Finn's Golem (9 page)

At this point, I could make a few assumptions.

For
starters,
it seemed like
the death of Viktor Marsland had been an accident. Not that he wasn’t the victim of violence, just that if you’re trying to get a man to give up the ultimate prize, it isn’t a brilliant move to kill him before he gives it to you.
I could also
assume that Cyrus Carter was displeased with that turn of events. Since his boy Monarch was still alive,
one might
further speculate that the death of Viktor Marsland was directly caused by an underling who was most likely feeding fish or helping to hold up a bridge somewhere just now.

So they’ve got a dead cybercypher on their hands and a pile of not much else. But they know, or suspect, that there may be a backup copy of E2-476 somewhere. And they know, or suspect
,
that Daddy’s little girl is the key to recovering it. So they wait. For a few weeks, she does nothing. Do they give up? Do they go away? They do not. Of course they do not.

In time, they probably would have found it necessary to intervene, and it isn’t very likely that Claire would have enjoyed that much. But before Mister Carter lost his patience, suddenly the mild-mannered Miss Marsland started making calls to
p
rivate
i
nvestigators in seedy Bountiful City half a continent away. Curious.

Who knows why she settled on me. I could have asked her, but I probably didn’t want to know. The answer was almost certainly Della. Clearly, this is why I spent the big bucks on her program. She gives comfortable, well-heeled clients the impression that our bustling detective agency is just the right outfit to handle their comfortable, well-heeled cases. I made a mental note to give her a raise.

So Claire booked a shuttle to Bountiful. She flew in direct, which suggests that at the time she made the reservation I had no idea there was more to her story than the missing and possibly fictional sister Katrin. Or that I was just an idiot.

Somewhere between point A
(
being girl hires handsome, rugged private investigator
)
and point B
(
being girl actually meets same
)
, a call came in from a mysterious Mister Felco. When he wasn’t busy trying to seduce my answering machine, he found the time to offer me a supposedly lucrative side deal to sell out my new out-of-town client.

How did Felco find me? It seemed unlikely that I’d ever know for sure, but he probably had a trace on the girl’s line. The Locust must have had the same arrangement, since Sixteen’s connections said he came in two days ago.

So how did Felco know what he knew about E2-476? Again, the fact that someone had taken the good time and trouble to throttle the life out of him and throw him out of a speeding limo made it unlikely that I’d ever know. He could have had his own connections in Omniframe Internal, but it didn’t seem like it was in his pay grade. More likely he was a low-level grifter who managed to scoop some info that leaked out of Carter’s camp and thought he might pull one over on the big man.

You could conclude from the recent newsflash of his ugly demise that Felco’s contacts had been rumbled along the way, but there was one big problem with that. The Locust’s boys hadn’t hit Felco first, they’d come after me, and I had the scrambled brains to prove it. Which suggested that they’d found Felco through me, not the other way around. I probably should have given him his gun back. It wouldn’t have saved him, but he might have taken one or two of Carter’s Shades with him. Maybe even the supposedly sinister Monarch. T
hat would have been convenient.

Sixteen said that Carter had six boys with him. Odds were good that I’d taken care of one back at my office. Odds were bad that the unarmed Felco had reduced that number at all. I was prepared to guess that the Latino in the black windbreaker and the thug in the brown sweater were in that company, though neither struck me as scary enough to have been Monarch himself.

The thing that worried me the most about what happened to Felco was what they’d done with the body. I’d been prepared to take some solace in the fact that they’d given us a quiet night. What I didn’t know was that they were too busy eliminating the competition to have Claire and myself killed just now. I had to believe that even outside of their normal sphere of operations, Carter’s crew could have hidden the body if they’d cared to. They were sending a message and it was hard not to see just what that was meant to be.

If we could make it to morning then we’d be all right. That was what I was telling myself. We could risk the streets, at least for a while. It was a lie, and I knew it was a lie, but you have to set achievable goals.

So I sat on the bed and watched the door of Claire Marsland’s hotel room, the GAT in my hand, ready to frag the first thing that came through then worry about the second. Achievable goals.

And while I waited, I did the one thing that a good detective never does. The sort of thing you’d never find in
Murder, Sweet Murder
.

I told Claire Marsland everything.

They say that the truth is the easiest thing to remember. In my case, that chestnut was made all the more true by the fact that I di
dn’t remember much of anything.

To her credit, Claire took the news surprisingly well. She sat and listened to my recitation as if I were a schoolboy who had learned it all by rote. I stared straight ahead, focused on the door. It made it easier.

After half an hour or more
,
I was finished. There was nothing more to say. If she wanted me out, I’d go. I guess I wouldn’t have been sorry to see the other side of the door, though I doubted it woul
d save me.

She rose without speaking from the end of the bed where she’d been sitting in silence. She stretched a little, like a cat, her back arching and showing her form as long and lean beneath her comfortable clothes. She walked into the bathroom and I heard the water running. A minute late she was back, a warm washcloth and a cup of water in her hands. I sat quietly as she cleaned the wound on my head as best she could. The water dripped down from my hair and I ignored it, though the shoulder of my shirt was approaching soaked in the process. We spoke not a word.

In time, she moved away towards the bathroom still carrying both cup and cloth. She paused as she picked up my hat from the bed where I had thrown it. She stepped into the bathroom and I could hear her pour out the cup of water and rinse it. When she reappeared she was holding my hat in her hands, wiping out the dried blood with the cloth. Here was a dame that wasn’t easily rattled. That bought and sold me, that tiny gesture. If she told me to jump off a bridge I’d have given it serious consideration. Here was the girl for me if there ever was one. At last she spoke.

“So you don’t remember anything?”
S
he was still grimly focused on the hat. I couldn’t get a read on what she might be thinking.

“I remember things
,
” I said
.
“Facts. I knew where the Greyside Gates were, the
s
huttle
p
ad... had a pretty damn good sense of geography if I do say so myself. Local color, the fact that Civic Events follows Politics on the NewsNet. I knew exactly how screwed I was when my ExStick was missing, how many charges the GAT should have and the smell of both plasma and cabbage without being prompted.”

“That’s quite a resume.” She was trying to be stern, but she was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at me. “Did you also remember how to tie your shoes?”

“Some people would think that this was serious
,”
I said, fighting a smile myself.

“Gallows humor I guess.” She shrugged
.
“But you can’t remember who hit you and you can’t be certain why.”

“I have a general idea of why, actually.”

“Fair point
,” she
agreed. “But as for where you live, your mother’s maiden name or if you’re allergic to cats, you’re less than clear.”

“That sums it up, yeah.”

“It’s a pretty specific injury,
”
s
he frowned
,
“
t
hough not unprecedented. It’s not my field at all.”

“Mine either
,”
I said
.
“At least as far as I know.” It occurred to me for the first time that I had no idea what her field was. Or anything about her beyond what she’d told me and what I could see with my own two eyes. I considered this for a moment as she finished with my hat and hung it on the bedpost.

“Why cats?” I asked.

She blushed and walked back into the bathroom, returning a moment later without the washcloth.

“Does it matter if I’m allergic to cats?” I asked.

She looked at me defiantly.

“How many?” I asked
.

“Three
,” s
he said
,
“
but
I don’t think you’re striking the proper tone here. I am angry with you.”

“You’re not either
,”
I said, letting my attention drift away from the door more than I should have
.
“And what’s more, I don’t understand why you’re not. Personally, I would probably shoot me on general principles.”

She sat on the other side of the bed and looked at me intently. Those eyes were more grey than gold now, and there was a fire in them that made my heart s
kip to consider.

“You had no idea who I was, no reason to protect me. B
ut you dragged yourself to the s
huttle
p
ad and kept me out of their hands.”

“They might not have taken you. They might have just followed you.”

“You’ve known all along that you were in over your head, but you also knew that I had no one else. And when you found out just how bad the odds were, you came back anyway. Besides, you’re too damn stubborn to fall down just because you’re half dead
,
and I happen to find that a very winning quality.”

I was so caught up in the eyes that I didn’t notice they were getting closer until her lips touched mine. They were full and perfect, but the kiss was delicate, tentative – as if the lips expected a rebuke for their transgression. They lingered for a moment near mine, and I could feel her soft breath mixing with my own. Her eyelids opened and I was almost lost.

“I’ll probably regret this for the rest of my life-
,
” I began
.

“But you should watch the door?”

“But I should watch the door.”

“Damn
,” she
said softly.

“Maybe when no one is trying to kill us-”

“Maybe.” She smiled, rising and walking over towards the desk
.
“And maybe it won’t be half as exciting then.”

“Half as exciting would still be pretty damn good
,”
I suggested, renewing my grip on the hand canon.

“Yes it would
,” she
smiled, picking up my coat from where I had thrown it.

“What are you doing?”

“Snooping
,” she
said
.
“Do you object?”

“I guess I don’t.”

“Good.” She started pulling the slips of paper from my
pockets
and sorting them into piles. “When you picked these up, you didn’t know anything. Maybe now something will mean something. Maybe help you remember.”

“Need I remind you that I was all set to sell you out before I lost my marbles?” I asked
.

“Just make sure they stay lost
,” she
said
.
“After all, there’s not much on the other side of the table beyond the fear of death and the potential for near-limitless power.”

“Oh
,”
I said
.
“Is that all?”

She looked at me sideways
.
“You’re
not
allergic to cats, are you?”

I shrugged
.
“If you have three, then you’d be wearing a lot of their fur, and I haven’t sneezed once.”

“Then my counter-offer remains unchanged
,” she
said with a waggle of her eyebrow. It was then that I realized that she didn’t take her own sex appeal even remotely seriously. It made me want to let the door watch itself for an hour or so, but I didn’t say so.

I tried to think grim, hard-boiled thoughts. I seemed to be at my best when I was channeling
Murder, Sweet Murder
, but it had been a long day.

“Look at this!” Claire said excitedly.

“At what?”

She stepped over triumphantly with a slip of paper in her hand. It was written in black, felt-tipped marker and bore the rings of at least two coffee cups, or perhaps the same one twice. The print was fat and the marker had bled
;
it wasn’t easy to read, but it certainly seemed to say
,
“Meet Mr. Monarch 3pm. Fountain. Bruce Square.”

“I’ll be damned
,”
I said
.

“Very likely
,” she
agreed.

“You’re a detective, darling.”

“Aren’t I just though?” she beamed
.

“Try and look a little more grim
,”
I said
.
“Squint a lot and look like somebody stole your hat and shot your dog.”

“Like you? You think that looks grim?”

“Doesn’t it look grim?”

“It looks a little gassy, actually.”

“You’re full of sass at this hour
,”
I protested
.

“You have no idea
,” she
teased. She was going to have to stop that very, very soon. I returned to the note.

“
Mister
Monarch?” I almost snorted
.
“Gar, this guy takes himself seriously. I am
not
looking forward to meeting him. Again.”

“That’s it!” Claire said.

“Brilliant, Holmes
,”
I said
.
“You’ve done it again.”

“Do you want to hear my detecting or not?” she scowled
.

“Do I still get paid?” I asked
.
“Because if I do, knock yourself out.”

“You got a telephone call, you wrote this note. Meet Monarch at three.”

I had the thread now
.
“The next thing I remember it was half-past four.”

“The man in the alley. The man you...”

“Killed
,”
I said
.

“It must have been him. It must have been Carter’s lieutenant.”

“Maybe
,”
I said
.
“If I were their only lead, it stands to reason that Monarch would come himself.”

“And you killed him.” There was no hesitation the second time. There was something like relish at the thought.

“It would explain why they haven’t been the most co-ordinated operation in history
,”
I nodded
.
“Unless Monarch had a second, Carter is probably calling the shots himself. And he’s lost his best man.”

“See?” she said happily.

“But if that’s what happened, why did it go down at the office? Why not in scenic Bruce Square across town?”

“Who knows?” she said
.
“We’ll probably never know if you can’t tell us. But you can stop worrying about the murder charge.”

“How so?” I said
.

“You can’t murder a Shade, Finn. Or at least you can’t be charged with it. Omniframe says Shades don’t exist.”

“And Omniframe’s the law. You have a very optimistic way of looking at things, you know that? The cops are still going to want to know what happened to their John Doe.”

“There was a case in New Coast a year ago,” she began excitedly
.
“
A
man found that the Shade he employed as a bodyguard was having an affair with his wife. He shot the Shade in the face at a party in front of his wife and a hundred of her closest friends. Took the back of the man’s head right off.  He was charged with unlawful discharge of a firearm and fined fifteen hundred credits.”

“Well,” I said
,
“I can’t afford that either, so let’s not go around confessing to things just yet.”

“Granted.” She beamed at me.

“Don’t look quite so pleased, peaches
,”
I scolded
.
“We’re not out of this yet.”

“But our odds are better
,” she
said
,
wa
l
king around to the far side of the bed again. She leaned in and rested a knee on the opposite side, and slid her hand under the pillow. When it came back out, she was holding poor Felco’s ACS Monitor in her hand. It was the perfect size, the right sort of graceful shape. I was right, it was more of a ladies gun.

“Finn,” she said quietly but in deadly earnest
,
“
there
are a hundred uniformed guards in this hotel, a chair under the door and two guns under the pillows. What
do
you
say we let the door guard itself for an hour or so?”

I should have said no. Anything else was deeply unprofessional and probably dangerous as hell. I should have said no.

I said not one word, but slipped my gun under the other pillow and let the door be damned.