The Cat Who Walks Through Walls (22 page)

But that almost deserted corridor still showed its big-city quality; a sign over the suit racks read: USE THESE RACKS AT YOUR OWN RISK. SEE JAN THE CHECKROOM MAN—BONDED AND INSURED—One Crown/One P-Suit.

Under it was a hand-written notice:
Be smart—See Sol for only half a crown—not bonded, not insured, just honest.
Each sign had arrows, one pointing left, one pointing right.

Gwen said, “Which one, dear? Sol, or Jan?”

“Neither. This place is enough like Luna City that I know how to cope with it. I think.” I looked around, up and down, spotted a red light. “There’s a hotel. With my foot back in place, I can take a p-suit under each arm. Can you manage the rest?”

“Certainly. How about your cane?”

“I’ll stick it through the belt of my suit. No itch.” We started toward that hotel.

Facing the corridor at the hotel’s reception window a young woman sat studying—transgenics, Sylvester’s classic text. She looked up. “Better check those first. See Sol, next door.”

“No, I want a big room, with an empress-size bed. We’ll stack these in a corner.”

She looked at her rooming diagram. “Single rooms I have. Twin beds I have. Happy suites I have. But what you want—no. All occupied.”

“How much is a happy suite?”

“Depends. Here’s one with two king beds, and ’fresher. Here’s one with no beds at all but a padded parlor floor and lots of pillows. And here’s—”

“How much for the two king beds?”

“Eighty crowns.”

I said patiently, “Look, citizen, I’m a Loonie myself. My grandfather was wounded on the steps at the Bon Marché. His father was shipped for criminal syndicalism. I know prices in Loonie City; they can’t be that much higher in Kong. What are you charging for what I requested? If you had one vacant?”

“I’m not impressed, chum; anyone can claim ancestors in the Revolution and most do. My ancestors welcomed Neil Armstrong as he stepped down. Top that.”

I grinned at her. “I can’t and I should have kept quiet. What’s your real price on a double room with one big bed, and a ’fresher? Not your tourist price.”

“A standard double room with a big bed and its own ’fresher goes for twenty crowns. Tell you what, chum—not much chance of renting my empty suites this late—or this early. I’ll sell you an orgy suite for twenty crowns…and you’re out by noon.”

“Ten crowns.”

“Thief. Eighteen. Any lower and I’m losing money.”

“No, you’re not. As you pointed out, this time in the morning you can’t expect to sell it at any price. Fifteen crowns.”

“Let’s see your money. But you have to be out by noon.”

“Make that thirteen o’clock. We’ve been up all night and have had a rough time.” I counted out the cash.

“I know.” She nodded at her terminal. “The
Hong Kong Gong
has had several bulletins about you. Thirteen o’clock, okay—but if you stay longer, you either pay full tariff or move to an ordinary room. Did you really encounter bandits? On the trace to Lucky Dragon?”

“They tell me there are no bandits in that area. We ran into some rather unfriendly strangers. Our losses were three dead, two wounded. We fetched ’em back.”

“Yes, I saw. Do you want a receipt for your expense account? For a crown I’ll make out a real sincere one, itemized for whatever amount you say. And I have three messages for you.”

I blinked stupidly. “How? Nobody knew we were coming to your hotel. We didn’t know it ourselves.”

“No mystery, chum. A stranger comes in the north lock late at night, it’s a probable seven to two he’ll wind up in my bed—one of my beds and no smart remarks, please.” She glanced at her terminal. “If you hadn’t picked up your messages in another ten minutes, backups would have gone to all inns in the pressure. If that failed to find you, the selectman for public safety might start a search. We don’t get handsome strangers with romantic adventures too often.”

Gwen said, “Quit waggling your tail at him, dearie; he’s tired. And taken. Hand me the printouts, please.”

The hotel manager looked coldly at Gwen, spoke to me: “Chum, if you have not yet paid her, I can guarantee you something better and younger and prettier at a bargain price.”

“Your daughter?” Gwen inquired sweetly. “Please, the messages.”

The woman shrugged and handed them to me. I thanked her and said, “About this other something. Younger, possibly. Prettier, I doubt. Can’t be cheaper; I married this one for her money. What are the facts?”

She looked from me to Gwen. “Is that true? Did he marry you for your money? Make him earn it!”

“Well, he says he did,” Gwen said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. We’ve been married only three days. This is our honeymoon.”

“Less than three days, dear,” I objected. “It just seems longer.”

“Chum, don’t talk that way to your bride! You’re a cad and a brute and probably on the lam.”

“Yes. All of that,” I agreed.

She ignored me, spoke to Gwen: “Dearie, I didn’t know it was your honeymoon or I wouldn’t have offered that ‘something’ to your husband. I bow in the dust. But later on, when you get bored with this chum with the overactive mouth, I can arrange the same for you but male. Fair price. Young. Handsome. Virile. Durable. Affectionate. Call or phone and ask for Xia—that’s me. Guaranteed—you must be satisfied or you don’t pay.”

“Thanks. Right now all I want is breakfast. Then bed.”

“Breakfast right behind you across the corridor. Sing’s New York Café. I recommend his Hangover Special at a crown fifty.” She looked back at her rack and picked out two cards. “Here’re your keys. Dearie, would you ask Sing to send me over a grilled Cheddar on white with coffee? And don’t let him charge you more than a slug and a half for a Hangover Special. He cheats just for fun.”

We parked our baggage with Xia and crossed the corridor for breakfast. Sing’s Hangover Special was as good as Xia claimed. Then at last we were in our suite—the bridal suite; Xia had again done right by us. In several ways. She led us to our suite, watched while we oohed and ahed—bubbly in an ice bucket, coverlet turned back, perfumed sheets, flowers (artificial but convincing) picked out by the only light.

So the bride kissed her and Xia kissed the bride, and they both sniffled—and a good thing, too, as a lot had happened too fast and Gwen had had no time to cry. Women need to cry.

Then Xia kissed the groom, and the groom did not cry and did not hang back—Xia is an oriental stack such as Marco Polo is said to have found in Xanadu. And she kissed me most convincingly. Presently she broke enough for air. “Whew!”

“Yes, ‘Whew!’” I agreed. “That deal you mentioned earlier—What do
you
charge?”

“Loud mouth.” She grinned at me, did not pull away. “Cad. Scoundrel. I give away free samples. But not to bridegrooms.” She unwound herself. “Rest well, dears. Forget that thirteen o’clock deadline. Sleep as long as you wish; I’ll tell the day manager.”

“Xia, two of those messages called for me to see people at an ugly cow-milking hour. Can you switch us out?”

“I already thought of that; I read those before you did. Forget it. Even if Bully Bozell shows up with all his Boy Scouts, the day manager won’t admit knowing what suite you are in.”

“I don’t want to cause you trouble with your boss.”

“Didn’t I say? I own the joint. Along with BancAmerica.” She pecked me quickly and left.

While we were undressing, Gwen said, “Richard, she was waiting to be asked to stay. And she’s not the wide-eyed virgin little Gretchen is. Why didn’t you invite her?”

“Aw, shucks, Maw, I didn’t know how.”

“You could have unpeeled her cheong-sam while she was trying to strangle you; that would have done it. There was nothing under it. Correction: Xia was under it, nothing else. But Xia is a-plenty, I’m certain. So why didn’t you?”

“Do you want to know the truth?”

“Uh… I’m not sure.”

“Because I wanted to sleep with
you
, wench, with no distractions. Because I am not yet bored with you. It’s not your brain, and not your spiritual qualities of which you almost don’t have any. I lust after your sweaty little body.”

“Oh, Richard!”

“Before we bathe? Or after?”

“Uh…both?”

“That’s my girl!”

“Democracy can withstand anything but democrats.”

J. HARSHAW
1904-

“All kings is mostly rapscallions.”

MARK TWAIN
1835-1910

While we were bathing I said, “You surprised me, hon, by knowing how to herd a rolligon.”

“Not half as much as
you
surprised
me
when it turned out that your cane was a rifle.”

“Ah, yes, that reminds me—Would it bother you to cover for me?”

“Of course not, Richard, but how?”

“My trick cane stops being a protection when people know what it is. But, if all the shooting is attributed to you, then people won’t learn what it is.”

Gwen answered thoughtfully, “I don’t see. Or don’t understand. Everybody in the bus saw you using it as a rifle.”

“Did they, now? The fight took place in vacuum—dead silence. So no one heard any shots. Who saw me shoot? Auntie? She was wounded before I joined the party. Only seconds before but we’re talking about seconds. Bill? Busy with Auntie. Ekaterina and her kids? I doubt that the kids saw anything they understood, and their mother suffered the worst shock a mother can; she won’t be much of a witness, if at all. Dear Diana and her fancy boys? One is dead, the other was so mixed up that he mistook me for a bandit, and Lady Dee herself is so self-centered that she never understood what was going on; she simply knew that some tiresome nonsense was interfering with her sacred whims. Turn around and I’ll scrub your back.”

Gwen did so; I went on: “Let’s improve it. I’ll cover for you instead of you covering for me.”

“How?”

“My cane and your little Miyako use the same caliber ammo. So all shots came from the Miyako—fired by me, not by you—and my cane is just a cane. And you are my sweet, innocent bride who would never do anything so grossly unladylike as shooting back at strangers. Does that suit you?”

Gwen was so long in answering that I began to think that I must have offended her. “Richard, maybe neither of us shot at anybody.”

“So? You interest me. Tell me how.”

“I am almost as unanxious to admit that I carry a gun as you are to admit that your cane has unexpected talents. Some places are awfully stuffy about concealed weapons…but a gun in my purse—or somewhere on me—has saved my life more than once and I intend to go on carrying one. Richard, the reasons you gave for believing that no one knows about your cane apply also to my Miyako. You’re bigger than I am and I had the window seat. When we crouched down, I don’t think anyone could see me too well—your shoulders are not transparent.”

“Hmm. Could be. But what about bodies with slugs in them? Six point five millimeter longs, to be precise.”

“Shot by the butchers in that big wheel.”

“They were burning, not shooting.”

“Richard! Richard! Do you
know
that they didn’t have slug guns as well as energy weapons? I don’t.”

“Hmm again. My love, you are as devious as a diplomat.”

“I
am
a diplomat. Reach me the soap, pretty please. Richard, let’s not volunteer information. We were just passengers, innocent bystanders and stupid as well. How those agrarian reformers died is not our responsibility. My pappy done taught me to hold my cards close to my chest and never admit anything. This is a time for that.”

“My pappy done taught me the same thing. Gwen, why didn’t you marry me sooner?”

“Took me a while to soften you up, dear. Or vice versa. Ready to shower off?”

While I was drying her, I remembered a point that we had passed by. “Picture bride, where did you learn to drive a rolligon?”

“‘Where?’ Mare Serenitatis.”

“Huh?”

“I learned how through watching Gretchen and Auntie. Tonight was the first time I ever drove one.”

“Well! Why didn’t you
say
so?”

She started drying me. “Beloved, if you had known, you would have worried. Uselessly. In all the times I’ve been married I have always made it a rule never to tell my husband anything that would worry him if I could reasonably avoid it.” She smiled angelically. “Better so. Men are worriers; women are not.”

I was roused out of a deep sleep by loud pounding. “Open up in there!”

I couldn’t think of a good reason to answer, so I didn’t. I yawned widely, being careful not to let my soul escape, then reached out to my right. And woke up sharply and suddenly; Gwen was not there.

I got out of bed so quickly that it made me dizzy; I almost fell. I gave my head a shake to clear it, then hopped into the ’fresher. Gwen was not there. The pounding continued.

Don’t drink champagne in bed and then go right to sleep; I had to drain off a liter of used bubbly before I could sigh with relief and think of other matters. The pounding continued, with more shouting.

Tucked into the top of my foot was a note from my beloved. Smart gal! Even better than fastening it to my toothbrush. It read:

Dearest One,

I have an attack of wakeupitis, so I’m getting up and taking care of a couple of errands. First I’m going to Sears Montgomery to return our p-suits and pay the rent on them. While I’m at Sears, I’ll pick up socks and drawers for you and panties for me and do some other things. I’ll leave a note at the desk here telling Bill to turn in his suit, too—and, yes, he did come in after we did and Xia put him in a single, as you arranged with her. Then I’m off to Wyoming Knott Memorial Hospital to see Auntie, and I’ll call Ekaterina.

You’re sleeping like a baby and I hope to be back before you wake up. If not—if you go anywhere—please leave a note at the desk.

Love you—
Gwendolyn

The pounding continued. I put on my foot, while noting that our p-suits were not where I had last seen them, i.e., arranged in a romantic pose on the floor, a jest created by my bawdy bride. I dressed in the only clothes I had, then watered the little maple, found it did not need much; Gwen must have watered it.

“Open up!”