Luck and Death at the Edge of the World, the Official Pirate Edition (23 page)

I try the tea myself. It’s delicate and fragrant. I’m no connoisseur, but I doubt it’s from California. More 
suerte
.

“You work for him. Someone has tried to kill him. They were able to elude his elaborate security systems. You suspect us.”

“Would you tell me honestly if you were after him?”

He puts down his tea and sits back, his arms stretched out on the back of the sofa.

“You know I have no reason to lie to you. I have no fear of your police or your Forces. I have no fear of anything. If you burned this compound to the ground tomorrow I would survive and I’d build another like it within months. The 
suerte
 is on my side. I think we can speak openly.”

“I hoped that would be your view.”

“You knew it would,” he says plainly.

“I strongly suspected it.”

“Fine,” he says, in a tone that tells me he is getting down to business “Max? He is a difficult asset for us to asses. On the one hand he has been so... blessed.” He speaks the word with a greed that borders on physical hunger. Obviously he would like to acquire Max Prince’s luck. “Nonetheless, he has fallen on hard times.”

“He still makes a lot of money.”

He shrugs dismissively.

“His 
organization
 makes a lot of money. That is another matter. It is not his luck that is operating there, only ordinary commerce, investments and all the rest of it. The problem with Max, from our point of view, is that he has lost his luck. He lives in a mansion to be sure, but he doesn’t enjoy it. To me, that’s not lucky. He has wealth, but he squanders it, and anything he might actually enjoy he can’t remember the next morning. He is unhealthy and, if he doesn’t receive medical attention, he’ll die soon. His heart is weak and his liver is... delicate. Viewed objectively he is no more lucky than your average alcoholic on the street. The only differences are that he never runs out of alcohol and he goes to sleep in a bed at night. He is standing on the edge of the world too, I think, but with no one to blame but himself.”

“It’s obvious you’ve researched him.”

Suarez raises his eyebrows.

“Of course. We’d be foolish not to, given his fortune, his early successes. Still, he’s not of interest to us the way he is now. I can tell you that for sure. Twenty, thirty, maybe forty years ago it would have been a different story, but at that time our reach didn’t extend as far as it does now. Until fairly recently we only operated locally, so we weren’t in a position to acquire Max’s 
suerte
 back then. In any event, whatever luck Max Prince had ran out a long time ago.”

“What about the boy the Mexico cops picked up? He swore you wanted to acquire Max.”

Suarez looks solemn.

“Once in a while it’s necessary to test the police machinery, prod it a little, see how it behaves. Having one of our people caught is a way of gauging what we’re up against if we ever have to confront them. We need to know what their procedures are and how badly they want us. Of course we would never let that happen if the person had any genuine, current information.”

“It was a set up?”

“For strategic reasons, yes.”

“Did the boy know?”

“He was never really one of us. If he was, they couldn’t have caught him or made him talk.”

“But did he 
know
 that?”

“No. It would skew the results if he knew.”

I believe that Suarez would be ruthless enough to sacrifice the boy’s life. The question is did he really do it or is he lying to cover up an embarrassing misstep that would tarnish his organization's image of perfectly honed luck?

“What guarantee do I have that you’re telling the truth?”

“None. But I will tell you this: anyone we want dead, dies. Always and without exception. If we had wanted to kill Max, he wouldn’t have had the chance to hire you. Maybe his estate would have done so after his death, some team of lawyers, but not him. He’d be in the ground.”

“Any ideas?”

“What? About who tried to kill Max? I could tell you what I think, but why should I, really?”

“I would be indebted to you, if what you said had any merit.”

“Indebted to me? I don’t think you have any idea what that means.”

He says it simply, but there is a force behind his quiet words that makes me feel afraid of him for the first time.

“In any event, it is the Ghosts who would be indebted to me since they’re the ones who asked me to speak to you. Any debt you owed would be to them. Do you want that?”

I have to think about that for a moment.

“I can live with it.”

Suarez smiles. It’s an odd smile, that of someone playing a game, someone who’s served well in a tennis match and is curious to see if the other player can return the ball.

“Fine, then I will tell you what I know that might be of use to you. I assume you have spoken to his granddaughter, Porsche?”

“Of course, she was the first person I interviewed.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“That she’s wired. It prevents her from harming Max. James Jerome, Max’s attorney, confirmed it.”

Vicente makes a sour face.

“You don’t listen for what’s important. No offence,” he adds.

“None taken,” I say, feeling offended anyway.

“What else did she tell you?”

“She said it couldn’t be her. She said she’d love it if he died, but she wasn’t able to make it happen.”

Suarez sits forward now, looking avid and alert.

“Right, 
exactly
. What does that tell you?”

I think for a moment.

“That she was truthful. What she said was borne out later when I talked to Jerome.”

“Pah,” Suarez makes a sound like a disappointed teacher. “You have a brain, use it!” His eyes are bright, eager, waiting.

“She said she’d love for him to die, she’d like to inherit his fortune.”

“
Yes!
” Suarez says emphatically.

“But she can’t arrange it, she can’t even ask for it.”

“That’s true, she can’t ask directly, but she can 
express
 it. She can describe what she wants, which is an indirect way of asking for it. She said it to you, after all, why couldn’t she say it to others?”

“You think she let someone know what she wanted without asking directly, just by expressing her desire?”

“She certainly could have. Now, let’s consider Porsche. What do you know about her?”

“She’s a sensualist. Sex is her sport.”

“And is she submissive about it?”

I think about the evening I spent with her, her avidness, the way she’d arranged things, the way she made sure she got what she wanted, no matter who paid the price.

“No, she’s controlling.”

“Right. That is right. You had sex with her, I assume?” I hesitate, but can’t see any reason to deny it. Besides, he probably already knows.

“Yes.”

“Yes, and it was intoxicating? Better than most sex?”

“At the time, yes. Later I felt kind of sick about it, but at the time it was... powerful.”

Suarez sits forward and puts down his iced tea.

“Yes, she’s built to have that effect during sex, her augmentation, her demeanor, the drugs she uses. So, think about someone who is not you. Someone who doesn’t have your moral qualms. He could easily be caught up by her, right? find himself wanting her so badly that it is like a need, like an addiction. Especially if he’s had her more than once and then faces the possibility of being dropped for a new lover.”

“Sure, I can see that.”

“And to that person she could have confessed the same thing she told you—that she would love nothing more than for Max to die. To get his fortune.”

Now 
I
 sit forward.

“Of course.”

“Perhaps she would imply that she would return to him if he made it happen. Even pretend she would share her new wealth with him.” He sweeps his arm dramatically. “She would be his, and they would live in luxury together for the rest of their lives. They could take Max’s money and do anything they wanted!”

“But she’s slept with hundreds of men, maybe thousands. Your theory’s good, but it doesn’t exactly narrow the list of suspects.”

Now Suarez looks truly disgusted with me.

“You... what is wrong with you? Has she hypnotized you? Use your Forces training… you were a soldier once.”

He’s pissing me off, but I try not to show it.

“What do you mean?”

“Yes,” he says, enunciating elaborately as though he’s talking to a child, “there’s a long list of lovers, but amongst those there can only be a short list who would have the skills or the money to get past Max’s security system. Am I right?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“And who are they?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t checked who she’s had sex with. I’d have to cross-reference.”

“I’ll tell you. We researched Max, as you know. We are very thorough, so of course we researched Porsche as well. She isn’t discreet, so it wasn’t hard to compile a long list of her lovers. Perhaps we didn’t get all of them, but I suspect we did pretty well.”

“And?”

“And most of them are human garbage. There are the ones she chooses for fun, for their looks: actors, models, strays she picks up on the street. Then there are the ones she picks for the frisson that comes from getting famous men into bed: sim stars, musicians, authors, artists. There are some she picks for the pure immorality of it: her acquaintances’ husbands and the like. Then there are the rich ones who can add a little cash to the allowance she gets from Max: industrialists, sim producers, and their ilk.”

“The rich ones wouldn’t have the talent, but they could afford to hire it.”

“Don’t be stupid. They don’t need Max’s money as badly as the others, so they would risk less to get it. On top of that, they didn’t get where they are by taking unnecessary chances, they are naturally risk-averse. Last, but still important, they often look fat and soft, but their hearts are hard. They are used to being in control. Do you see one of these guys turning into Porsche’s tame errand boy?”

“Probably not.”

“It’s not impossible. Sex can make even hard men weak, but it’s not likely at all. No, you’re not looking for someone of that caliber. A little lower down the ladder, though. Now there you might find someone interesting. Someone who’s well off, but who isn’t truly rich and would like to be. Someone who has a position of apparent power, but who still has to follow orders, still has to work for another man, a master. Someone, say, who has aspirations to be a big player but for now is just another lawyer.”

“Jerome? Are you serious? I got the impression he hated Porsche”

“Of course you did, you were supposed to. And I would suspect that he honestly resents her for abandoning him, but that he’d love to have her back.”

“They actually had an affair?”

“Last year. It lasted about six months.”

“And she ended it.”

“She 
always
 ends it. As you said yourself, she is controlling. She’s also easily bored—so easily bored, in fact, that it’s hard to imagine why she would have forced herself to have sex with a boring old man like James Jerome when he didn’t have the kind of money that her truly rich lovers did. He certainly wasn’t good looking enough or famous, so why? What could he give her?”

I stand up and Suarez follows suit.

“Thank you.”

He smiles.

“Don’t thank me, thank the Ghosts. It’s them you owe.”

“I’d better get back to L.A.”

“Of course. Come, I’ll show you out.”

Along the way he hands me a business card—no name, just a kaikki ID.

“I’ve enjoyed meeting you Mr. Burroughs. You’re always welcome here, but if you need to speak to me again, you don’t have to fly all the way down from L.A. Call me if you need me.”

“Thanks. Why the goodwill?”

“There are many ways to gather good fortune, Mr. Burroughs. Extending goodwill is one of them.” He smiles. “Sometimes, you know, the simplest ways work the best.”

As I leave the compound I search in vain for a taxi to take me back to the downtown hotels. Planning to get a night’s sleep, then head home, I slip the kaikki headpiece back on.

The surrounding neighborhood is even more depressing after being in Suarez’s clean, well-kept compound. The smell seems worse -- more degraded, more carnal -- as though there is something dead around here. On top of a meaty odor is the noxious perfume of petroleum. There are oil fields a few klicks away, and the wind coming from the north is awash in the sticky stink of it.

The girl who led me here is nowhere in sight. A skinny dog approaches me and bares its teeth, wagging its tail at the same time. Uncertain whether I might attack it or feed it, it doesn’t know how to respond, so it prepares for either eventuality. Who ever said dogs were dumb? Anyway, I’m not about to do it any harm, but I don’t have any food with me either. It follows me for a while, but eventually stops, standing still and staring after me. I look back and wish I could give it a fifty-peso note, like I did with the girl. Then, for a bare, fleeting moment, an alarm goes off in my head. I turn away from the dog to find its source but by the time I complete the motion the world is gone.

I awake in a dumb haze: dumb as in stupid, dumb as in unable to speak. I’m unable to move and for the most part unable to see, just light and dark patches. I can hear voices but they sound distorted and muffled, as though I were under water, or trying to hear through a wall into a neighboring room. I can make out the tone, but the words, the meaning, escape me entirely. There are at least two men. I know because sometimes they both speak at once. There’s at least one woman too, and even in this state I can guess that she’s in charge. The men’s voices are belligerent, while hers is firm but quiet. At one point, when both men are speaking, she silences them. A moment later a large dark shape looms against the light of the background, growing larger as it gets nearer.

“... oo eer muh...”

She’s clearly talking to me, but I can’t make out the words. My head is clearing a little, but I’m still too stunned to understand. She says something to someone else, then repeats herself to me.