After another hour, he was beginning to regret the two coffees, good as they were. There was a restroom inside the cafe, of course. But to use it was to risk missing Beeker or Nightingale, should they by chance pick that very moment to pass by. He sat there a while longer, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he wondered what professional detectives did in this situation. Finally, after convincing himself that the odds of missing his quarry were so slim as to be negligible, he gave in to the inevitable and went inside.
Naturally, he’d been gone mere seconds before Beeker and Nightingale strolled slowly past the cafe, stopping to read the menu and peer inside before moving on down the street. But by the time Phule was back outside, they’d turned the corner. He never knew how close he’d come to finding them.
Worse yet, he never finished reading his newsprint. If he’d gotten as far as the sports section, he could have seen a headline reading: “Rot’n‘art Edges NB in Alliance Cup.” In smaller type, just below, it read, “Greebfap Beams in Shot at Beeper to Ice OT Win.”
“Why do you want to go to the captain’s hotel?” asked Sushi. “Rembrandt ordered us not to let the captain know we’re here trying to help him. Or did you forget that?”
Do-Wop shrugged. “I didn’t forget nothin‘,” he said. “Thing is, we’ve seen Nightingale twice, already. So we know she-and OF Beeky-has gotta be close. But the captain, he don’t know that. So we’re gonna leave him a ’nonymous tip sayin‘ the people he’s lookin’ for are right here under his nose.”
“Well, that makes sense,” said Sushi. He found a piece of paper and jotted down a brief message. He folded it, wrote on the outside “To Capt. Jester,” and stuck it in the pocket of his jumpsuit. “OK, let’s go,” he said.
They walked over to the local bike shop, where they rented a tandem model, the cheapest alternative for two traveling together. True to form, Do-Wop was initially reluctant to trust himself to the “two-wheeled thingie.”
“Aww, come on,” said Sushi. “Little girls can ride these things. What’s the big brave legionnaire afraid of?”
‘Tallin’ off and breakin‘ my neck,“ said Do-Wop, eyeing it warily. But after a little more joking, Sushi persuaded him to give it a try. Sure enough, he picked up the knack in short time, and admitted that it came close to being fun. That was likely to change the first time he took a fall, but Sushi coached him in the basics and soon he was satisfied that his buddy was ready to roll.
With that settled, they hopped on the rented tandem and set off for Phule’s hotel. Not surprisingly, La Retraite Rus-tique was in a considerably fancier neighborhood than their own modest digs. Several of the neighboring properties appeared to be large country estates, perhaps in the same family since the time of the Founding. So when the two of them pulled their well-used tandem up to its front door, the doorman appeared ready to direct them to the delivery entrance.
His attitude didn’t improve when Do-Wop tossed him a small coin and said, “Yo, bud, make sure nobody messes wit‘ da ride.”
“I am certain it will be perfectly safe while you are gone,” said the doorman, with just the faintest emphasis. His left eyebrow lifted a fraction of an inch.
“Great, I knew I could trust ya,” said Do-Wop, as he followed Sushi through the door. The doorman gave the door a baleful look, then turned to the coin he’d caught in midair. After a moment, he shrugged and pocketed it. After all, it’d buy him a coffee or a nut bar, no matter where it came from.
Inside the lobby, Sushi and Do-Wop stopped and looked around for a moment. For all its pretense at rustic simplicity, La Retraite fairly reeked of money. The hardwood floorboards were nearly a foot wide, with tight, clearly delineated grain that indicated old-growth timber to a practiced eye. The art on the walls was all original, and while the artists’ names weren’t familiar to the two legionnaires, Sushi suspected (rightly) that they would be to any visiting connoisseur. Even the lighting was of a discreet tone that gave a suggestion of candlelight without the trouble of wax drips or smoke.
Their admiration was broken by a deep voice. “May I be of help, gentlemen?” The tone somehow made it clear that the final word was included as a matter of courtesy, with the speaker carefully reserving his personal opinion as to its relevance.
“Sure,” said Do-Wop-coming here was his idea, so he felt entitled to take the lead. “We’re lookin‘ for Captain Jester, Space Legion. This is where he’s stayin’, right?”
“Offhand, I couldn’t say,” said Robert, the concierge- for that was who had greeted them. “Perhaps you could tell why you want to know.”
“Just so happens, we got a ‘nonymous message for him,” Do-Wop said out of the side of his mouth.
“Really,” said the concierge, with a hint of a smirk. “And what makes you think we would convey anonymous messages to our guests-assuming this captain is in fact one of our guests?”
“What, are you playin‘ the dumbs with me?” said Do-Wop, putting his hands on his hips. “Yo, I can play the dumbs, too.”
“Relax, buddy,” said Sushi, putting a hand on Do-Wop’s shoulder. He turned to the concierge. “My friend here didn’t quite make himself clear. We need to get a note to the captain, and there’s a little something to make sure it gets to him.” He offered the message, along with a folded bill. “If he asks, you didn’t see who brought it, OK?”
“I’m afraid it’s not OK,” said Robert, looking down his nose at the note and the bill. “I don’t see what legitimate business one of our guests could have with the likes of you two.”
“Whaddaya mean?” growled Do-Wop, making a fist. “Y’know, this honker’s startin‘ to rack me off…”
Sushi grabbed his partner’s arm. “Easy, buddy. The guy thinks we’re not fancy enough for his place. We’ll get our message to the captain some other way. Come on.“
“OK,” said Do-Wop, glaring. “I guess we better get outta here before I stink up the rich people’s air.” He turned on his heel and walked away so rapidly that Sushi had to hurry to keep up.
According to the literature in Phule’s hotel, travelers came from light-years away to enjoy the annual Flori-bunda Fete on Hix’s World. And, to judge from the variety of costumes and accents Phule saw and heard around him in the hotel dining room and in the nearby town, that was no exaggeration.
Unfortunately, what he’d seen of the festival didn’t impress him. Maybe it just wasn’t a guy thing-most of the male tourists he saw seemed as little interested in the abundant flowers as he was. Just as likely, he was too focused on trying to find Beeker and the Port-a-Brain to have much attention left over for the colorful blossoms that decorated every home and business he passed. Some of the ones he noticed were sort of pretty, but he wouldn’t have come halfway across the galaxy to enjoy them. Probably he wouldn’t even have crossed the street.
On the other hand, it did seem that Beeker must have come here for the festival-as he’d discovered, the planet was booked solid for weeks in advance. As far as Phule could tell, his butler had never shown any particular interest in flowers. Of course, as he’d already discovered, he knew far less of Beeker’s tastes than he’d realized. Maybe it was Nightingale who’d convinced him to come, though that seemed out of character, too-or maybe he just didn’t know her all that well. Obviously, somebody had made advance reservations for the couple, well before Nightingale had joined Omega Company. He stared out the window at the gardens where he’d seen Nightingale two days earlier, trying to figure it out. How could he know so little about people he’d lived with for months-in Beeker’s case, for years?