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I motioned for Ivor to step forward from the concealing greenery, and the
executive's puppy-
brown eyes bulged with alarm. I said, "We're not leaving without the holo
data-dime, Clive. I
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hope you'll be reasonable. If you refuse, my friend and I are going to do
whatever it takes to change your mind."
He dropped the mortar and pestle on the lawn and shuffled backward away from
us. "Wait a mo'! You you're that boat bum from K-L! But you were supposed to
be "
"To be what?" I said. "Dead? Is that what Elgar told you?"
Suddenly Leighton bolted, taking off at top speed toward the house.
"Get him," I ordered Ivor. But the giant had anticipated me. His
bionic-stimulated muscles made him faster than I would ever have expected. He
overtook Clive Leighton almost at once, seized him by the back of the belt
with a ham-sized paw, hoisted him high, and whirled him around a couple of
times in an airplane spin. The Rampart exec's blue suede shoes pedaled the air
and he uttered a thin screech.
"Be quiet," I said, "or my associate will break some of your bones."
Ivor did something that must have been painful and Clive's scream started
falsetto and slid down the scale into a rough moan. He went limp. A dark stain
spread around the fly of his fawn slacks. He gasped, "Don't hurt me! Please
don't hurt me!"
I told Ivor, "Put him down."
The muscle complied, retaining a firm grip on his captive's neck. "This man
has micturated in his underpants." Ivor's nose wrinkled fastidiously.
"Then let's get our little errand over with," I said, "so he can clean himself
up before his guest arrives. Into the house."
Ivor frog-marched Clive Leighton along, and I opened the back door, hoping
that none of the neighbors had witnessed the strong-arm exhibition. We came
into a superbly appointed kitchen.
The stove was La Cornue, the pots and pans were Calphalon, the counters and
cabinets gleamed with black enamel, brushed steel, and ivory tile. It was the
domain of a serious and very affluent amateur cook. Recalling the fate of my
own cherished kitchen, I decided that whether or not
Clive Leighton was guilty of criminal conspiracy, I hated his yuppoid guts.
"Where do you keep your holovid files?" I said.
Clive seemed to be regaining his courage. "Why should 1 tell you?"
"To avoid painful damage to your person."
A sudden grin of triumph. "Gotcha! Now let me tell you something, Cap'n Helly
Bloody
Throwaway from Kedge-Lockaby! Surveillance cams have tracked us ever since we
climbed up the back steps, and you just screwed yourself royally by
threatening me with bodily harm. The cam records are in Rampart's central data
depository downtown. Tell this ape to let me go!"
I shook my head. "Clive, Clive, Clive. We both know that the surveillance
records won't be accessed unless you file a complaint or turn up missing or
dead. Right?"
The triumphant look changed to one of wariness.
"So I'll just have to make sure that none of those contingencies prevail. Now
where's the
holovid dime?"
"Go to hell!"
I turned to Ivor. "Encourage him just a bit more."
An enormous hand encircled Clive's throat and began to tighten. Ivor supported
the sagging body as the legal analyst gurgled thickly and his face turned
puce.
"That'll do," I said to the giant. "Turn him loose."
Leighton leaned against his splendid Sub-Zero refrigerator, gagging and
gulping air.
I said, "Clive, you stink. I'd really like to get this over and done with as
quickly as possible.
You aren't going to report us to Rampart Security. I'll tell you why in just a
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few minutes. You are going to cooperate else my associate is going to work you
over. He won't break your bones or choke you anymore. Those little ploys were
only to get your attention. Do you see that collar on
my friend's neck? Normally, it's used to temporarily increase muscle strength.
But it can do other things, too. Have you ever heard of tetany? It's a violent
spasm of the muscles accompanied by excruciating pain. The collar can bend
your spine like a pretzel. Shall we try it on you for size?"
Clive said, "You swine!"
I repeated, "Where is the holovid dime?"
The reply was almost inaudible. "In the library. Upstairs."
He would have a library.
We ascended, Clive leading the way, and entered a large, rather messy room.
There were shelves of genuine paged books as well as dedicated magslates,
e-books, and hundreds of data-
storage containers. Clive sullenly pointed to a cluttered table. Almost lost
amid the empty Diet
Coke and beer chillinders, dirty coffee cups, printouts, and bottles of
Maa-lox and Zintrin, was a red plastic box. I opened it and found a neat
collection of coded 1.5cm disklets in tylar envelopes.
"Find me the dime you recorded on Kedge-Lockaby," I said.
Clive propped himself against the table, glowering at me. Finally he took the
filecase, spoke to it, and handed over the tiny envelope that had popped into
the eject tray.
The holocamera sat on a shelf with other technotoys. I inserted the dime into
the instrument, set it for internal view, fast forward, audio off, and looked
into the eyepiece. I hoped to hell I'd find what I was looking for. If I
didn't, I'd have to waste time going after the other three sport divers each
resident on a different planet trusting that they wouldn't find out I was
gunning for them and destroy the evidence before I could get my hands on it.
At first I thought I was out of luck with Clive Leighton's holo. The object of
my search was notably camera-shy, except when the faceplate of his diving
equipment obscured his features as he swam among the fishies. But finally I
came to the scene where the drunken young executives, belowdecks in
Pernio, celebrated after making successful shots of the dancing ruby prawns.
Clive had panned his camera unsteadily over his companions. Three of the men
were smirking and grimacing, and the fourth, only briefly glimpsed, was as
impassive as granite. I froze the stone face, zoomed in on it, and smiled in
satisfaction.
I had my mug shot of Bronson Elgar.
Unless he changed his features again, I'd be able to find the assassin if he
was on any of the
Spur worlds. And with luck, a forensic anthropologist might even get a
positive ID through bone structure.
I lowered the holocam. After extracting the data-dime, I returned it to its
envelope and tucked it into my wallet. Clive Leighton watched me, exuding pure
hate. He seemed about to say something nasty but shut his mouth when Ivor laid
an admonitory paw on his shoulder. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]