The Albino Knife (25 page)

"Don't you have one with a biggerthing !" the woman said to the merchant. She waved a small doll with a vibrating and erect penis in front of his face.

"Ah, si, my lady, you want the hero model.A moment."

Dirisha made a small hand signal, alerting her three companions, and sidled up next to the woman.

"Hello," she said.

To the fat woman's credit, she knew she'd been spotted.

"Never mind," she said. "I'll take this one."

She paid the toy seller, shoved the anatomically explicit doll into her bag, and nodded at Dirisha.

"There's a small restaurant over there in the shade," she said.

Dirisha followed the woman to the restaurant, where they managed to find a table in the courtyard. The table was under an umbrella-field that wafted cool air over it.

"How did you spot me?" the woman asked as they sat."Professional curiosity."

"If you are going to carry a weapon, don't wear a clingy shirt."

"It hardly shows, and it could be a pager or a medkit," the woman said.

"People who are armed carry themselves differently. It's a thing of feel."

The woman nodded. "There was a black woman who used to walk the Flex a few years back," the contact said. "She was in the top five players when she vanished. Green eyes, real good with her hands and feet."

"You were a player?"

"Yeah, ten years and thirty-five kilos past."

"We all move on."

"Ain't that thetruth.Um. Well, you're good, sister, and I see your back-ups are buzzing around pretty good, too. You wouldn't think you could lose three like them, even in a crowd this big, but they're hard to keep track of."

Dirisha said, "We've practiced a lot."

"Um.Anyway, the man you are looking for was last seen by our people in the Escola Naval, used to be the navy station on the Ilha de Villegaignon. That's just east of the oldSantos airport. Whole place has been turned into a red light district, pubs, trullhouses,casinos . They call it Meantown here; it's not a place to take the family, if you understand what I am saying."

"I think we can probably take care of ourselves."

"I expect that is so, but you need to understand that our organization has little power there, the Republic even less. Meantown has been there for a hundred years. They managed to resist outside control even during the Confed's heyday. The local law is completely in charge, and it is run by the Nine Families, who pass it all operating money. If you get into trouble in Meantown, you are on your own."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Your quarry, when he comes to town, likes to spend some time in the MAN house, a small casino and whoring operation in the worst section of Meantown. The initials stand for Manina Apretida Novata, it's run by one of the Families, originally a Mexican group. They, ah, specialize in exotic tastes. The name means 'the tight little green pussy.' They aren't talking about color."

"I see."

"I appreciate the tip about the wand. Go with your gods."

The woman stood and shuffled away.

If he thought the Dogtown docks were bad, Sleel was gonna love this.

Chapter Twenty-Two

JAMBI WAS AT a critical stage in the organization-level mitochondria nanomachinery replications when his employer called. "Yes, what is it?" he snapped.

Wall didn't mind that the man was on edge; he actually worked better that way. There was a fine line between help and hindrance, and it was his intent to keep Jambi teetering on that edge.

"You had promised a progress report. A breakthrough, you said."

"Yes, yes, I recall. One of my assistants has had a thought about programming. On the face of it, it seems a relatively sound idea. However, if we follow it and it fails, it will delay the project by approximately four weeks."

"And if the thought is successful?"

"It will eliminate the need for hormone bioformates, or nearly so, and allow a faster growth curve for the third-level nanocyclics."

"Saving how much time?"

"Six weeks."

"Do it."

"The risk factor is about evenly balanced for success or failure, you must understand."

"I said to go ahead. I'll take the risk."

Back in his own thoughts, Wall felt a kind of elation. If this new idea worked—and he already knew what it was, being privy to the computer storage—it would cut the time to under a month. He could hardly stand it.

Perhaps he should grow himself a new flower to share this delicious joy with?

Yes. He would. And no sooner thought than done…

On the face of it, in daylight, Meantown didn't look any worse than several other such places Bork had seen. When you work as a bouncer in public houses, you can find yourself in some tough situations, dealing with hard people.

Bork had done a job in a pub on #313-C, a world commonly referred to as "Ohshit"—the nickname coming from what most people said the first time they saw the place. There had been a lot of miners on the planet, since that was what they mostly did there, and the men, women and assorted mues were more than passing strong from working in the gee-and-a-half. When things start falling in that kind of gravity, they hit the floor real hard. He used his experiences there as a kind of comparison whenever he went into a newsituation, and the MAN casino did not seem to measure up.

Then again, as he'd also learned, looks could be deceiving. Geneva here could pound most men into the ground without raising a sweat, and she looked like your kid sister, or maybe how you wished your girlfriend would look.

It was a midmorning, maybe why the casino section of the place was fairly calm. There were the usual things found in gambling houses: roulette wheels, sturz-booths, various card game tables, number matching machines. A small restaurant bounded one end of the mainroom, a long blue-plastic bar with matching stools ran the length of the opposite end. There were mirrors on the walls and ceilings, pop-lights set to go off when a machine paid, and soothing subsonic generators that gave the required auditory ping every thirty seconds. Opposite the entrance was a reception area that led to the brothel rooms uplevels.

When the four matadors arrived, a pair of uniformed local cools playing five-stad-limit halycon with a bored dealer looked up from their game. One of them, a tall, wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped man with a shaved head, stood, adjusted the pair of hand wands on his hips, and walked over toward Bork. This one had moved some flexsteel, Bork saw; he had the dense musculature of a powerlifter, and his arms were thick where they strained against the short sleeves of his shirt. Strong, armed, and backed by the law, he'd be pretty sure of himself. Bork guessed he'd go a hundred twelve, hundred fourteen kilos, maybe ten less than Bork's own weight. Bork recognized the look the man gave him: Which of us is stronger?

"Help you with something?" the cool said.

Dirisha produced the holoprint of Cteel and held it up. "We're looking for this man."

The cool kept his gaze on Bork, weighing, measuring, calculating. "Never seen 'im," the cool said, not even bothering to glance at the picture. To Bork he said, "You're not basic stock?"

"HG mue," Bork said.

The cool nodded."Thought so. What's your PR in the bench?"

"Three-forty-five.A triple.Three-sixty single."

The cool nodded. Maybe he believed it, maybe not. He wasn't going to seem impressed. "I did three for two once."

He glanced away from Bork at the others. "You all licensed to carry?"

"Yes," Dirisha said, putting the holoprint away. "Republic permits."

"Republic docks don't shine much light in Meantown. Don't cause trouble, we'll get along fine." He turned and went back to his card game.

"What were all those numbers about, Bork?" Geneva asked.

"Guy's a weightlifter. We were exchanging personal bests in the bench press."

"He thinks with his triceps," Sleel said. "You two ought to get along fine."

"How do you want to play it?" Bork said to Dirisha, ignoring Sleel's barb.

"Well, we can't hide if the house wants to let our boy know we're here. No point in playing subtle. If he shows, we grab him."

"And if the cools object?" Sleel said.

"We didn't come all the way here to sit this dance out, deuce."

Sleel grinned. "Good. That bald baboon irritates me. Too bad Spasm is illegal; I'd like to see what kind of knot he'd make. Probably disappear uphis own asshole."

Dirisha shook her head in mock disgust. "Sleel, Sleel. What am I going to do with you?"

"I could make some suggestions."

"I didn't doubt it for a second, Sleel. Okay, let's spread out."

"I'll be happy to check uplevels," Sleel said.

"Somehow I thought you might say that," Dirisha said. "But no. We'll see him here if he comes or goes.

And don't even bother with the cheap shot about seeing himcome better uplevels."

"You wound me," Sleel said.

"Nah, she just gives you too much credit for brains," Bork put in. "You'd never have thought of that one on your own."

"Let's go to work, folks."

Veate and her father waited in SoCal, spending most of their time in or around the little hotel cabin they'd rented near the beachplex. He spent hours every day in front of the com unit, sometimes even using thebetydelse space. Veate had once had a lover who had the ability to comlink using that rather esoteric device, and as always, it was eerie to watch somebody work it. The machine transmitted by three different codes, signals from each hand and by voice. The latter didn't even have to be spoken aloud, merely sub vocalized, so that watching somebody in abetydelse , one saw the fingers of the operator's left hand twirling this way and that, the right hand making noticeably different gestures, and what looked to be silent mumbling. Veate had never tried it, but her lover, a rich Mtuan businessman, had told her it was like writing a novel with one hand, doing your taxes with the other, and giving a speech about something else altogether. She hadn't known her father could work it.

There was a lot about her father she had yet to learn.

More, she was interested in knowing it. Whatever happened with her mother, Veate realized that learning about her father no longer filled her with anger. It might take some adjusting to get used to that one. Being with Bork had helped. The big man knew things about people that Veate had never suspected existed.

After about ten minutes, Khadaji came out of the trance. He shook his head, blinked several times, and looked at her.

"Is it that difficult?"

"For me it is. I can last about fifteen minutes before I lose my concentration. I know a man who can go for an hour and come out looking as if he has just had a refreshing nap."

"Learn much?"

"A number of things, many of which are interesting.And useful.This path grows more convoluted all the time. We've located the right computer, and the registration and operators are being traced. It is not what it seems."

"Is anything ever what it seems?"

He smiled at her."Probably not. Some of the information is very disturbing."

"In what way?"

He sighed. "Can you stand a bit of history?"

"Of course."

"I'll try not to bore you with old war stories, but there are some things you probably ought to know."

"I am listening."

The matadors had spent three days in the MAN house, doing little but watching and waiting. Dirisha hadn't liked the place when it had been described to her; she liked it less after having been inside it. It reminded her all too much of her own upbringing, such that it had been. She had been born to a whore, raised sister to a whore, and had even begun the trade herself when she'd had the realization that changed her life. But for an accident of place, she could have been one of the too-young girls or women uplevels in this pit, waiting to lose her virginity for the first or the hundredth time. Suchthings as hymens were easily built by a competent surgeon, and if you looked twelve, then the customer was apt to believe he was your first. Some of the girls would probably be here by choice, others would not. Dirisha didn't much like the idea of children as prostitutes either way. For a bent demistad, she would pull this place down and laugh while it burned.

The cools changed, the customers ebbed and flowed, and the management and owners seemed content to let the four matadors alone as long as they didn't bother anybody. So far, they hadn't had any reason to disturb the paying customers. They drank little, not enough to dull their perceptions, rotated positions, and kept each other alert. They took turns eating and sleeping, overlapping at the busiest times.Such as now.

Even so, when Cteel showed up, they almost missed him.

Dirisha was sitting in a juice booth, feeding the thing coins but keeping the coils turned off. She happened to glance at the front entrance just as the quarry walked in, saw Bork or Sleel or maybe both, then turned and darted back outside.

Dirisha stood, started for the door, and bit down on her dentcom twice, clicking her teeth. "Heads up, everybody; our boy just stuck his nose in the door, then turned and ran. Let's go."

The rest of them dropped whatever they were doing and moved.

The bald cool caught it.And decided to play games.

He filled the doorway, flexing his muscles and grinning.

Moving in next to her, Sleel said, "You want me to shoot him?"

Bork was closest to the cool. "No. Bork will move him."

"He's pretty big."

"Yeah, and we've all got moves we'll never use. Bork can dazzle him so he doesn't know which way is up."

"It won't happen that way," Geneva said, behind her. "This region was big on man-to-man stuff back before space flight.Some kind of stupid male honor thing.Called it machismo. Bork figured it out.Watch."

She was right. Bork could have kicked or punched or danced around the man and flattened him with one of the many sumito moves they had all mastered. He didn't, though. He raised his arms, hands wide, and the grinning cool matched him.

"Not leaving in such a hurry, eh, compadre?"

"Afraid so," Bork said. "You'll have to move."