Once Nohar's eyes had adjusted to the nearly black interior of the cargo van, he could see it. The frank was vaguely humanoid and had a pasty white color to its rubbery skin. Its limbs seemed tubular and boneless, and its fingers were fused into a mittenlike hand. It wore a pink's clothes, but its pale bulk was fighting them. Rolls of white flesh cascaded over its belt, its collar, even its shoes. Glassy eyes, a lump of a nose, and a lipless mouth were collected together on a pear-shaped head. Its face seemed incapable of showing any expression. It seemed that, if the clothes were removed, the frank would just slide down and form a puddle on the ground.
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The frank also massed more than Nohar did though it was a meter shorter. Whatever gene-tech had designed this monstrosity had sere wed-up bigtime.
Until now, Nohar could never quite fathom the reason for the pinks' horror at the franks. It seemed bizarre to him that humans, who took all the genetic tinkering with other species in stride, were so aghast when someone tinkered with their own. If this was a sample of what happened, Nohar could begin to understand. Maybe, thought Nohar, pink genes didn 't take kindly to fiddling. The voice was the same as the one over the comm— deep, bubbly, and, somehow, slimy. "Are you the detective, Nohar Raj asthan?"
Briefly, Nohar wondered if he needed the money this badly-he did. "Yes."
Nohar began to feel warmth coming from the back of the van. Nohar realized that the frank had the heat on in the van, all the way. Back where the frank was sitting it could be fifty degrees. An unpleasant sound emerged from the frank's mass. It could have been a belch. "We have fifteen minutes before van goes to next stop, forgive. I need to smuggle myself out. Have to keep meeting secret."
Nohar shrugged. "Then you better get on with it."
At least the frank took Nohar's appearance in stride. In most of the directories it didn't mention that Nohar was the only moreau in the city with a private investigator's license. For some people, his address wasn't a big enough clue. Of course a pink detective would have a problem with this guy, even more so than with Nugoya. At least with Nugoya, a pink could pretend the guy had been human.
"What kind of job? Surveillance or missing persons?"
Nohar heard flesh shifting as the frank moved. * 'Do you know who is being buried down the hill?"
Chalk one up for obvious conclusions. The stiff was involved. "Rich, human, lots of friends."
Another ugly sound emerged from the mass of white
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flesh. It might have been a laugh. "The dead man is a politician. His name is Daryl Johnson. He is the campaign manager for twelfth district congressman, Joseph Binder."
Nohar was wondering about the frank's weird accent when he realized that the frank had ducked his first question. "What's the job?" "I must know who killed Daryl Johnson." Nohar almost laughed, but he knew the frank was serious. "Outside my specialty." So much for the money he needed. "I don't mess with police investigations—"
"There is no police investigation." Nohar was getting irritated with the frank's bubbling monotone. "I work with moreys. I don't work with human problems. You got the wrong P.I."
"Binder pressures the police, they close the case. I need to know if someone in my company is responsible for Johnson's death ... "
Nohar looked straight into the frank's eyes. That usually unnerved people, but the frank was as expressionless as ever. ' * Did you hear what I said?'' It took Nohar a while to realize that the reason he didn't like the frank's eyes was because they didn't blink.
"Let me finish, Mr. Rajasthan. You are the only person I can contact for this job. For obvious reasons, I am unable to hire a human investigator—" "No solidarity shit."
"Practical matter. No qualified human is willing to talk to me. My company is Midwest Lapidary Imports. We're privately owned. We import gemstones from South Africa. The board is formed of South African refugees—" "All like you?" The frank showed no ofFense at the question. "Yes, like me. We retain contacts in the mining industry—" Nohar got a picture of the South African gene-techs trying to create a modified human miner. Hell, maybe the frank's appearance wasn't a mistake. For all Nohar FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
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knew, this guy was perfectly adapted for work in a five-mile-deep hole. Nohar stopped musing and waited for the frank to get to the point. "To succeed, the owners of Midwest Lapidary Imports, MLI, need to remain hidden, unnoticed, private. The company will not survive if our existence is widely known.
"With Johnson's death there is the possibility that one of our number is behind the murder ... "
Nohar sighed. Learn something new every day. A bunch of franks were importing diamonds from South Africa, probably illegally. The pinks would just love that idea. The Supreme Court was still debating if the 29th amendment even covered the franks. No one knew yet if the franks were covered by the Bill of Rights, the limited tnorey amendment, or nothing at all. Before the pinks hi this country had even locked down the legal status of engineered humans, here were a few, acting just like eager little capitalists. "You said Binder's blocking the investigation. What are you worried about?"
"One kills once, one kills again. You have no idea what it would mean if one of our number is directly involved in a human's death. The company is a worthy project, but someone may commit atrocities hi its name. I cannot, nor can anyone else, abide our secrecy, our existence, if one of us kills to further our ends."
"How is your organization involved?"
"The police call it a robbery-murder because there are over three million dollars in campaign funds missing from his house—"
"Sounds plausible." Nohar realized that he was just leading the frank on. He had some natural curiosity, but there was no sane way he could touch this case.
The frank's bulk groaned and rippled as he leaned toward Nohar. The heat and stench that floated off of the frank's body almost made Nohar wince. "I am the accountant for MLI. The three million that is missing is never there. Campaign records the police use are
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wrong about this. The money comes from MLI, and should be there. But 1 handle the books and such a sum never leaves our accounts, or, if it does, it returns before the sum is debited.
"I do not go to the police. For now I must retain the secrecy. I can be wrong. I cannot damage the company until my suspicions are proved correct. I can't work within MLI. I have no idea who of my colleagues are involved. And I am closely watched—"
Nohar stood up. "I don't deal with anything involving murder. I have to walk from this one—find an out-of-towner."
"I have a five thousand retainer, and I will pay five times your usual rate, another five thousand when you complete the job successfully."
Nohar froze, his usual rate was five hundred a day. No, he told himself, it's a bad job all over. You don't get involved with killings. You don't get involved with pinks. You don't get involved with things bigger than you are. Against his will, he found himself saying, "Double the retainer."
It was a ludicrous request. The frank would never go for it. He'd be able to walk away clean.
"Agreed."
Damn it. "Plus expenses."
"Of course."
Nohar had trapped himself.
"Time closes in on us." The frank handed him an envelope. Ten thousand. He'd been anticipated. "Start with Johnson, work back. Do not contact anyone at MLI. I'll contact you every few days. Get any information about MLI through me. We have few minutes. Any immediate questions?''
Nohar was still looking at the cash. "Why is a bunch of franks backing a reactionary right-winger like Binder?"
"Quid-pro-quo, Mr. Rajasthan. The corporate entity will see its interests served in the Senate. The fact that we're of a background Binder despises is of little