Indeed, Tableau's eyes flashed with a predator's alertness. "Who are you talking to, to get a story like that?"
"Well," Stake stammered slightly, "I'm just starting out on this case, but I did put in a call to the Arbury School, and-"
"My daughter isn't a thief. And she hardly needs to sell stolen goods to make money, if you get my meaning." He waved his arms to encompass his office. "And for that matter, she has one of those dolls herself! I gave her the money for the stupid thing."
"Well, it's just that I heard she and Yuki aren't exactly the best of friends."
"Yeah, so? And that kid's father and I aren't the best of friends either, but my daughter wouldn't run away from home just because she stole a doll."
Stake glanced about the room at the animals behind the clear barrier. He was afraid to continue looking into Tableau's eyes; they were just too intense. He felt the knit of his face rustle on some nearly subliminal level. Maintaining his casual tone, he said, "Well, it's just that I'm told that doll was created at Fukuda Bioforms using some very controversial research."
"I don't know about that, and I don't care. I'm in the meat-making business, not the freak-making business like that arrogant son of a bitch."
Stake resisted the urge to bring up the hominid which presently crouched in its cell sifting through its fur for imaginary fleas. Though now Stake wouldn't put it past Tableau to breed fleas specifically for the purpose of tormenting that pitiful creature.
"As a product of that research," he said, "the doll could be very enlightening to another bio-engineer. Hence its extra value."
"Are you suggesting. you're not suggesting my daughter stole that doll to give to me, are you? So I could study Fukuda's techniques?"
"I'm just passing along the rumors that-"
"Well, she didn't!" Tableau snapped. "Even if she did steal it to give to me, where is she? Huh? Where is my daughter? This talk about that Fukuda kid's doll is not helping me out here, Mr. McMartinez. And you said you were going to help me find my daughter. I don't give a blast about John Fukuda's freaky research or his spoiled brat's toys."
"I understand, sir," Stake said, trying to calm the man.
Mr. Jones reentered the room then with a tray containing two coffees and a plate of croissants.
"About fucking time, Jones," Tableau grumbled to the clone, taking his own coffee.
"Yes, sir. Sorry," the war vet intoned.
Tableau addressed Stake again. "Okay, look, you keep in touch with me and I'll keep in touch with you. But you'll only be helping me if you stick to a realistic scenario."
"Mr. Tableau, I just feel it's in your daughter's best interest if we consider every possibility, no matter how far fetched it might seem at this point. As you say, Krimson is only sixteen. It's a volatile age. She might have done something impulsive and then, out of fear of the consequences, decided to run off. Either alone, or with her mystery man."
"I admit that mystery man angle is one we need to keep looking into."
"Well, that I'll do, sir."
Stake had finished about half his coffee when Tableau announced he had a business meeting coming up in fifteen minutes. Stake rose and the men shook hands again. The older man's grip was crushing. "Okay, then. Like I say, you keep in touch," Tableau said.
"Thanks for your help and hospitality."
Jones preceded Stake to the door and held it open for him. "I'll drive you back to your office now, sir."
"Jones, let Mr. Doe drive our guest back. I need you to be in that meeting with me." "Very well, Mr. Tableau. Then I'll be right back."
The clone walked Stake down a carpeted hallway and into another office, its door labeled SECURITY. In this large room, Stake was disconcerted-if not surprised-to see two clones identical to Mr. Jones sitting at two of the desks.
"Mr. Doe-would you give our guest Mr. McMartinez, here, a ride back to his office at 969 Trade Avenue? The Center for Missing and Exploited Children?"
One of the two other clones stood up promptly, retrieving a bowler hat from where he'd set it down. "Certainly. Come with me please, sir."
Stake smiled over his shoulder at Jones as he was led out of the security office. "Thanks. Mr. Jones. See you again." He couldn't resist the playfulness of the words. As he accompanied the black-suited Doe to the heliport on the roof, it was as though his escort had never been changed.
The next man on Adrian Tableau's computer screen looked furtive because he was hiding in a toilet stall, and he was hiding in a toilet stall because he didn't want his coworkers to see him take this call on his wrist comp. And he didn't want that, because this man-Gordon Fester- worked for Fukuda Bioforms.
Jones stood by his boss's desk as Tableau spoke to this man, to whom he had approached and offered money shortly after Fukuda Bioforms had assimilated Alvine Products. "I had a terrible thought a little while ago, Fester, and I wanted to run it by you."
"Yeah?" the furtive face whispered. Tableau heard a toilet flush in another stall.
"You know my daughter Krimson is missing. Well, it's come to my attention that a rumor at her school has my daughter stealing a doll belonging to John Fukuda's daughter, one of those blasting kiwi things or whatever they are."
"Kawaii-dolls; yeah. His daughter Yuki's doll got stolen out of her locker, I guess. It's got to be worth a lot to him, because I hear he had a special team make it."
"Some kind of experimental research?"
"Right. The team was headed up by Pablo Fujiwara. Pablo was a designer at Alvine Products, who survived when the earthquake ripped through it."
"So Fukuda is hot to get this thing back." "Yeah. I hear he hired a private investigator to look for it." "Really? Do you know that person's name?" "No."
"Find out. Because the terrible thought I have is this, Fester. If people think Krimson stole this doll, then that means John Fukuda might blame Krimson for it, too. And if Fukuda believes that, then maybe the son of a bitch has done something to my daughter."
On the computer screen, Gordon Fester widened his eyes and nodded in horror at the thought. "Wow. Yeah, I don't know."
"Well look into it! And get me the name of the detective he hired. If Fukuda has done something to Krimson-kidnapped her or… whatever-then he might have hired someone like that as muscle."
"I'll see what I can find out," Tableau's inside man promised, knowing that he'd be well compensated for his efforts.
Adrian Tableau disconnected, then looked up at Mr. Jones, who loomed above him like a statue. "If Fukuda has hurt a hair on her head," he growled, "I'll skin that fuck alive. And I'll skin his daughter alive in front of him, before I do."
A peripheral movement caused Tableau to look up and see a blob of fresh feces splatted against the inner wall of the hominid's cell. It was glaring out at him defiantly.
"Jones," Tableau said, "you know how people crack open the skulls of living monkeys to eat their brains?"
"Yes, sir."
"Find me a chef who can do that."
CHAPTER TWELVE
going down
With her long hair gathered up in a loose pony-tail, Javier put a hand on the back of Mira's neck, but lightly, not so much guiding her head's movements as integrating himself with them. Meshed gears in a machine of pleasure. He leaned back slightly against the edge of the sink. His navel was at the level of her forehead. Both of them had removed their clothes, but neither had stepped into the shower. He stared down at her body. Her entire legs-plump and awkwardly bent-didn't even reach the level of his knees, but her torso was nearly of regular proportion and he admired the distended sphere of her bottom.
The pleasure was becoming too intense. He pulled back from her, reached down to that rounded bottom, took its cheeks in his hands and hoisted her up. Her legs hooked over his. With a gasp, looking in his face, she let him inside. He was afraid to hurt her, watched her eyes, but her mouth gaped open in something other than pain or protest. She put hands as small and dimpled as those of a toddler on his face, drew it to hers. Their tongues slithered over each other in a frenzy.