Travis nodded. “Successful police work is all about good information, you know that. I already knew about you and where you were, and my team was already on its way.”
The informant had to be Mandy, Norton realised. That was why she’d been so calm when the masked intruders arrived. It was no coincidence that they had appeared so soon after her interview was shown. It must have been part of the deal.
“Why did they have to free me like that?”
“They didn’t free you. You belonged to Corpses Unlimited. Now you belong to… Cops Unlimited!”
“You mean you… you stole me?”
“No,” said Travis. “We’re the police. We don’t steal. We redistribute. If we could have bought you, we would have. Because of the Crash, we’re still operating under severe budget limitations.”
“Those three cops—”
“They’re not cops,” Travis interrupted. “They’re history professors. I paid them to check you out, then get you out. They did it the other way around.”
Norton had heard of tough schools, but college students must have been extremely violent these days. “Do professors always carry guns?”
“Usually only on assassination missions.”
“What?”
“Death threats really improve examination results.”
“You must be kidding.”
“Yes.” Travis smiled. “Guns are dangerous. People can get hurt or killed. That’s why terminal armaments are severely restricted.” He put his hand on his sword hilt. “This is my authorised weapon.”
“Okay, so those guys were a gang of teachers with illegal weapons?”
“Imitation weapons, but they didn’t know that. They were armed to make sure you behaved. You could have been dangerous, a human slaughter machine from three centuries ago.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“Successful police work is all about good character analysis,” said Travis.
“If I’d been a homicidal maniac, what use were imitation guns?”
“No use at all. That’s why I didn’t send my own men. A few history professors are expendable.”
“They didn’t know much history,” said Norton.
“More expendable than I thought.”
“Those who know nothing,” said a girl’s voice, “teach. Those who know less than nothing teach history.”
Norton glanced around and saw the waitress. She’d brought a huge tray laden with food, which she held with one hand. Her other hand twirled her parasol. As she slid the meal onto the table, Norton realised she had been guiding the floating tray with her fingertips.
“Great service here,” said Travis.
“Glad you appreciate it,” said the waitress, then she bent down and kissed him full on the lips.
Great service? So it seemed.
“My darling,” said Travis, “meet John Wayne. John Wayne, this is my daughter.”
Norton glanced from Travis to the waitress. His daughter…?
He started to stand, holding out his right hand to shake hers. As he rose, she leaned toward him, her hand caressing his cheek, then sliding around his neck, stroking the back of his head. She pulled his face to hers, his mouth against her mouth. Her lips parted, and her tongue slipped between his lips and found Norton’s tongue. She kissed him deeply.
For a few seconds, he was too astonished to respond, and then his own lips and tongue started to greet hers—which was when she drew away.
“Very fine,” she said, and she joined them at the table.
“Er… yeah,” said Norton.
He’d never been complimented on his kissing technique before. Everything he knew, he’d learned from Susie.
Susie…
He’d tried to put her out of his mind, but couldn’t. If all historical records had been deleted, then he would never know what had happened to her. He was glad. Norton would never forget Susie, and he could never be tempted to check her biography.
Susie had been his first real girlfriend. Until now, she’d been the only one who had ever kissed him like that.
It seemed that kissing wasn’t what it used to be, because the girl had also kissed Travis.
Her father…?
At least that hadn’t been tongue to tongue.
Travis was looking at Norton. “Verified,” he said, which Norton realised must have been what the girl had really said.
Before Norton had a chance to ask what had been verified, Travis thrust his right hand toward him, and automatically Norton put out his own hand to be shaken. Instead, Travis’s hand gripped Norton’s wrist, and so Norton wrapped his own fingers around Travis’s wrist. Then Travis offered his left hand, and Norton did the same. The two men had their arms crossed, each with both hands gripping the other’s wrists.
“Welcome, brother,” Travis said, as he stared into Norton’s eyes.
“Er… thanks,” Norton muttered. “It’s always good to meet a brother officer.”
“A superior officer,” Travis reminded him, as he released his grip on Norton’s arms.
Travis could have been around fifty years old; the girl was perhaps half that age. He was black; under her spectrum of makeup, she was white.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Norton said to her.
“He says he’s John Wayne,” said Travis. “I said I’m Colonel Travis. Tell him your name.”
“I’m… Diana.”
“Diana Travis?” said Norton.
“Yes,” she said, with hardly any hesitation. “I thought you were a convict when I first saw you,” she added, as she studied Norton.
“Those are the only things he’d wear,” said Travis, shrugging.
Diana reached for one of the drinks and passed it to Norton.
“Thanks,” he said. “You work here?”
“Do you?” she said.
“Er… no.”
“Neither do I. I’m here to eat, to drink, to see my father, and to question you.”
“You’re in the police?”
“I ask the questions around here!” said Diana.
Travis laughed, Diana laughed, and after a moment Norton laughed. Diana spun her parasol, closing the vanes. Then she twisted the handle, and a gleaming blade slid from the tip.
“My official police weapon,” she said. She retracted the blade and laid the parasol across her lap, as if ready for a quick draw.
“The major is also your superior officer,” said Travis.
First Colonel Travis, now Major Travis. Did they also have generals in the police?
“Was your father a cop?” asked Travis, the colonel.
“No.”
“Was your mother a cop?” asked Travis, the major.
“No.”
“These days,” said Travis, the elder, “we like to keep it in the family.”
“Because you can always trust your family,” said Travis, the younger. “Usually always. Maybe.”
Norton had known a few cops whose fathers had been in the force, but now it seemed that the job was hereditary.
“Where do I fit into this?” he asked.
“You’re one of us,” said Colonel Travis, “you’re family.”
“Maybe even,” said Major Travis, “our godfather.”
“Diane,” said Travis senior.
It sounded like a warning, which Norton didn’t understand.
“Diana,” said Travis junior.
It sounded like a correction, which Norton did understand. In his time, it was the criminals who adopted false identities. Now, it was the cops who used aliases.
None of the decorations on Colonel Travis’s tunic resembled a police badge, and Norton realised it would be pointless asking to see some official ID because he certainly wouldn’t recognise it.
Even if they weren’t on the force, this was much better than being with Brendan and Mandy. Brendan had intended to sell him, and Mandy never intended to have sex with him.