She stopped the cruiser in front of the house and they both got out. Friedrich climbed out with a grunt, grumbling, “damned waste of time.”
It was when they rounded the side of the house and saw the mess in the yard that they both became fully alert. Bloody tracks and the few bits of meat left by the trachs covered everything. An empty shoe lay on the porch steps.
“What happened?” demanded Kwok, dragging out her pistol.
Friedrich pulled his weapon out smoothly and stepped into the open, eyes sweeping the scene. “Can’t be just an early slaughter, too close to the breeding season. See the barn door? It’s wide open.”
“But where are all the jaxes?”
“Dev wouldn’t have sent his jaxes into the high pastures this time of year, not with all the landsharks hatching in the woods.”
Kwok nodded, heading toward the shoe on the porch. “The screen door’s been crashed in. It looks like the boy’s shoe, here. Call in and report. Request a backup cruiser.”
Friedrich tapped his earphone and called headquarters.
“Could be someone hurt in there. We have to go into the house-now,” said Kwok. She looked Friedrich in the eye; both were scared.
Together they entered the house, following the odd trail left by the killbeast the night before. The three-clawed holes in the kitchen tiles were particularly disturbing.
Neither of them saw the culus that had flattened itself out against the roof of the barn, camouflaged to match the color of the shingles. When they moved out of sight, the culus rose up and dived from the roof, disappearing into the forest.
Down in the cellar, the two officers and Sarah came within seconds of shooting one another in the dark.
Daddy ordered a second platter of roasted air-swimmers while Mudface picked at his first. The waiter took the order with a forced smile, tactfully waiting until he had turned away from the men before putting a perfumed hanky to his nose.
“I won’t have this kind of thing. I don’t like coming down here and there’s going to be hell to pay,” said Daddy. Bits of roasted meat jetted from his blubbery lips.
“Yeah,” said Mudface. He picked at the black scabs on his forehead. “Looks like she ran out on us.”
“At the very least she screwed the pooch and lost our shipment,” expounded Daddy, shaking a large forkful of meat at his son. “We can’t let people get the idea that we’re soft. Nobody pulls one over on the boys from Sharkstooth.”
“I kinda liked her though,” complained Mudface. “A young man has plans, Daddy.”
Anger brewed on Daddy’s face. His fatty jowls pulled down in deep folds. “I won’t have no backtalk from you, boy.”
“So we’re just gonna kill her?”
“No, we’re gonna do more than that,” said Daddy, his mood lifting. He munched another forkful of air-swimmer, then grinned. Dark flecks showed on his teeth. “First, we’re gonna have a little fun with our shotguns, some cameras and her pretty little behind. We need plenty of pictures to hand around to people who might be getting funny ideas.”
After dinner the two men moved into the bar and once the maitre’d told the bartender who they were, they were served two foaming mugs of beer. A news update on KXUT interrupted the rayball highlights.
“Hey, that’s the bitch now,” exclaimed Daddy, blowing beer all over the bar.
Sarah and Bili were both shown in a news snippet concerning the mysterious disappearance of an entire farming family. The announcer explained that they had been connected with the failed smuggling attempt on Wednesday and were being held at the Hofstetten detention center for questioning. The cameras did a slow pan of the house, the yard and the bloody mess in the barn. Militia officer Choy came on for about three seconds, saying that a rogue landshark was probably responsible, that perhaps the family had tried to harbor landshark hatchlings and had paid the ultimate price.
Mudface whistled and squinted at the holo-plate. “What the hell did she get herself into? They said something about another smuggler. Could we have some competition horning in on us here?”
“We’ll find out,” said Daddy, blowing the top off another mug of beer. “We’ll find out everything.”
A long low limo pulled off the cross-colony highway and slid into Hofstetten’s main street. Governor Hans Zimmerman himself rode in the back, fuming. The limo floated up to the gates of the militia detention center and was quickly admitted.
Irritably, Zimmerman brushed past the guard at the door, shoving his ID card at the duty Sergeant. Surprised, the Sergeant ran the card through the checker and nodded him through to the Captain’s office. The Captain, having only just gotten word of Zimmerman’s visit, was still busy shoving papers, holo-disks and bottles into his desk.
“What a pleasant surprise this visit is, Governor,” he said, rubbing his hands together and snapping the top buttons of his uniform.
“Cut the crap,” Zimmerman commanded, making a sweeping gesture. “I’m here to take custody of that woman and her kid.”
“The ones from Dev’s farm?” asked the Captain, surprised.
“Yes, yes, be quick about it, man.”
“I must say, Governor, this comes as a shock.”
“Yes,” sighed the Governor. “It’s a bit of a surprise for me, too.”
“But our magistrate hasn’t even set bail yet, sir. They haven’t even been charged yet, although it looks like they’ll at least get smuggling and resisting arrest. We haven’t figured out what they had to do with the murders of the family of farmers.”
“Murders? I thought the family had simply disappeared.”
“Yes, well, the evidence shows that the family members were indeed killed, along with much of their jax herd.
“I’m too busy for such nonsense just now, Captain.”
“But we haven’t even set bail yet, sir,” repeated the Captain with emphasis.
Zimmerman glared at the man for several seconds. “So you want money, is that it?” He stifled the man’s protests with upraised hands, pulling out a checkbook. He keyed in his code and the device instantly spit out a 5000 credit voucher. “This will have to take care of it.”
The Captain eyed the amount critically.
“Well? Are you going to get them or do I have to order my deputies into your cellblock?” demanded Zimmerman.
“I will get them, Governor,” said the Captain stiffly. “I must point out, however, that the amount is certainly less than what the magistrate would set for charges of such gravity. I assume, of course, that your office would be good for the difference in case anything, ah-unexpected should happen.”
“Of course,” said Zimmerman. He made a dismissive gesture. “I must say that I find your demeanor less than cordial, Captain.”
Tucking the credit voucher into his breast pocket, the Captain manufactured a smile. “If you would be so good as to wait in the outer office, I will have the prisoners delivered to you. The duty Sergeant will handle the required processing of codes. Oh, and by the way, do you wish them to be under restraints?”
“Yes, certainly. Magnetic cuffs should be sufficient.”
Sarah and Bili were hustled up the stairs and through the security gate. There they were greatly surprised to meet Governor Zimmerman, whose face they recognized from the holo-plate news snippets. He had with him three burly men wearing autoshades set to extra dark.
Governor Zimmerman flagged a second limo, which pulled up behind the first. “If you two will excuse me,” he said, “I’m late for a dinner engagement.” He gave Bili an absent pat on the head and graced Sarah with a smile and a nod before climbing into his limo.
The deputies still gripped Sarah’s elbow. She twisted her hands, but the magnetic cuffs held as if welded. “Where are you taking us?” she demanded. Loose strands of hair hung down into her face, matted with sweat.
“Right this way, madam,” said one of the deputies, his eyes invisible behind midnight-black shades.