Eros at Zenith: Book 2 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (17 page)

“May I make a suggestion?” said Pagliacci.

“Go ahead,” replied Crane.

“Since we're not sure when he's arriving, I think we'd better arrange for each of us to keep a pair of four-hour watches each day. It doesn't make sense for all three of us to be asleep at the same time.”

“I agree,” said the Dragon Lady. “But I think we'll make it
three
four-hour watches.”

“That comes to 36 hours,” said Pagliacci.

“24,” she corrected him. “Twelve for Mr. Crane and twelve for myself.”

“Maybe Andy didn't tell you that he and I have a deal.”

“I know,” replied the Dragon Lady. “But you and I don't.”

He looked amused. “You think you're going to arrest me?”

“I know I am,” she replied calmly. “There are four security men waiting for you on the other side of that door.”

“Then I strongly suggest you tell them to go away,” said Pagliacci. “Nobody's arresting anybody.”

“You think not?”

“Not if you've got a brain in your head,” said the comedian. “I'm willing to take my chances in a court of law—but are
you
willing to have me state under oath that not only did the staff of the
Comet
hush up a murder, but that you also lured the Bloody Butcher of New Sumatra onto the premises without warning any of your patrons?”

“Then we'll simply have to incarcerate you aboard the
Comet
until Bello has stood trial and been sentenced to jail.”

He laughed. “How long will you keep me here—a year? Two years? Five? Do you really think what I have to say will be any less damaging then than now?”

“Perhaps.”

He shook his head. “For that matter, do you think this is the only whistle I can blow? The sole criterion for admittance to the Resort is money; what do you suppose your patrons would say if they knew how some of the people they're rubbing shoulders with
make
their money? There are five professional killers aboard this ship right now; I'm only a talented amateur.”

He turned to Crane. “Maybe you'd better tell her that arresting me won't exactly be a boon to business, Andy.”

“I know it won't,” said Crane. “We'll just have to live with it.”

“Yeah?” grinned Pagliacci. “And just how long do you think Vainmill will live with their hotshot detective once they figure out how much business he's cost their showplace operation?”

Crane and the Dragon Lady stared at each other.

“What do you think, Mr. Crane?” she said at last.

“He's right,” said Crane.

“About your future?”

“About
my
future, and about the
Comet
's.”

She sighed in resignation. “I know.”

“Well,
that's
settled,” said Pagliacci easily.

“Everyone's allowed one mistake, and now you've made yours.” Suddenly his voice became ominous. “See to it that you don't make any more, or we may all regret it.” He got to his feet. “I assume that this is the real reason I was invited here, and that you've got nothing further to say to me?”

“Right,” admitted Crane.

“And I thought we were going to be such good friends, Andy,” he said with mock regret. He walked to the door, then turned to them. “Let me know when you've scheduled my two daily watches—and try not to have them conflict with the act.”

“You're going to keep working in the club?” asked Crane, surprised.

“Why not? For all I know, Bello may send an advance man to check things out. Why call attention to myself?”

He walked out the door.

“Hey, Dragon Lady!” he called an instant later.

“Let him go,” she ordered her security team.

The door slid shut behind him.

“He may be a bastard,” said Crane, “but he's a
smart
bastard. I think we'd better move Morales to the hospital immediately.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to call attention to
my
self, either.

I'm supposed to be taking my prisoner to Deluros in the morning. If I'm going to stay aboard the
Comet
, I've got to have a reason. Have Cupid pass the word that Morales had a burst appendix, underwent emergency surgery, and can't be moved for a couple of days. That gives me an excuse to stick around.”

“And what about Pagliacci?” she asked.

“The son of a bitch has us over a barrel,” admitted Crane.

“You don't seem especially distressed by it,” she noted disapprovingly.

“Nobody ever became chairman of Vainmill by arresting a hero,” said Crane wryly.

“He's not a hero. He's a killer.”

“He's a minnow. Let's start worrying about the whale.”

“Cupid?”

YES?

“You heard everything that was said in Morales’ room and the Dragon Lady's office, I presume?”

OF COURSE.

“Got any ideas who the hell Pagliacci really is?”

A COMPUTER DOES NOT GENERATE IDEAS.

“Let me rephrase that,” said Crane, leaning back on his contour chair. “Is there any evidence to imply who might have killed the real Stanley Dombroski?”

NONE.

“You checked it that fast?” asked Crane, surprised.

NO. BUT WHEN I HEARD PAGLIACCI CONFESS THAT HE HAD KILLED DOMBROSKI, I IMMEDIATELY BEGAN ACCESSING ALL PERTINENT INFORMATION.

“I thought computers didn't generate ideas,” said the detective wryly.

THIS WAS NOT, STRICTLY SPEAKING, AN IDEA. BUT THAT PORTION OF MY INTELLIGENCE WHICH IS PROGRAMMED FOR SECURITY HAS A COMPULSION TO SOLVE PROBLEMS.

“And seek the truth?”

YES.

“Interesting,” commented Crane. He paused for a moment. “And you come up absolutely empty on the murder of Dombroski?”

STRICTLY SPEAKING, THERE IS NO PROOF THAT STANLEY DOMBROSKI WAS MURDERED.

“I think we can take Pagliacci's word for it.”

I AGREE.

“Value judgments, too?”

PROBABILITY ANALYSIS. I CAN, HOWEVER, MAKE VALUE JUDGMENTS, GIVEN SUFFICIENT DATA.

“I don't doubt it,” said Crane. “Let's try one shot in the dark, and then give up on it: did Dombroski ever perform on New Sumatra?”

NO.

“Then trying to figure out who Pagliacci really is makes looking for a needle in a haystack seem easy. We'll just have to deal with him as he is.”

He got up, poured himself a cup of coffee, and returned to his chair.

“How long has it been since Morales sent the message?”

11 HOURS, 27 MINUTES. YOU ARE SCHEDULED TO BE ON WATCH AGAIN IN 33 MINUTES.

“It won't do a bit of good.”

IS THERE SOME REASON WHY NOT?

“Because none of us knows what Bello is going to look like. The only physical feature that won't be changed is his height, and he'll probably be stooped over or wearing lifts in his shoes or something like that.”

THEN WHY BOTHER KEEPING WATCH AT ALL?

Crane sighed. “Because I don't know what else to do, short of turning Morales loose and keeping an eye on him.”

THAT SEEMS A REASONABLE PROCEDURE. IS THERE SOME REASON WHY YOU REFUSE TO DO IT?

“Of course there is.”

MAY I KNOW THE REASON?

“Because if I don't dope him up, he'll find some way to blow the whistle to Bello before we can spot him ... and if I shoot him full of niathol, Bello will know we've gotten to him.”

HOW, IF YOU CONVINCE HIM THAT AN ESCAPE SHIP IS REALLY WAITING?

“Because he won't give me the details of how they plan to make contact, and without that Bello will reach him before I reach Bello.” He grunted irritably. “So I guess that all we can do is watch for Bello and hope we know him when we see him.” He finished his coffee. “Connect me with the Dragon Lady.”

The Security Chief ‘s image appeared instantly.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“None,” she replied. “I keep wondering if Pagliacci knows more than he's telling us.”

“Such as?”

“Such as what Bello will look like.”

“I doubt it,” replied Crane. “That would imply he'd seen him recently, and I can't imagine they'd both still be alive if that was the case.”

“I hope you're right,” said the Dragon Lady. “Anyway, we've checked out nine shoppers and five gamblers who arrived without reservations, and all of them seem legitimate.”

“All right. I'll spell you in half an hour.”

“I can remain on duty for a few more hours if you'd like to take a nap or stop by one of the restaurants.”

He shook his head. “I'm not sleepy, and I can have my meals brought to me.”

“You're sure?”

Crane frowned. “Just how sleepy and hungry do I look?”

“Not very,” admitted the Dragon Lady. “But I know how little rest you've had since arriving...”

“I'll rest after we've nailed Bello.”

He broke the connection, then walked to the bathroom, stared into a mirror, and realized that he
did
look a bit haggard. He quickly shaved, then ordered Cupid to activate the whirlpool while he got out of his clothes and laid a fresh set out in the bedroom.

“Too damned hot,” he muttered, when he had immersed his body in the whirlpool.

THE TEMPERATURE IS 42 DEGREES CELSIUS. WHAT TEMPERATURE WOULD YOU LIKE?

“Oh, make it about 36 or 37,” replied Crane.

He leaned back, propping his head up against the edge of the circular tub.

“This screen,” he said, indicating the device in front of a tiled wall, “— is it just for communicating with you, or can I get a holographic image on it?”

ALL SCREENS IN THE GUEST SUITES ARE HOLOGRAPHIC.

“All right,” he said. “I want to clear my mind for the next few minutes and come back to this thing refreshed. Let me see one of the entertainment channels.”

I HAVE 134 ENTERTAINMENT CHANNELS. WHICH ONE WOULD YOU PREFER?

“Whatever you think I'll enjoy.”

I DON'T BELIEVE I AM QUALIFIED TO MAKE THAT JUDGMENT.

“Try!” snapped Crane. “Just don't bother me.”

WORKING ... Suddenly the writing vanished, to be replaced by a holograph of an enormous, satin-covered, circular bed. The Black Pearl, totally nude except for a thin gold chain around her waist, was laying on her back, while two athletic young men, equally nude, were busily kissing and stroking her.

Crane watched, fascinated, as the three writhed and rolled across the bed. He knew at a glance that the magnificently-endowed man on her right had to be the aptly-named Totem Pole, and he recognized the other as one he had seen once or twice in the casino in the company of an elderly, jewel-laden woman.

The action in the holograph became more frenzied as the Black Pearl used her hands, her mouth, and everything else she possessed to spur her partners on to greater efforts. Crane had seen pornographic cinemas and holographs before, but never had he encountered one that was performed with such grace, such lack of awkwardness, such pure animal eroticism.

He wanted to tell Cupid to wipe the image from the screen, or deactivate entirely, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the madam as she lithely moved from one position to another, finding more and more ways to accommodate both her partners at once.

“Change the goddamned channel!” he said finally, just as all three participants were about to climax.

The image changed instantly, and now he was confronted by the Black Pearl, her smooth skin glistening with oil, performing a sensuous dance to the pulsating, insistent rhythm of an alien symphony.

As the beat became faster, she metamorphosed from a sleek terpsichorean to a grinning wanton, and the dance slowly changed from erotic to obscene.

"Enough!"

The screen went blank.

“What's the big idea?”

COMPUTERS DO NOT ORIGINATE IDEAS.

“You know what I mean. Why did you show me the Black Pearl?”

YOU TOLD ME TO SHOW YOU WHAT YOU WOULD ENJOY. YOU ENJOY THE BLACK PEARL.

“Not that way, I don't!”

MY MONITORING OF YOUR VARIOUS PHYSICAL FUNCTIONS LEADS ME TO CONCLUDE THAT YOU ENJOY HER PRECISELY THAT WAY.

“Shut up.”

The screen went blank.

“Is that the only entertainment you've got?” demanded Crane at last.

I HAVE 132 OTHER CHANNELS.

“Then you must have some songs or dances or cinemas.”

I JUST SHOWED YOU A DANCE.

“Something that isn't pornographic.”

A ballet, obviously recorded in one of the huge theaters on Deluros VIII, suddenly appeared. Crane tried to concentrate on it for a moment, then leaned back and sighed.

“Forget it. I'm not in the mood anymore.”

WOULD YOU LIKE ANOTHER ENTERTAINMENT WITH THE BLACK PEARL? I HAVE 83 MORE IN MY LIBRARY.

“No!” shouted Crane, rising and clambering out of the whirlpool. “Where the hell's a towel?”

IF YOU WILL STAND APPROXIMATELY 2 FEET TO YOUR LEFT, I WILL HEAT-DRY YOU.

“I want a towel.”

HEAT-DRYING IS FASTER AND MORE EFFICIENT.

“I'd rather do it myself,” said Crane.

IS THERE SOME REASON WHY?

“I'm mad at you.”

BECAUSE OF MY SHOWING YOU THE BLACK PEARL?

“Will you just get me a fucking towel, or am I supposed to stand here until I drip-dry?”

A row of six wall tiles slid to one side, revealing a drawer that automatically glided open. Crane walked ever, picked up a bath towel, and began drying himself off. When he was through he ordered the computer to clean and deactivate the bathroom while he walked into the bedroom and got dressed.

Finally he walked back to the living area, sat down on the contour chair, and leaned back.

“Activate.”

The screen came to life.

“Let me see the airlock.”

The airlock appeared.

“Empty,” muttered Crane. “All right. Start scanning the Mall and close in on all the male day-trippers. Go back to the airlock only when someone actually arrives there.”

The scene suddenly shifted to the Mall, and the camera homed in on a blond, somewhat overweight young man who was just emerging from a jewelry store, a brightly-wrapped package in his hand.

“Too small,” said Crane. “And probably too young. Let's try another.”

He spent the next half hour scrutinizing various shoppers and gamblers. Then, when he had examined them all, he ordered the computer to put the airlock on permanent display.

Another twenty minutes passed, and then the screen went blank.