Hellstrom's Hive (22 page)

“That may be so,” Hellstrom said, his voice firming as he saw his preparations providing them with the escape route he'd anticipated. Mimeca's fingerprints were all over
nothing
. “But you, I take it, Mr. Janvert, are not the law. Until the law—”

“I told you to can that bullshit,” Janvert said.

“I can understand why you're upset,” Hellstrom said, “but I do not care for your tone or your attitude, or for your choice of language in front of this young woman. I am going to have to ask you—”

“What're you trying to pull off?” Janvert demanded. “Choice of language in front of this young woman! She was bedded with Peruge last night and she knew more fucking tricks than he'd ever heard of. Choice of
words!
”

“That's quite enough!” Hellstrom said. He signaled frantically for Mimeca to leave in a huff, but she was too intent on Janvert to notice. And Hellstrom had told her to fight this with her own personal truth.

“Bedded?” she demanded. “I don't even know your Mr. Peruge.”

“That won't work, sister,” Janvert said. “I promise you, it won't work.”

“You don't have to answer any more of his questions, Fancy,” Hellstrom said.

She glanced at Hellstrom, assembling her own estimate of the situation. Peruge dead! What had Fancy done?

“That's right,” Janvert said. “Shut her up until you get your stories straight. But I promise you, it won't work. The physical evidence—”

“Indeed,” Hellstrom interrupted. “The physical evidence.” He sighed with elaborate sadness. It was going perfectly. He faced Mimeca. “Fancy, my dear, you don't have to say another thing until the officials get here, if they do indeed choose to come here for such an outrageous—”

“Oh, they'll come,” Janvert said. “And when they do, I expect some
very
interesting answers based on the physical evidence.”

Saldo, still trying to suppress his Hive-protection conditioning, gestured to catch Hellstrom's attention and said, “Nils! Should I put him off the place?”

“That won't be necessary,” Hellstrom said, gesturing for Saldo to control himself. Saldo obviously was in no condition to risk physical contact with Janvert. There'd be another killing.

“You're damned right it won't be necessary,” Janvert said. He put a hand in the bulging pocket of his jacket and moved another two paces away from Saldo. “Don't even try it, baby, or I'll fix you permanently.”

“Here! Here!” Hellstrom snapped. “That's quite enough of that!” He looked squarely at Saldo. “What you can do, Saldo, is try to get a call through to Deputy Kraft. If what Mr. Janvert says is true, I don't understand why Kraft is not here already. See if you can contact him and ask him to—”

“Kraft is very busy on a telephone call from his Lakeview office,” Janvert said. “Your tame deputy is occupied, understand? Nobody is going to come here and rescue you or interfere in any way before the arrival of the FBI.”

Hellstrom saw a tight smile appear on Janvert's face, realized abruptly that the Outsider was playing some kind of calculated
game. Hellstrom frowned, wondering if Janvert might actually possess police authority. Was it possible he was trying to provoke an incident that would allow him to take charge here until the others arrived? There were many things that had to be done to protect the Hive before the arrival of Outsider police. Would Janvert try to stop anyone from leaving this room?

“Saldo,” Hellstrom said, “as lamentable as this situation is, we still have deadlines to meet, work to do. Delays are costly.” Hellstrom signaled for Saldo to leave, get about sealing up the Hive for an all-out investigation. “I suggest you get about that work, Hellstrom said. “We'll wait here with—”

“Nobody leaves!” Janvert snapped. He took another step away from Saldo, hand menacing in the jacket pocket. What did these hicks think they were doing? “This is a murder investigation! If you think you can cover—”

“I think if it turns out to be anything at all, it will be considerably less than murder,” Hellstrom said. He signaled urgently for Saldo to leave. “I know for a fact that Fancy did not leave the farm last night. Meanwhile, Mr. Saldo is vitally important to the film we're making. That film represents an investment of several hundred thousand dollars already and it's due in Hollywood in little more than a month. He obviously has taken time off from his work to greet you and escort you to—”

“I was taking a walk to settle my dinner after the lunch break,” Saldo said, picking up his cue. He glanced at his wristwatch. “My God! I'm late! Ed will be clawing the wall!” He whirled, strode briskly toward the hall and the outer door.

“Just a minute, you!” Janvert shouted.

Saldo ignored him. Hellstrom's command in Hive-sign had been explicit and brooked no disobedience. Janvert obviously carried a weapon, but the situation was desperate. Would he use it? Saldo felt his back muscles crawl, but he continued unswerving toward the door. The Hive required this of him.

“I'm telling you to stop or else!” Janvert yelled. He moved
through the archway into the hall, trying to keep his attention on Saldo's retreating back and on the pair in the living room. Saldo had the door open! Janvert's hand was slippery with sweat on the gun in his pocket. Did he dare shoot? Saldo was going out!

The door closed.

“Mr. Janvert,” Hellstrom said.

Janvert turned, glared at Hellstrom. The bastards!

“Mr. Janvert,” Hellstrom repeated, his tone reasonable, “as lamentable as this situation is, I would appreciate our not adding to its complications. We were expecting Mr. Peruge for luncheon and it would be a shame to waste that food. I'm sure all of our tempers would improve if we—”

“You think I'd eat anything here?” Janvert asked. Was Hellstrom really that naïve?

Hellstrom shrugged. “Apparently we must wait for the
law
to arrive, and you do not want Fancy or me to leave your presence. I am proposing a reasonable solution to the waiting period. I'm sure there's a simple answer to these disturbing matters and I am only trying to—”

“Sure you are!” Janvert sneered. “And you
like
me!”

“No, Mr. Janvert, I don't particularly care for you. And I'm sure Fancy shares my aversion. My concern simply goes to—”

“Will you knock off the innocent act!”

Janvert felt himself seething with rage and frustration. He should not have let that other character get out of here. He should've shot at the guy's legs, brought him down.

“If you're worried about our food, Mr. Janvert,” Mimeca said, “I'd be only too happy to taste everything before you eat it.” She glanced worriedly at Hellstrom. Nils had said he counted on the visitor eating their food. This was a different visitor; did that still hold?

“Taste my—” Janvert shook his head. These characters were incredible! How could they continue with this innocent pose when they
knew
he had them cold?

Mimeca glanced at Hellstrom, seeking a sign of what course to take.

“She's only trying to make you comfortable,” Hellstrom explained, and, using Hive-sign, he told Mimeca, “Get him to eat with us!” He watched Janvert carefully. That had been close with Saldo. Janvert had almost used the weapon in his pocket. Were the men of this agency really that desperate?

“We've already had our sample of how Miss Fancy makes men comfortable,” Janvert said. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Well,
I
am going to eat my lunch,” Hellstrom said. “You may join us or not as you prefer.” He crossed to Mimeca, took her arm. “Come along, my dear. We've done our best.”

Janvert had no choice except to follow them into the dining room. He noted the four places at the table and wondered who the fourth place signified? Kraft? Saldo?

Hellstrom seated Mimeca with her back to the china cabinet, took the chair at the head of the table with his back to the kitchen door. He indicated the chair opposite Mimeca for Janvert. “At least, you can sit down with us.”

Janvert ignored the invitation, strode deliberately around the table, and took the chair beside Mimeca.

“Wherever you wish,” Hellstrom said.

Janvert glanced at the woman. She sat with hands folded in her lap, looking down at her plate almost in an attitude of prayer. Look as innocent as you want, honey! Janvert thought. We have you right where we want you. And if
you
try to sneak off the way your friend did, I will really shoot. We'll worry about consequences later. I might not even aim for your legs.

“We're having baked pork chops,” Hellstrom said. “Are you sure I can't order a serving for you?”

“Not on your sweet life or mine,” Janvert said. “Especially mine.” He glanced up alertly, tension appearing in his gun arm, as the kitchen door creaked open. An older, gray-haired woman
with dark olive skin and startlingly bright blue eyes came through the door. She had a heavily wrinkled face which creased into a smile as she peered questioningly at Hellstrom. Janvert jerked his attention to Hellstrom, caught a strange flicker-fingered gesture, obviously directed at the older woman. At the same time, a message-loaded look passed between Hellstrom and the younger woman seated beside him.

“What're you doing there?” Janvert demanded.

Hellstrom noted Janvert's attention on the hand signal, looked up at the ceiling with a weary expression. Janvert was going to be very difficult unless they got him to eat. There were so many things that needed doing and Saldo was too young to be trusted with all of them. He had older advisers to consult, but there was a headstrong character developing in Saldo that Hellstrom knew he had to curb. Saldo might not consult the backup brains in the Hive.

“I asked you a question,” Janvert pressed, leaning toward Hellstrom.

“I was trying to enlist my associates in helping me to calm you down and get you to join us for luncheon,” Hellstrom said, his voice weary. Would Janvert buy that?

“Fat chance!” Janvert said. He looked back at the older woman. She still stood expectantly behind Hellstrom, one hand holding the kitchen door open. Why didn't the old bitch say something? Was she just going to wait there until someone told her what to do? Apparently, that was just what she was going to do.

A long silence dragged out while the old tableau continued.

Have I judged him correctly? Hellstrom wondered. Should I signal for the serving to go ahead as ordered?

What the hell are they waiting for? Janvert wondered. He recalled Peruge's reference to “silent women.” The excuse had been that they were studying a difficult accent. The old bitch did not look like an actress, though. Her eyes remained bright
and alert, but there was pure patience in the set of her shoulders, the way she held the swinging door open.

We must risk it, Hellstrom thought.

He broke the silence then. “Mrs. Niles, would you bring us two servings, please, just for Fancy and me. Mr. Janvert is not eating.” At the same time, masking the action by scratching his head, Hellstrom signaled for her to proceed. The words would be nonsense sounds to Mrs. Niles, who was a nonfertile worker trained specially for this job. She read his hand signs, however, nodded, and retreated into the kitchen.

Janvert grew aware of appetizing smells from the kitchen and began to wonder if he'd acted foolishly. Would these people dare try to poison him here? They were weirdos, certainly, but…Yes, they might try to poison him. The elaborate setup confused him, though. Hellstrom surely must've known about Peruge's death. Who else could've ordered that? Who had they been expecting for this meal, then? Knowledge of Peruge's death could mean they'd prepared this luncheon as an elaborate sham. That might mean they'd prepared nothing but straightforward, wholesome food. God! That smelled good in the kitchen. He loved pork chops.

Hellstrom was staring calmly out the window at the other end of the table, his manner casual, unconcerned. “You know, Fancy, I always like it when we eat here. We should do this more often, instead of grabbing a quick lunch on the set.”

“Or missing lunch entirely,” she said. “Oh, I've noticed how you do sometimes.”

He patted his stomach. “Doesn't hurt to miss an occasional meal. I tend to fat, anyway.”

“I'm going to remind you about this,” she said. “You're going to ruin your stomach if you go on the way you've been.”

“We
have
been busy,” Hellstrom said.

They were nuts! Janvert thought. Chatting, small talk at a time like this!

Mrs. Niles backed through the swinging door, turned to reveal a plate in each hand. She hesitated a moment beside Hellstrom, then served the young woman first. When both plates were on the table, Hellstrom signaled for her to bring the drinks. He had ordered vat beer. They made a limited amount of it as a reward for superior work and as a mask to convey some of the adjustment chemicals occasionally required for reject specialists who were being sent back to dronedom.

Janvert glanced at the plate in front of the woman beside him. There was steam rising from it. The pork had been covered with gravy in which large mushrooms could be seen. There was spinach and baked potato beside the meat course and a stiff, white serving of sour cream had been spooned onto the potato. The young woman just sat there, though, hands still folded, eyes downcast. Was she praying, for Christ's sake?

Hellstrom startled him then by placing both hands folded together over his own plate and intoning, “Dear Lord, for this food we are about to eat we give our true and heartfelt thanks. May thy divine grace visit us in this sharing of the substance of life. Amen.”

The young woman joined him in the
amen
.

The wealth of feeling in Hellstrom's voice confused Janvert. And this dame, the way she joined him at the end. They must do this regularly. The ritual shook Janvert more than he liked to admit, even to himself, and he responded with anger. More of their damned acting!