"Ah," I said. "At any rate, that's the bad news. The good news is that he thinks Bayta and I are the ones here to do it. Ergo, he's going to be keeping his beady little eyes on us, not middle-aged joggers."
"Well, that's something, anyway," McMicking said.
"Unless someone reports we were together tonight," Bayta warned.
"Not a problem," McMicking assured her. "I won't be wearing this particular face again."
"Wait a second," I said as the nagging feeling suddenly fell into place. "You said Hardin's rep reported a cubic meter of coral?"
"About that, yes," McMicking confirmed. "All in Veldrick's meditation room?"
"Again, yes," McMicking said. "Why?"
I grimaced. "Because at least a third of it isn't there anymore."
For a long moment McMicking stared at and through me, his eyes narrowed. "Interesting," he said at last, his voice casual. "So Mr. Veldrick's decided to be awkward about this. I don't suppose you were given a tour of the whole house?"
"No, just the great room, the meditation room, and the guest suite," I said. "But just shifting it around the house hardly seems worth the effort."
"But he did say Modhran coral helps grease the wheels of commercial enterprise," Bayta offered. "Maybe that means he's given out pieces as gifts."
"More likely as bribes," I said. "He also went out of his way to mention it worked especially well on non-Humans."
"Clever little man," McMicking mused. "A fair percentage of those offworlders will have diplomatic immunity. Even those who don't are probably covered by trade agreements that limit what local law enforcement can do to them."
"He was probably hoping to scatter most of his collection around Imani City before Hardin made his move," I said.
"With the expectation that he would get at least some of it back at a future date," McMicking agreed. "When his friends at Customs reported Frank Donaldson of Hardin Industries had arrived, he must have been rather annoyed."
"Hence, the invitation to visit his home and see if I reacted with the proper displeasure to his coral," I said. "I wonder what his next move will be."
McMicking's eyes flicked over my shoulder. "I think we're about to find out."
I turned around in my seat. Two Imani City policemen were striding through the restaurant toward us. "You armed?" I murmured to McMicking.
"Of course," he said. "But let's not be hasty."
They came to our table and stopped. "Mr. Frank Donaldson?" the taller one asked.
"Yes," I said. "Is there a problem?"
"I'm afraid so, sir, yes," the cop said. "I'm Sergeant Aksam; this is Officer Lasari. Would you mind coming with us, please?"
"Why?" I asked, making no move to get up.
Aksam glanced around at the restaurant's other patrons. Most of them, I noted, were staring back at us with the morbid fascination people always have for the objects of police interest. "I think this would be handled more pleasantly back at the station," he said, lowering his voice a bit.
"I doubt it," I said. "The seats here are really quite comfortable. Shall I ask the waiter to bring you a couple?"
His face darkened. "Fine," he growled, raising his voice back to its original level and then some. If I was going to insist on embarrassing myself in public, he was going to make sure I did it right. "Frank Donaldson, you're under suspicion of associating with known criminals. Now stand up, please."
"Which known criminals are these?" McMicking spoke up.
Aksam flashed him a look. "This doesn't concern you, sir," he said warningly.
"Oh, I think it does," McMicking said calmly, holding up an ID. "My name's Joseph Prescott. I'm Mr. Donaldson's legal advisor."
Years of playing poker against fellow Westali agents allowed me to keep my bland expression in place as McMicking's verbal grenade rolled into the center of the conversation. Beside me, Bayta stirred but didn't speak, and I had no doubt her own face was equally unreadable.
Aksam wasn't nearly that good. From the way his eyes momentarily widened I guessed that the last thing he'd expected on this little outing was to have to explain himself to a lawyer.
I was rather looking forward to this.
"Well?" McMicking prompted.
Aksam found his tongue. "Mr. Donaldson met this afternoon with a bartender in Zumurrud District named Usamah Karim," he said. "Mr. Karim has a criminal record."
"What sort of record?" McMicking asked. "Overcharging for stale pretzels? Watering the drinks?"
"Selling to minors and obstruction of justice," Aksam shot back.
"Really," McMicking said calmly. "What sort of obstruction?"
Aksam threw a hooded glance around the restaurant. Clearly, this wasn't going the way he'd expected it to. "Mr. Karim's record is not the issue here."
"On the contrary," McMicking said. "If Mr. Donaldson is accused of consorting with criminals, the criminality of the other person or persons is of paramount importance."
He looked sagely at me. "Furthermore, unless New Tigris has local ordinances with which I'm not familiar, the prohibition against association with criminals applies only to convicted felons or former felons still on parole. Does Mr. Donaldson have any such criminal record you're aware of?"
It was definitely not going the way Aksam had hoped. "I have my orders," he said stiffly. "And I have a warrant."
"Really." McMicking threw a significant glance at me. I caught the glance and lobbed it back again. If the cop had a viable warrant, he should have mentioned it long before now. "May I see it?"
Aksam looked at his partner, as if hoping for help or inspiration. But there was nothing there but more uncertainty and a clear wish to be left out of this battle. Reluctantly, the sergeant pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his pocket and handed it over.
McMicking unfolded it and ran his eyes down the fine print. I watched, wondering how much of his act was actual legal knowledge and how much was complete blown smoke. With McMicking, one could never be sure.
He took his time, going through the entire document. Aksam was starting to fidget by the time he finally looked up again. "I'm sorry," he said, handing back the warrant, "but this document is completely invalid."
"What are you talking about?" Aksam demanded, frowning at it. "It looks fine to me."
"The alleged crime is far too vague, with no dates or other specifications," McMicking told him. "Furthermore, the authorization signature is illegible, and the four referenced laws aren't tagged with their statute and subsection numbers. Any one of those would be enough to invalidate the entire document."
"It's the same format we always use," Aksam protested, still studying it.
"Which probably means it's never been seen by someone actually familiar with Confederation law," McMicking said. "Perhaps I should drop by the courthouse before I leave New Tigris and have a look at all your other document formats."
Aksam's cheeks tightened. He'd probably seen enough dit rec courtroom dramas to know that invalid documents could be grounds for appeal.
I had no idea whether that was actually true. But in my case, it didn't matter. McMicking's goal was clearly to buy us some time, and he'd already accomplished that.
"But thank you for dropping by," I spoke up. "Now that I know about Mr. Karim's record, I'll be sure to steer clear of him. Do you happen to have a list of other local criminals handy, in case I need to ask anyone for directions again?"
Aksam gave me a look that could kill mildew. But he still had one card left to play. "We'll be seeing you later, Mr. Donaldson," he promised menacingly. "In the meantime, I need to ask you to surrender your weapon."
"I have a valid carry permit," I reminded him.
"You had a valid carry permit," he countered. "As local representative of Hardin Industries, Mr. Veldrick has just revoked it."