Star Risk - 04 The Dog From Hell (8 page)

"You know anything about music?"

"A little," Riss said cautiously. In fact, she knew quite a lot. Her family had all been amateur musicians, and so she'd grown up surrounded by every kind of instrument from banjo to sitar to theremin.

She herself played guitar.

Badly, she freely admitted. But on a long deployment, any marine who managed to drag along anything capable of making sounds would be prized, if she didn't make a pain out of herself by twanging away while others wanted to sleep or expecting special favors.

M'chel Riss's big problem was that she prized vocal music for the lyrics, which always brought up the old joke about why a bunch of people were moving jerkily to music, with the explanation that they all liked music for the words.

"You ever hear," the warrant went on, "of Lollypop and the Berserkers?"

"Gesundheit. Problem with your sinuses, chief?"

"Lollypop and the Berserkers, I said. They're a pop music group. Lollypop is looking for a good bodyguard."

M'chel knew she shouldn't, but she thought an interview might at least be interesting, so she called the com number Naysmith gave her and was in touch with the group's new managerial firm.

The meeting was set two days distant, which made Riss think that this Lollypop might be in earnest about wanting a bodyguard, and decided to up her price tag.

It was held in the management company's�Music Associates, a nice nondescript name�offices, which were outside Trimalchio's capital, set in a rolling estate carefully styled to look like an Old Earth plantation.

Riss was met by one Arn�no last name offered�one of the two heads of Music Associates, was told that hiring a bodyguard was only one item scheduled for today's band meeting and that the group and its support people were "one big democracy," and led into a large conference room packed with various people.

She was introduced to a pair of lawyers, the head of the sound crew, the head of the holo crew, the head gaffer, the publicity man, the group historian�she boggled slightly at that�the still photographer, who wanted to take her picture and had to be forcibly told no, the head of the fan club, the chief songwriter, the lead costumer, and the head of security, whose name was Folger.

She wondered what the group itself had to do except show up, hit a few notes off a lead sheet, and look spectacular.

The only other name that stuck belonged to the band's one present member, a tall, handsome young man with long brown hair and haunted eyes, who played the distinctly archaic bass guitar. His name was Main.

Again, no last name was offered. Riss couldn't figure if she was supposed to know it, or if everyone in the room leaned slightly to the fugitive side.

Everyone looked at M'chel as if expecting her to start the meeting. She knew better, from countless staff meetings at which she'd been the junior party, than to begin things.

Besides, the real client hadn't shown.

After a few minutes, which M'chel thought was deliberately calculated to build suspense, Lollypop entered.

She was young, but Riss noted that she had very old eyes that seemed to have seen everything and didn't want to see much more. Lollypop was about M'chel's height, had blond hair that couldn't have possibly been made lighter, a thin build that, except for huge breasts, approached the skeletal.

"I'm Lollypop," she said, curling a lip to illustrate her obvious superiority. "And you're the woman who wants to be my bodyguard."

"I don't know about wants," M'chel said easily. "I might possibly be interested in the job�you're the one who's supposedly looking for a bodyguard."

Lollypop frowned, clearly not used to disagreement.

There was a snort�of amusement?�from Main, and a wordless but displeased murmur from Arn.

"Why?" Riss persisted.

"Why else?" Lollypop said. "Someone wants to kill me."

"Do you have any idea who?" M'chel asked.

Lollypop gave a dirty look at Folger as if it were his fault the culprit hadn't been found.

"None at all," she said. "If I did, I'd be screaming to the frigging police."

She stared skeptically at M'chel.

"I'm not sure you're my idea of a bodyguard."

Riss didn't ask what a bodyguard was supposed to look like, reached into the portfolio she was carrying, took out a one-page resume, and handed it to the singer.

Lollypop frowned at it, passing it to Arn, as if not happy or used to reading. The manager scanned it, and his eyes widened twice in surprise.

"Yes," he said. "Your credentials are� more than adequate."

Lollypop nodded, as if she agreed with the vetting.

"The first time," she said, "someone pushed a speaker off the rack�we have our own sound, set up on a tower�and almost got me."

"Could it have been an accident?" Riss asked.

"I thought like that at first," Lollypop said. "But we have Mag-Clips to hold things down. And they were pried loose."

"And there were scrapes on the tower deck," Main put in. "Somebody had to push it pretty hard to move it."

Lollypop gave him a look that suggested his contribution was unwelcome.

"Then� back here on Trim� someone tried to run me down with a lifter when I was leaving a club."

"Lollypop got its registry number," Arn said. "We traced it, and the lifter was stolen."

Riss nodded.

"That could mark a professional," she said.

"That's when I got scared," Lollypop said. "The third time was just last week. Someone rigged a gas bomb�at least, there were fumes after a bang�at my front door."

Riss glanced at Folger, who nodded slightly.

"Did you report this to the police?"

"I did," Arn said. "They seemed to think it was some kind of publicity stunt."

"Our latest log." Main put in, "we called Street Warrant. Maybe that gave somebody the idea."

"Or maybe not," Lollypop said.

"It does sound," M'chel said, "as if you have a problem."

Lollypop looked at Riss scornfully, as if she shouldn't have bothered to bring up the obvious.

"If I take the assignment," Riss said, "which I'll know after I do some research, there'll be three others, minimum, plus myself. My rates�"

"I don't care about that," Lollypop said. "Arn talks business for me�for us."

"Just so you're aware of the way things work," Riss said. "That means somebody will be with you all day, every day, and every night. Plus we'll use backup if we decide it's necessary."

"That's going to put some kind of crimp in my sex life," Lollypop said. "Try to have some cute guys with your team."

There was a short laugh from Main, and a very hateful look from Lollypop.

"No offense," Riss said, meaning offense, "but my team will be there to keep you alive. We won't want to even be your friend, let alone anything more."

"That'll put you with the majority," somebody across the table said. Lollypop's sweeping glower didn't ID the voice.

"We'll put our best efforts behind finding whoever's after you, as well," Riss said.

"Just keep me alive," Lollypop chirped, and a bit of fear came into her voice.

"That's our job," M'chel said. "After all, dead clients don't pay."

Riss mentally doubled her price as Arn rose and beckoned her out of the room. He wanted to haggle. M'chel, who was already wondering why she wasn't just passing on the job, didn't let him.

The eventual rate was 200,000 credits per month, plus all expenses.

"Steep, very steep," Arn said.

M'chel shrugged.

"What's your client's life worth?"

Arn couldn't come up with any answer but a nod of concession.

"I'll have my team in place within a week," she said. "I need to study the situation. One of the women in the meeting was IDed as the group historian. I'll need her full cooperation. And Folger's as well."

"Your timing is perfect," Arn said. "The group will be going on the road in two weeks."

"On the road?"

"Sorry. That's an archaic term for touring."

Once the contract was signed and a retainer check cleared her new bank, M'chel started doing her homework.

She rapidly discovered that the anonymous voice was right. Lollypop had all the best friends money could buy, and not one more.

There was good reason�not that M'chel got much help learning the negatives from the group's PR man, a fat sycophant named Sonlev, to whom everything was wonderful (and if it wasn't, he paid no attention). The true history of Lollypop came from Yalt, the band's historian, a mousy little man with dozens of downloads on Lollypop, and Dimet, president of the group's fan club, a heavyset woman with a tendency toward a mustache who insisted on using what M'chel thought might be youth slang. Lollypop was, to her, "the ginchiest," which Riss assumed indicated some sort of approval.

Lollypop was actually named Miki Gubitosi, and started life as a minor star named Little Miki, all ringlets and flounces.

M'chel had enough morbid curiosity to dig out one of her recorded songs, a sentimental wallow called "My Heart and Family," that made Riss's teeth ache.

When Little Miki had the temerity to reach adolescence and developed breasts and an attitude, her career was history. She, in turn, dropped her family, who'd vampired her into stardom, and vanished into the jungle of her home planet's runaways.

Those had their own music, which, as far as Riss could tell, was judged solely on how badly it disgusted adults.

Miki ended up as part of the Berserkers, which was successful enough to get a booking agent, a manager, and a recording contract.

Success of a sort came, but then the Berserkers peaked. Railing on about how everything sucks has, after all, a limited audience.

A normal group would have broken up at this point, but Little Miki, now calling herself Mik the Murderer, was unbelievably ambitious, having tasted a bit of fame, and wanting it back.

Either she was contacted by Music Associates, or she went to them. No one knew.

But suddenly the Berserkers were released from all contracts and were free agents.

Riss, very cautiously, asked how that had happened, feeling that toes must have been stepped on.

Even she knew that the music industry's contracts were, for the talent, as ironbound as slavery.

Main gave her the explanation: They knew some "hard boys," from their days on the street, who didn't mind "reasoning" with people.

Credits for these goons changed hands�"Not ours, 'course," Main said. "Folger was one of the thugs who went out and worked on people's kneecaps. I'd guess that Arn and his partner put up the geetus for the goon show."

And then the Berserkers were signed by Music Associates.

The contract also wasn't for the usual fifteen to twenty percent managers charged. Their flat fee was forty percent, plus additional points for the choreographers, costumers, songwriters, and such.

Riss couldn't find out how much the Berserkers themselves got, but estimated around twenty percent.

"But it don't matter," Main said. "They do everything for us, from taking care of our houses to� to making sure we're happy."

Their material changed radically. Now all was mooning about lost lovers and new infatuations, prime interests to the subteen set.

The songs, Riss thought, truly sucked, being simplistic in both their lyrics and chord changes.

The group now made millions, both with recorded logs and in their tours. That figured, Riss thought cynically. Pop music never did go for the intellect.

Riss wondered to herself if the Berserkers, when the smoke cleared, had more credits in their pockets now than before, but didn't say anything.

She also hoped they were saving what they made, pretty sure the Berserkers' fame had about the half-life of a laboratory-formulated element on the very far side of the periodic table.

Part of the change to the group had been Miki's deciding she needed a new name. Arn supposedly came up with "Lollypop."

It made the band sound absurd, but M'chel thought she was maybe being too much of an adult.

Their new audience of prepubescent little girls loved the name, and buried Music Associates's secretaries with requests for Lollypop's picture and advice.

The Berserkers thought their audience was quite too dumb to reach adulthood, but their manicured press never gave a clue that the band didn't think every person in their audience wasn't a budding saint.

Lollypop herself became known as a harridan on roller skates, insisting on her way all the time, which included contracts for concerts that had specific clauses about what food was to be backstage, which depended on Lollypop's latest fad diet; the color of the lims they were to be transported in; the number of temporary aides they were provided with, the precise number of backstage passes, and so forth, down, Riss suspected, to a description of their touring bed partners.

Lollypop was also infamous for discussing, the next morning, in public, just how incompetent her night's lover, of whatever sex, had been. Of course, she'd already gone through her bandmates, and now only used them as pimps when the group was on the road.

Riss decided she definitely had no desire or talent for a career in music, and certainly not this method of being a wandering troubadour.

At least she'd had no trouble finding three solid backups. Two were women, which Riss thought was preferable, since they would be seen as less of an obvious threat. All of them had not only active military service, but held duty, and all of them had been seconded to various dirty deeds divisions.

Best of all, two of them had held civilian risk management jobs, but not long enough to have bad habits thoroughly ingrained. M'chel thought she could train them the way she wanted in a short time, hopefully before the nameless assassin(s) tried again.

And she'd learned a good, solid reason why she shouldn't tell Lollipop and Company to pack their asses with salt and piddle up a rope, as Chas Goodnight had been wont to say:

Music Associates had hired additional security after the first attempt on Lollypop�Cerberus Systems, who'd utterly failed to find the culprits, but had still charged an enormous fee.