionless and utterly repellant.
Both had been wearing red plastic jackets, the report went on, indicating a possible gang association. In reference to this, Beak had added a notation for Monty: “Have questioned and investigated three gangs that wear red jackets. One had nearly same jackets but no one matches the suspects and they profess no knowledge. I keep an eye on them from time to time—the Menses, they’re called. Yo
u don’t need to cover them.”
Monty set the reports and photos aside, finally read Beak’s letter to him.
“We work separately, Black. I had to send this out fast before I changed my mind. If you change your mind, I understand. Don’t feel pressured—go at your own pace, if you go. Whether you help or not, thanks again for your concern and offer. I won’t forget it, I mean that. One thing: if you ever did find the monsters, they’re mine, understand? I insist on that. You know what this is to me. Thanks, buddy.”
Monty sat back, sighed. He felt guilty. The thing was, he was partly sorry for offering to help Beak right now. He was absorbed in his own mission, and trying to nurture the embryo of a relationship he’d created with Mauve. He had meant his offer, but he had expected, for the most part, to be turned down.
Later, man, he told Beak in his mind, I promise.
*
Mauve’s apartment was on the third floor of a large old house across from a Paxton University dormitory building—easy to find. She opened the door to the front porch as he came up the wooden steps. “Right on time,” she smiled. She was very casually attired: a loose-fitting charcoal top with short sleeves, baring several inches of midriff, and dark gray sweat pants that smoothly defined the gentle contours of her slim hips and legs. Following her up to the third floor was not unpleasant.
On the second floor was a single tiny room off the stairs which, in the sectioning of the old house into distinct tenements, had oddly been appended to her apartment—occupied by a sofa-bed and a bookcase, plants. The flight to the third floor took them to the apartment proper, a large single room but for a partially partitioned kitchen and the bathroom. A huge waterbed, sofa and two armchairs close by, a small kitchen table, many plants, many framed posters from movies and plays. The walls and ceiling were broken into odd, interesting angles in correspondence with the roof, and the floor was covered in dark red and green plastic tiles with an unusual emblem or symbol incorporated into the tiles in the center of the room. Mauve explained that this had once been a frat house and that was their insignia.
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