I looked at Liz, who had a be-a-sport expression on her face. I tried out a full smile to show I had recovered, but it probably came out more like a full grimace.
I tried to picture Horst as the barge serial. Seeing him gleefully grinning at me, across this flayed corpse, his skin a full shade paler than the cadaver's, with hair blacker than oil, and eyes blacker still
… It wasn't hard to imagine, not at all.
The waitress arrived with a plate of spit-roasted 'guana, and the holo-corpse disappeared. She set the plate in front of Horst on the cold steel table.
“Ah, now that looks delicious,” he said as he waved the steaming scent in toward his nose. He peered at me through the steam and must've caught some steam of a different kind coming off my face. “You're not upset are you? It was just a joke.” He stabbed his fork into the 'guana's flank and twirled a piece of meat free. He dipped it into the spiced juices and offered it to me.
I shook my head.
He dipped again before putting it in his mouth. “I love Lagartan food. You can't get anything like it in space. You can get the same spices, and you can find iguana meat in the specialty stores, but it's never the same. I'm always raving about the food, but you bring somebody to a Lagartan restaurant up there, and they think you're crazy. Half of them can't stomach the idea of eating reptile. And the half who can are repulsed by the sight of these creatures. They don't look like Earth iguanas, they say. Sure, there are a few adventurous ones who are willing to take a taste, but most of them say it's nothing special. I try to tell them it's different down here. It's so fresh. I bet this iguana was alive only an hour ago. Up there, your meat probably gets frozen and unfrozen two or three times before you ever get to stick a fork in it.”
I nodded like I cared. Most offworlders were repulsed by our cooking. They'd see a 'guana on a plate with the head still on, and they'd get all queasy. Horst was one of the rare ones who'd fallen in love with the food. Even then, he'd probably only done so because he got to eat in all the nice restaurants where they made an effort to make the cuisine offworld-compatible. The average Lagartan survived on an unappealing diet of un-spiced fat and gristle over rice.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, and Hoshi leaned in, telling me Ian was ready for me.
I got up without another word. Liz smiled at me and Horst nodded as he pulled a piece of bread apart for dipping.
I headed for Ian's table. Already, I could feel my face flushing with nervousness. Get a grip! I took deep breaths through my nose as I reached the booth and dropped into Hoshi's vacated seat. “She went to see the cameraman,” I said.
“So I heard.” Ian had ice in his voice.
I leaned forward, my hands on the table. “She didn't get anything out of him, but the guy's a miserable liar. She doesn't believe a word he said.”
Ian nodded. I couldn't get a read on him. I waited uneasily for him to say something. He sipped his brandy… then bit his lip… then ran his fingers through his hair…
He knows. I angled my feet toward the door, ready to make a break for it.
“I'm disappointed in you,” he said.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I'm paying you to get that cunt off my ass, and I'm not getting any results.”
“The hell you aren't. You'd still have a camera in your hair if it wasn't for me.”
Ian snatched my hand, his fingers clamping onto my splints. I reflexively punched with my free hand, my fist glancing off the top of his head. My fingers screamed as I tried to pull my right hand free from his grip. I targeted my left again, aiming low, anticipating that he might duck. My broken fingers shrieked in agony as he squeezed down on them. I threw my punch, but he blocked it effectively by lifting and turning his shoulder into my fist's path. He started twisting my hand. My fingers mashed together, bones rubbing in exquisite pain. I tried to pull my hand free, but his grip didn't budge. The bastard was strong as hell. I wouldn't doubt if-in addition to shooting 'roids-he had some offworld tech installed under those biceps.
“Stop fighting me, boy-o.”
I stopped, my eyes blinded with tears.
“You were supposed to tell her I was clean.”
I tried to talk, but I'd gone mute, my mouth just opening and closing guppy style. He loosened his grip a tad, letting me speak. I looked at the other tables-everybody purposely averted their stares, except for Horst. He was looking right at me, chewing his food, his flawless face alight with amusement.
Between heavy breaths, I said, “I did tell her you were clean. She didn't believe me.”
“You're proving my point.”
“What point?”
“That I'm not getting my money's worth.”
“I can't talk like this. Fucking let go of my hand.”
He did.
My eyes started to clear, and I could breathe again. I clutched my hand to my chest. Waves of pain ricocheted through my arm. “Listen to me, asshole, it was too late to try that Ian's-a-good-cop bullshit. Maggie knows you're dirty. She's been watching you for months. She wants that squad leader job, and she knows that she won't get it as long as you're around. She wants to bring you down, and she's not about to listen to me telling her that you're clean. Besides, me saying somebody's clean doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot to anybody who knows my history. I'm the fucking dirty cop poster boy.”
Ian was listening to me, really listening. He didn't know I'd been at the cameraman's. If he did, he and his buds would've hustled me out the back exit by now, and I'd be on my knees, begging for mercy until they fried a hole through my temple. It hadn't occurred to him that I might stay loyal to Maggie. What did a punk like Ian know about loyalty? He thought I was just a mercenary, out for hire to the highest bidder. He thought that, for all those years, I'd been nothing more than a hired hand to Chief Chang.
Confidence surged through me, making the pain in my fingers a touch more bearable. I waved a waitress over. “Get me a bottle and a glass. I want a glass, you understand me? Don't bring me one of those stupid-ass goblets.” She scurried off.
Ian stayed silent, a vein bulging on his forehead.
My hand was pulsing. “Fuck, that hurts.”
That brought out a grin from Ian. “Tell me why I should keep paying you.”
“Because we had a deal, that's why.”
“The deal was that you were going to get Maggie out of my hair.”
“I did.” I pointed at his widow's peak, where the camera used to be.
He glared at me, not enjoying the joke at all.
The booze arrived and I sucked down a pair of double shots, eager for the anesthesia to take effect. “The best I can do, Ian, is keep you a step ahead of her. We do that long enough, and she'll eventually give up.”
Ian was still looking very displeased.
I took another hit of brandy. “I'll be honest, Ian. There are things she won't tell me. She doesn't trust me entirely, but I can keep you out of her reach. You can't keep her from sniffing around. She's already onto your scent. But if you let me do my job, I can see to it she doesn't find anything. I'll be with her every step of the way, steering her away from your trail. She interviews somebody, I'm there turning the questioning around. She starts tracking something big, I ring you up so you can erase your tracks. I'm your fucking guardian angel.”
“You expect me to believe that a washed-up enforcer can protect me?”
“I protected Chief Chang for over twenty years. And his enemies were a hell of a lot scarier than Maggie Orzo.”
I had him. He was nodding his head, seeing my reasoning. “I want this problem to go away,” he said.