Ex-Kop (17 page)

I walked through a doorway into a courtyard covered by a series of tarps that were so pregnant with puddled water that they stretched in all the wrong directions, creating gaping holes in the coverage through which misting rain came glistening down. Souvenir stands ran around the circumference, their spaces overflowing with etched gourds and mini Lagartan-style skiffs made from seedpods. There was a staircase on the
far end that led up to a second tier where I could see a window with painted-on jungle vines and tour prices. Standing alongside the door was a stuffed tiger, reared up on its haunches, one of its paws raised like it was about to claw somebody's heart out.

Tiger hunts? I took another look at the painted prices on the window and found a variety of tiger safaris dominating the list. I didn't think anybody did tiger hunts anymore. The tour operators quit running tiger shoots decades ago when the upriver tiger territory was overrun by warlords. Not that the tiger hunts were ever very successful in the first place. So few tourists ever managed to bag one that they usually chose to spend their offworld dollars elsewhere. From what I'd heard, even seeing a tiger in the jungle was next to impossible. The foliage was too thick to spot something that didn't want to be spotted. Tigers weren't like the monitors who still hadn't learned to fear us humans. To hunt monitor, you could just about sit in a chair and wait for one of the cocksure lizards to come right up to you. Being the top of the food chain for so many millennia had made them dimwittedly overconfident. Looking around, seeing all the monitor-hide jackets and gloves hanging on hooks, I found it hard to believe us Lagartans hadn't yet slaughtered enough of them to weed out their outdated king-of-the-jungle genes.

Tigers were another story. They weren't native. Their DNA was heavily seasoned with an instinctual fear of man. They were originally introduced over a century ago as a tourism promotion. They were supposed to give Lagarto a higher profile among the Unified Worlds. We would become the haven for all the extinct Earth species. All those offworld freighter crews passing through our system wouldn't be able to resist a trip down to the surface to see tiger, rhino, gorilla, and every other species that could be reconstituted from old DNA samples. The pols
pushed the plan through, telling everybody that happy days would be just around the corner.

What a crock of shit. The Bio-Regeneration Program was a total failure. Start with the fact that the rot shot their supersafari plans to hell by sending the gorillas, the elephants, and all the other plus-sized exotics straight back into extinction. Tigers were the only large mammals that actually took, and any benefit the tigers offered was easily outweighed by the havoc they wreaked on the frontier farms, always eating people's cows and goats. It became just one more reason why so many upriver farmers switched to raising poppies instead of livestock. What was supposed to create a boom for the tour companies instead turned into a boon for the warlords who ran the opium trade. Their toehold on the fringe towns became a foothold, and then when the government tried to take the land back by force, the warlords started spewing all this power-to-the-people bullshit and converted their foothold into a stronghold.

And now even Lagarto's lifeless deserts were more tourist friendly than the warlord-controlled territory where lase-rifle-bearing children called themselves freedom fighters and where the warlords made a habit of giving their rival O runners Lagartan neckties—cut the throat and then reach in and pull the tongue down through the opening.

And I was supposed to believe Horst Jeffers had revived the tiger hunt business? No. I wasn't buying it. The tiger hunt business went under for a reason. Unless he had a damn tiger farm out there where his customers could pop them in their cages, tiger hunts were a cover. Only a damn fool would want to spend his vacation in the fringe towns where you were more likely to get a Lagartan necktie than a tiger pelt.

I kept one eye on the Jungle Expeditions door and used the other to paw through a set of monitor-hide belts. The hawkers
eventually stopped pestering me after I gave them a long dose of total disregard. I made my way around from stand to stand, focusing on belts, thinking I could use a new belt, but not wanting to take the time to make a purchase. I had to stay ready to leave in a hurry should that powder-skinned Horst Jeffers show up.

It wasn't much longer before a trio of offworlders came out and walked down the stairs. A dozen-odd hawkers were ready to greet them by the time they reached the bottom. The hawkers descended on them, a mob of trinket-wielding parasites. The offworlders tried to ignore them but couldn't keep their resolve for more than a few seconds. One of them became so uncomfortable with the invasion of his personal space that he stepped away from the group, playing right into the hawkers' divide-and-conquer strategy.

A local emerged from the Jungle Expeditions door, and with a scowl, saved the offworlders from making some overpriced purchases. The parasites scuttled back under their rocks as he came down the stairs. “All ready?” He smiled.

The trio of tourists followed his lead. I dropped the belt I'd been mock studying and fell in behind them. The local led the way, with one of the offworlders hanging on his shoulder, talking his ear off, asking questions nonstop. The other two lagged behind. They were looking around, taking in the sights, both of them trying to enjoy the walk. I trailed behind, following at a comfortable pace.

We crossed the Old Town Square, stopping twice, first so the tour guide could point out the church that sat at the head of the square, and second so he could give a spiel on the square's history. They listened to his rehearsed shtick and laughed at his well-worn jokes while I stayed a short distance away and pretended to be interested in some jewelry. The offworlders stood side by side, wearing their I'm-a-tourist slickers,
their faces hard to see, hidden by steam that came off their tech-heated quick-dry skin.

They were on the move again, walking in the same formation as before. Based on their multicolored threads, I figured these offworlders were from the Orbital instead of the mines. The offworlders on the Orbital were always coming in contact with the latest trends and these three were sporting some ultrabright reds, greens, and yellows under their slickers. As I kept looking at those flashy clothes, I started thinking that these three might actually be from one of the freighter crews instead of from the Orbital. Those over-the-top colors were plain gaudy, even by Orbital standards.

They were probably from Pivon, the planet closest to Lagarto, only five years by freighter. They could be on their way home, docking with Lagarto Orbital-
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for a final restocking of raw materials that had been slingshotted in from the mining operations out in the belts. People said the Orbital was a major stop on the trade routes. I wouldn't know. All I knew was that looking around these streets and seeing the opium-ravaged derelicts holding out their hands, I found it mighty hard to fathom that there was a flourishing economy going on up there.

We took an arched bridge across the canal and headed toward the Phra Kaew market as the rain picked up its pace. The offworld trio didn't seem to mind, thick steam venting out the top of their slickers, making them look like walking cigarettes. We were about to reach the covered portion of the Phra Kaew market, and I was beginning to think this afternoon would be a total waste if it turned out I was following them on nothing more than a shopping spree. Just then, they took a right. I resisted the urge to speed up and took the corner at my regular pace. They were gone, all four of them. I strained my eyes, stretching my gaze in all directions. They were gone, but I had a good idea where.

I passed the door without a knob, remembering it well, the secret knock that changed every ten days. I'd gotten so frustrated keeping up with their rotating knocking codes that I'd gotten Jae, the owner, to give me a knock of my own.

I turned right, then right again, and stepped into a dark alley with a low-hanging roof that made it feel like a cave. I could hear the rustle of fleeing lizards in the weeds. My feet crunched on broken glass. Opium smoke tickled my nostrils. I kept walking with confident strides—no telling how many O heads and glue huffers were camped in this alley, and until my eyes adjusted, I didn't want any of them jumping me. I could see a light up ahead, and I made for it, my eyes starting to make out shapes along the walls that looked like caved-in boxes and piles of rags that could be people. I made it to the light and rapped on the back door, using my old code. Nothing. I rapped again, this time louder, and the door swung open.

“Idris?” I said.

“Juno? Is that you?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, let me look at you, boy.”

I stood there, letting him once-over me.

“Fuckin' A!” said the old man with a broad grin. He slid a cinder block over to prop the door and laid a hug on me. “Juno Mozambe. Where you been, motherfucker?”

“I lost my shield.”

“Yeah, I heard about that, but that don't mean you got to stop comin' by, do it?”

I shrugged.

“Shit, Juno, you done made my day, you hear me? I wish things could go back to the way they was. Things just ain't the same anymore. You was a righteous collections man, Juno. You was always fair, everybody said so. And Idris don't ever forget
the fact that you took care of him. Shit, you always was willin' to throw a little cash Idris's way.”

“Glad to do it. You tell Jae that I said you need a raise. Had he paid you properly, I wouldn't have needed to look out for you.”

“You wanna come in? You can tell that pimp off your own self.”

“No thanks. How's things?”

“They ain't the same, I'll tell you that. Now them cops got this new guy, some fuckin' street cop with his blue uniform comin' by and collectin' now. The guy's a real A-hole, too. He always be demandin' a BJ from one of the girls when he come a collectin'. That shit ain't right, Juno. It ain't professional. He's supposed to pay for that shit.”

“What does Jae say about it?”

“Shit, that pimp don't do nothin'. Jae gone soft, man. That cop boy start sayin' he goin' to raise rates if he don't get his BJ, and Jae just give in. That cop don't even have to ask no more. Jae give him his payoff, and he just goes and grabs one of the girls. The girls ain't happy about it. They come a-complainin' to me, but what can I do? I'm just the houseboy.”

“I wish there was something I could do, but I don't have any standing down at KOP anymore.”

“Shit, man, I know. I wasn't askin' you to do nothin'. See, I was just shootin' the shit, that's all.”

I snagged a wad from my pocket and put it in Idris's palm.

“That's what I'm talkin' about,” he said grinning broadly. “Since you been gone, Juno, KOP's gone to shit, you know what I'm sayin'? These A-holes don't know what they's doin'. They don't understand the business. They just want they's scratch and they's snatch, and they want it now. Shit.”

“If you ask me, Idris, you should be running this shithole.”

The guy lit up. “You ain't serious.”

“I am serious.” And I was. “You know the business as well as anybody. The girls respect you. You should get a mutiny going and toss Jae out on his ass. You and the girls could turn this place around.”

“Shit! Ha! I missed you, Juno. I really did. Ha! Can you imagine me runnin' this place? Shit, Juno, that ain't me. I can't pull that shit off.”

“I don't see why not.”

“Ha! You always was the man, Juno. I wish you was still runnin' collections. I really do.”

“Listen, Idris, I can use a little info.”

“Whatever you want, Juno, but you got to promise you won't be no stranger, you hear me? You got to come by more often.”

“I will.”

“Now what you need?”

“Did you see the three offworlders come in a few minutes ago?”

“You mean those fuckers that's dressed up like parrots? Yeah, I saw them.”

“They been here before?”

“No, they's first-timers.”

“What about their guide?”

“Gomez? Shit, he be here a couple times a week. He work for this offworld company on the Square.”

“Jungle Expeditions.”

“Yeah, that's it.”

“What kind of shit are his clients into?”

“The one's he bring here is mostly just lookin' for straight pussy. Sometimes he bring one along who want a little kink, but you know we ain't one of them specialty houses.”

“Do you have an exclusive arrangement with him?”

“No. He always shoppin' around on price and shit. We get most of his straight pussy business though.”

“Where else does he go?”

“Listen, if you lookin' for some weird shit, you should check out Kaiser. He another one of them guides that work with Gomez, but he the one that take the special orders.”

“What kind of special orders?”

“Shit, man, them Jungle Expeditions folk cater to the dowackados. They get some regular customers, too, like them parrot motherfuckers in there, but they's main business is in kink. They's customers is regulars at the Red Room and the Cellar Dweller. From what I hear, they does some big kiddie biz. They's also into rape sims and all that bondage shit. I heard they even done some necro.”

“Necro?”

“Ha! I told you they was some dowackados, didn't I? Didn't I?”

“Thanks, Idris.”

“Anytime, Juno. You needs anything else?”

“I'll let you know.”

I walked out the way I came in. Nobody bothered me, not after they'd seen me chatting with Idris. It was courtesy of Idris that they got to stay in this alley. Piss him off and they could find themselves evicted from the alley, and this alley was primo, being covered and all.