Montezuma Strip (26 page)

“Let this remind you that I can bless as well as rebuke,” the exquisite specter informed him. They waited for the fast-acting
gas to dissipate. Only when it was no longer a threat to the inspector did the figure begin to fade.

“Help those in need and do not torment yourself with so many questions. You will be blessed.” And then it was gone.

Cardenas stumbled through the lingering miasma, sneezing only a few times, and hailed his staff as they wheezed and gasped
in the street outside. Curious pedestrians had slowed to eye the mass sinus attack but resumed their pace as one
by one the afflicted recovered. The door passed them back in as they flashed their ident cards.

Cardenas gathered them in the center of the floor. A thoughtful officer announced from his assigned station near the entrance,
“Surveillance is green.”

“I’m not sure that has any relevance to what we’re dealing with here,” the inspector told his snuffling, red-eyed associates,
“but we’ll assume for the moment that we can talk privately. You all saw it?” There were nods and a few remaining sneezes.
Tissues and handkerchiefs were much in evidence. “Any opinions?”

“Best holomage I ever saw,” the pert sergeant commented readily. Her opinion was seconded by several of her suffering colleagues.

One officer was examining the hole the apparition had punched in the first display case. “Melted right through, sir.”

“But if didn’t pick up the gun,” someone else pointed out. “Or the grenade. It just activated them.”

“Its touch is very light,” Cardenas added. “I don’t think it was dense enough to raise either one. It can generate enough
heat to melt tempered glass, but not enough to exert lift.”

“Ultrasound,” someone speculated, “could exert both pressure and heat.”

Cardenas nodded, his mustache bobbing. “That’s a possible. I’ll buy that explanation for the holes in the cabinets, but the
touch on my arm was too steady for ultrasound. There was no accompanying heat or vibration, either. There’s more at work here.
Something new, or at least something that’s not on the market yet.”

“It propagated responsive verbalizations,” someone else remarked. “They didn’t arise from a separate source.”

“No, that’s something else to note. And there’s more. We talked in the office before it led me out. It alluded to the battle
in heaven between the archangels and Satan’s fallen ones. My first name is Angel, but it didn’t even mention that. I’d think
a Madonna would have commented on the irony. For that
matter, you’d think a real spirit would have known that this store is a blind and that we’re all feds instead of eager gun
mongers.”

“The failure to comment isn’t conclusive, sir,” Delacroix noted.

“No, but it’s interesting. Just like its tendency to speak in generalities. A deity wouldn’t do that. A modified generic response
program would.”

“Your average street monger or exec wouldn’t pick up on that,” the sergeant pointed out. “They’d be too mesmerized by the
holo. Is it a real tactile, sir? I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one.”

“Few nonmilitary have,” Cardenas told her. “I happen to be one of the few. They’re not magic. Just incredible reciprocating
programs that are sustained by an unbelievable amount of crunch.” He turned to another officer. “Favour, have the molly moles
run another check on all Strip utilities. See if they can spark a hint that somebody’s vaping a large aggregate of charity
crunch. If whoever we’re after’s good enough it’ll go untracked, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer replied.

“The rest of you get this place cleaned up. I want to be open for business again by tomorrow morning.” Groans greeted this
order. It meant picking slugs out of the walls, or at least spackling them over and repainting. It meant fixing the holed
display cases and removing all signs of panic. The true glamour of federales work, he mused.

He felt a bulk at his shoulder and turned to see Corporal Fennel peering solemnly down at him. “Sir?” The big man appeared
hesitant.

“What is it, Lukas?”

“Well, sir, I wouldn’t want it to affect my record but… you remember what I said earlier? About coming from a really religious
family and all that?” He straightened self-consciously. “Sir, I’d respectfully like to request a transfer off this assignment.”

Cardenas’s gaze narrowed. “You’re serious, aren’t you,
Fennel?” The hulking officer nodded. “All right. I’ll make the communication. You can report back into your regular precinct
tomorrow morning instead of coming here. Now that we know what we’re up against I don’t think I need to replace you.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s just that I…”

The inspector put up a hand. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Fennel. I understand.”

The other’s relief was palpable. “Thanks, sir.” He lingered, as if feeling the need to justify his actions further. “She
was
vivid, wasn’t she?”

“Es muy verdad,
man. But I don’t think she was immortal.”

“Can’t a reciprocating program go on and on, sir? Isn’t that a kind of immortality?”

Cardenas frowned. “I thought I knew why you were asking to be relieved from this assignment, Fennel. Am I wrong?”

“Not really, sir. I was just wondering out loud. Thanks again.” He turned and hurried off to help with the cleanup.

A moment later Delacroix was at his side, nodding in the direction of the retreating officer. “What was that all about, sir?”

“Caution. Piety. Uncertainty. Sometimes they all go together, Sergeant.” He turned briskly. “We’ll open on time tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir. If you don’t mind my asking, what’s our next step, sir?”

“We’re going to make a contribution to the padre’s Order, of course. Just like
she
suggested we do.”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“And in return we’re going to ask a favor of the blessed virgin’s humble servant. We’ve now been convinced of her existence
and involvement, you see. So convinced we want to extend our contribution beyond that of mere money, to one of a more personal
nature.”

“Oh. I see, sir. At least, I think I do.”

“All will become clear, Sergeant.” He smiled.

It had better, he thought, or he was liable to start losing
others in addition to the honest and straightforward Fennel. Or worse than that.

He had not forgotten that this tactile or whatever it was could kill while smiling.

When the Collar returned the next day he was gratified to observe the expressions of uncertainty and respect on the faces
of the salesfolk. Though he was not privy to the details, it was clear that the manifestation had been a most efficacious
one. Certainly he was treated with more courtesy as he was ushered into the owner’s inner office this time, though the ushering
was done by someone other than the giant of the day before. That was fine with him. The big man had struck him as an armed
weapon able to go off at any moment.

“Buenos
not so tardy, padre,” said Cardenas. “You have a seat and I’ll have a moment.” He disappeared as the visitor made himself
comfortable.

The owner reappeared a moment later in the shadow of unexpected company. The visitor was delighted to see the attractive saleswoman
among them, but the looks on her face and those of her two companions were less than inviting. There was no apprehension there,
either. One of them activated a previously concealed wall device while another positioned himself deliberately in front of
the closed door. Meanwhile the woman produced a sleek portable of a type he was afraid he recognized and began scanning him
while simultaneously checking the readbacks. He shifted his fracturing bravado to his host.

“What is this, my son? I don’t understand.”

“Your Madonna paid us a visit last night.”

The Collar smiled, on firmer ground again. “Ah. I can tell by your tone that she remonstrated with you. No one was injured,
I hope?”

“No, though someone could have been. Your Madonna’s a little trigger-happy.”

“What mere mortal can divine her methods? She works her will as she sees fit, adapting her approach to time and circumstance.
It matters not. In the end all are become aware of her omnipotence.”

“Truly,” Cardenas agreed. “It was a very convincing demonstration.”

“Ah. Then you will be contributing to our Order so that we may continue tending to our flock?”

“In a way.”

The visitor was immediately on guard. “What do you mean, ‘in a way’?”

“You give us a blessing, we’ll bless you in return.”

“That seems reasonable enough,” the Collar conceded guardedly. “What sort of blessing had you in mind?”

“The blessings of information, Padre Morales.”

The visitor tensed. “My name is Brother Gutierrez.”

Cardenas nodded past him, at the saleswoman. She read from her portable.

“Eduardo Morales. Also aliased as Pablo Mancuso, Guiseppe Mendez, Arlen Roberto Rodriguez, Julio Ixtapa… there are a good
dozen others. Born borough of Nuevo Montoya, greater Guadalajara thirty-one or -two years ago to Velaz Morales out of Sisipe
Morales, maiden name Santiago. Dropped or kicked out of numerous schools; the names are unimportant.

“Arrested three times for burglary, one conviction; three times for assault, no convictions; twice for attempted rape, one
conviction; twice for grand theft, vehicular, one conviction…” She glanced up from the portable. “You have a lot to atone
for, Brother Morales.”

“You’ve got me confused with somebody else.”

“Verdad?”
She walked over and flashed the portable’s vit pick in his face. He blinked and looked away, but not in time. She studied
the readout.

“Retinal patterns match, both eyes. Still think we’re making a mistake? Want me to pull some blood and do a DNA match? The
state’ll bill you for it.”

He gazed moodily at the floor, his demeanor having turned distinctly unclerical. “So what of it? Anybody can reform.”

“Drastically, it would seem,” Cardenas murmured.

Morales looked up, suddenly grinning. “Okay, I admit to who I am. What are you going to charge me with? Soliciting donations
under a false name? Go ahead, charge me.”

Delacroix checked her portable again. “We were thinking more along the lines of extraditing you to Jalisco. Or did I neglect
to mention that you’re wanted there on an outstanding murder warrant?”

The visitor’s pupils dilated slightly. It would have gone unnoticed to anyone but an Intuit. “That whole
negocio
was a frame! Besides, the drool was a snaffler. He deserved to die.”

“Could be,” agreed Cardenas, “but that’s really up to the Jalisco Municipal Court to decide. You being a multiple loser, they
might be inclined to ignore any mitigating circumstances on your behalf. A nice letter of recommendation on my part could
do you a world of good,
compadre”

The unhappy visitor eyed the inspector warily. “You’d do that for me?”

“You help us out here, you’d be surprised what a real friendly sort of homber I can be.”

There was silence. The Collar looked up cautiously. “Won’t do you no good, man. She’s real, the Madonna.”

“Come on, Morales. We know better than that and you know we know better than that.”

“No, man, I mean it!” He peered around anxiously. “I don’t know that she’s
the
Madonna, but she’s real enough. I seen her plenty. Brother Perote, he’s the one who pro… propitiates her. He knows.”

Cardenas exchanged a glance with his associates. “This Brother Perote, he’s your leader?”

“He’s the Father Superior. He’s the one who decides how
the offerings are distributed. Who gets what. Some of it does go to the poor,” he added defiantly.

“Maintaining a cover,” commented one of the officers diffidently.

Cardenas nodded. “How about you tell me the routine, Brother? Everyone meet the same place at the same time?”

Morales shook his head. “Same place, yeah, but there’s different people at the prayer sessions at different times. Depends
who’s around, and who’s on duty.”

“How many Brothers in your ‘Order’?”

The prisoner shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. Perote doesn’t talk a lot about stuff like that.”

“I’ll bet,” muttered one of the other officers knowingly.

“Sometimes I seen twenty at prayer, sometimes more.”

“Good,” said Cardenas. “Then a new initiate’s not likely to attract undue attention.”

Morales gaped at him. “You crazy, fedoco. They’ll lase you right out.”

“Not if I’m properly coached by another Brother, my friend. I have an excellent memory. You run the routine by me once and
I’ll remember it. Verbatim.”

Morales shook his head. “I don’t want no federale’s death on my vita.”

“I’m not going to die. I’ll be well tracked at all times, and armed. In any event it’s not your worry. Do we have a deal?”

Morales looked around at the other feds. “You’re all witnesses. I’m not responsible for anything that happens to this one.”
He turned back to eye Cardenas speculatively. “It’s not Perote you have to worry about. She’ll kill you herself. The Madonna.
She doesn’t like unbelievers.”

“I’ve already met her,” Cardenas replied quietly. “I think we can reason together.”

“Man, don’t you understand? You don’t reason with the holy mother. You just do as she says.”

Cardenas nodded paternally, as one would to a stubborn child. “Just tell me the routine.”

The patterners in Supply cloak-scanned Morales’s outfit and cut Cardenas a suit to match overnight, complete to cowl and trim.
They had to work fast lest the good and now highly talkative Brother be missed by his brethren. Morales remained convinced
Cardenas would be noticed, despite the color changing lenses over his unusual blue eyes. It was critical that the inspector
be prepared to provide the right answers to any casual inquiries. But if one of the deacons or worse, Perote himself, happened
to challenge him, then the officers who would be tracking his situation needed to react fast.

The directions Morales supplied took Cardenas deep into one of the poorer commercial sections of Nogales Sud. The district
was a mix of older structures, some even
pre-maquila-dora,
where cheapjack assembly plants loomed over prefab apartment buildings and a few forlorn one- and two-story homes cobbled
together out of presswood and formastone. Street lighting was in short supply, ninloco ganglets prowled the corners around
heavily armed and protected liquor and food dispensaries, and citizens exhausted after ten-hour days in the plants pretty
much went straight home and stayed there. Even the local whores looked lethargic.