Alliance All-Risk 04: “The Real Thing”
TEASER
A lot of people think there’s no crime on Earth. With matter-antimatter reactors and replicators, all the necessities of life are free for the taking—and most of the luxuries.
But a lot of people forget—not everything can be replicated. And even when it can—some people still prefer the real thing.
So even on Earth, you’ll find people who want things they can’t have—or shouldn’t have. And sometimes those people will commit crimes that would make even a Ferengi shudder.
I know—because I am a Ferengi. My name’s Huff. I’m an insurance investigator, checking claims for Alliance All-Risk.
I was in my office on Ferenginar, one afternoon recently, filing my teeth, when I got a call from the claims manager, Tarbo—my boss.
“Huh-heeyah,” I said, trying to talk around my toothfile.
“Huff? Tarbo here. Come to my office right away.”
“What’s the rush?” I said.
“The Civil Guard on Markal IV pulled the body of a Human female out of the Wetlands, north of Belkalu City,” Tarbo said. “She turned out to be a policy holder.”
“What am I—a private detective?” I said. “Why don’t you let the cops find your killers?”
“We know who the killer is,” Tarbo said. “They’re going to mindwipe him at the end of the week. What we need to know about is the victim.”
ACT ONE
Expense Account, submitted by Investigator Huff to Home Office, Alliance All-Risk Insurance Company, Ferenginar.
The following is an accounting of expenditures during my search for the beneficiary of policy-holder Jennifer Williams.
Item One: Spacefare from Ferenginar to Markal IV—specifically, Kar Zartkaar prison, last place of residence of the girl’s convicted murderer, Slat Zolmess.
He was sitting in his cell playing Markalian solitaire, his iguana-like face expressionless.
“Hey,” he said, looking up: “what time is it, Ferengi?”
“About thirteen o’clock, Slat,” I said.
“An hour more,” he said. Then: “How much you say the policy was for?”
“Fifty bars of gold-pressed latinum,” I said.
“Fifty bars,” he said, turning his attention back to his cards. “Heh. That’s funny. Just what I got paid for the job. Who’d she leave it to—the old lady?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I knew she would.”
“You know where I can find the beneficiary?” I said.
“Beneficiary,” he said. “You didn’t know the beneficiary, did you?’
“Never had the pleasure,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “if you’d known her, you wouldn’t be looking for her.”
I shrugged, and said: “Mrs. Williams’ virtues are none of my business, Slat. The company has fifty bars of latinum, and I’ve got to help them get rid of it. What good are you doing yourself by not telling me where she is? If you know?”
“What time is it now?” he said.
“A little after thirteen,” I said.
“Boy, did that money look good,” he said. “You know all the things you can do with those fifty bars? This girl back home…I was going to get married…ahh. Nah, I wasn’t going to get married. I would have lost it all playing dabo, like all them other times.”
“You never did say who hired you.”
“Yeah. That’s right. I never did.”
“Slat, I know you’ve been through this before, but you’ve got to admit—it’s a good point. They’re going to wipe your mind—and the real murderer is getting off free. Does that make sense to you?”
He looked at me again. “What’s your business, Ferengi?”
“Insurance.”
“Stick to it,” he said, and turned his attention back to the game.
“I think I will,” I said.
“You know what I’d do if I was you?” he said, turning over his last card. “I’d take all that latinum, and put it in flowers.”
“Thanks, anyway.”
“Hey, Huff,” he said, gathering up the cards and shuffling. “Let me give you some last-minute advice. Leave it alone. It’s the most unnatural mess you ever got yourself into in all your life.”
***
Expense Account—Item Two: Air-tram fare, from Kar Zartkaar Prison to Civil-Guard Headquarters, Belkalu City, where the next morning Inspector Snok Nasseng offered me photographs of the dead girl, a cup of nodwort tea, and what little information he had.
“Here’s her body,” he said, pointing a clawed finger.
I studied the crime-scene photos. “Are there many Humans on Markal IV?”
“Some. Not many.”
“Any connection between her and Slat Zolmess?”
“None that we know of.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“A patrol drone spotted him dumping her body in the Wetlands,” the Inspector said, pointing to another photo. “We picked him up on the way back to the city. The file was cut and dried.”
“You don’t have any idea where I can start looking for the mother?” I said.
The Inspector shook his head and sipped his tea. “Most I can do for you is give you the girl’s last known address,” he said. “But, we’ve been over the ground a hundred times. It’s a rooming house, for offworlders. Nice but stupid old couple that don’t know nothing.”
“The address on the policy…”
“Zarathustra, ten years ago.”
“Zarathustra?”
“Human colony on Epsilon Reticuli III. Became a Federation Trust Territory after they discovered the natives were sentient.”
“Right. I remember now. Most of the colonists had to leave. Was the girl one of them?”
“Guess so. We’re still working on it. Anything else?”
“Just the girl’s last known address,” I said.
***
Expense Account—Item Three: Cab fare, to a rooming house on the lower east side of Belkalu City.
An elderly Markalian female answered the door to the manager’s apartment when I knocked.
“Oh,” she said. “Come in.”
I came in. She said: “Norrl?” Then, to me: “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Thanks,” I said. An equally elderly Markalian male came in.
“You the manager?” I said.
“I’m the manager,” he said.
“Norrl’s the manager,” she said. They both sat down.
“My name is Huff. I’m with the—”
“It’s all right,” she said, “we don’t ask for references. Do we, Norrl?”
“Except under special circumstances,” he said.
“I’m afraid you misunderstand,” I said. “I’m not looking for an apartment. I’m an investigator with an insurance company, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“We’ve never had a fire in this building,” he said. “That was next door.”
“They keep rubbish in the basement,” she said.
“The company’s warned them, time and time again.”
“It never does any good.”
“I’d like some information,” I said, “about a Human who I understand was a tenant here. A female named Jennifer Williams.”
“The civil guard were already here, Mr. Huff,” he said.
“Four times,” she said.
“Inspector Nasseng thanked us for our cooperation.”
“She was such a nice girl.”
“How long was she with you?” I said.
“How long was it, Norrl?”
“Just two weeks,” he said.
“Just two weeks,” she said, “but we got to know her so well. She was such a lonely girl. She used to come down after dinner, sometimes, and talk about all the places she’d been.”
“Where’d she come from, originally?” I said.
“Zarathustra,” said the old female. “Where the Fuzzies live.”
“We saw a Fuzzy once, at the zoo” he said. “Cute little thing. Only said ‘yeek’.”
“Of course, they had to let it go.”
“They’re intelligent, you know. Like little people.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said. “But about the girl. Did she have any visitors?”
“Oh, no,” she said.
“I remember,” he said, “one of the first things she told us was, no visitors. If anybody asked for her, she wasn’t at home.”
“No, Mr. Huff, no visitors.”
“Did she act as if she were frightened of something?” I said.
“That’s just what the Inspector Nasseng asked us,” she said, “and we told them before, and we told them at the trial, that she was frightened.”
“We had her luggage here for a while, but the civil guard took it,” he said.
“I’ve been through it, thanks.”
“Did you notice all the labels, from all over everywhere?” she said. “Wonder what they’re going to do with all those lovely dresses and shoes.”
“Look,” I said, “I know the civil guard asked all these questions, but did you happen to notice if she got any mail?”
“Yes, we did. She didn’t,” she said.
“Not a single letter,” he said.
“Hmm. She spend much time away from her apartment?”
“Very little,” she said. “Only—”
“Twice a day,” he said. “Once in the morning, once in the afternoon. But she always came back within an hour.”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea where she went?”
“That’s right. We don’t,” she said.
“Hmm,” he said. “What did you say you were again?”
“An insurance investigator,” I said, standing up. “Thanks for your time.”
***
Expense Account—Item Four: Numerous cab fares.
It spent the rest of that day and half of the next visiting neighborhood postal substations. It looked like a big waste of time—but I was betting that her daily excursions had been for mail.
The second afternoon I dragged into a fruit store that advertised “postal station 324,” along with a special on soursweet rindfruit. I walked up to the little cage.
“Anything for Williams today?” I said, without much hope.
“Who?” said the clerk.
“Williams. General delivery.”
“Just a minute. What was that name again?”
“Williams. W-I-L-L-I-A-M-S.”
“Just a minute. Yes, here we are: three issiks postage due, Las Vegas, Nevada, Earth.”
***
I looked at the envelope: Jennifer Williams, all right. It had been forwarded from Earth a week ago. I said something to myself about hard work, patience, and…dumb luck. Then I headed for a public communicator station.
My boss’s face appeared on the screen. “Hello?”
I said: “This is Huff, Tarbo. On the Williams thing. I’m still cold on the beneficiary, but we’ve got the girl traced as far as Earth.”
He scowled. “That’s a long haul for a fifty-bar policy. You have a final address on her, there?”
“A letter was forwarded to general delivery, here on Markal IV, which was originally addressed to the Piper Club, in a city called Las Vegas. I got a permit, and had it opened. It’s nothing but a dressmaker’s bill. I guess the Terran postal authorities sent it on. It’s all I got. Want me to follow it up?”
“Nothing else we can do. You hereby have authorization. Get going.”
***
Expense Account—Item Five: Space fare from Markal IV to Earth—specifically, the Piper Club, Las Vegas, Nevada.
I walked into the lounge at the Piper Club just as a female employee was taking a seat at the bar.
I walked up to the seat next to her. “Is this taken?” I said.
She looked a little surprised. “No,” she said. “Sit down.”
The bartender said: “What’ll you have, mister?”
“A good bourbon,” I said. “With soda.”
He smiled. “Well, thanks for your confidence in me. I’ll fix you up.”
While he was fixing me up, I turned my attention back to the female. “You worked here long?”
“Have I,” she said.
“You like Nevada?”
“Mmm,” she said, with a shrug.
“What’s your home town?”
“Las Vegas,” she said. “Arrowhead in the summer.”
“Yeah? I guess you’d know a lot of people here, huh?”
“By sight mostly. Very few by name. Everybody’s a stranger.”
“Say—maybe you know a Human friend of mine—I went to school with her, on Zarathustra. What was her name again—oh, yeah—Williams. Jennifer Williams.”
She got up to leave. “Save me my drink, Eddie, I’ve got to get back to work. Take it easy, mister,” she said. Then she was gone.
I was thinking, this would probably be a lot easier if I wasn’t a Ferengi when the bartender came back with my drink. “Best bourbon in the house,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “You take latinum?”
“Of course. That’s a strip and a half. This is a real clip joint,” he added, apologetically.
“Yeah, I can see,” I said. I gave him two strips. “Here you are.”
“Thanks!”
I sampled my whiskey: to be fair, it was pretty good. “Say—wait a second,” I said. “You know where I can find Mrs. Dorothy Williams? She’s the mother of a girl that used to hang around here—Jennifer.”
The bartender didn’t say anything—just stood there, polishing glasses, like he hadn’t heard me.
“Well?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, finally. “Yeah, I think I can help you. Harry, take over.” Then, to my surprise, he gave me back my money. “Here’s your latinum. Come on.”
The stairway led to the mezzanine. I followed the bartender along the thickly carpeted hall to a door labeled Michael Black. My benefactor knocked, the door opened, and just like that—there he was. A long red gash of a scar ran along the left side of his face, twisting it into a humorless smile.
The barkeep was dismissed with a nod. We sat down.
“Drink?” he said
“Thanks, no,” I said.
“What can I do for you?” he said. He seemed friendly enough.
“I’m looking for a Mrs. Dorothy Williams,” I said.
“Why?”
“I’ve got business with her.”
“What kind of business?”
“Insurance.”
“She don’t need no insurance,” he said. Maybe not as friendly as he seemed.
“Where can I find her?”
“She don’t need no insurance,” he repeated. Definitely not as friendly as he seemed.
I stood up to leave. “Well, thanks, anyhow.”
“Sit down,” he said.
“What for?”
“You see this mark across my face? You know how I got this? Asking foolish questions, and not giving the right answers. Suppose you tell me what you want with Mrs. Dorothy Williams.”
“I’ll tell Mrs. Williams you were interested.”
“Ah, look, look,” he said, “this is no way to talk to me. I got a lot of respect for your business ethics, and all that but you know how it is sometimes.
Then he took out a small Type-I phaser. “Now, come on, Mr. Insurance,” he said. “What do you want with Mrs. Williams?”
“Are you a pretty good shot with that thing?”
“Type-Is are my specialty.”
“In that case, I’ve got a check.”
“What kind of check?”
“A fifty bars of latinum kind of a check.”
“From whom?”
“Her daughter.”
“Jennifer?” he said, frowning.
“Jennifer,” I said. “She left her mother fifty bars of latinum.”
“How did you trace Jennifer to Las Vegas? Ah, never mind,” he said. “You know what you look like to me? You look like a city official.”
“It’s the paisley,” I said. “Now how do I find Mrs. Williams?”
“It’s very simple. Eddie!” he shouted. The bartender came back in. “Eddie, this is—what’s your name, insurance?”
“Huff.”
“Take Mr. Huff to see Mrs. Dorothy Williams. Treat him gentle—he’s got some money for her.”
***
The place looked and sounded the same on the way out, but something was different. Maybe it was the four muscle boys waiting at the door. As they fell in behind me, I thought maybe I’d asked one question too many.
At the alley, I found out how right I was.
It wasn’t the worst beating I’ve ever taken in my life, but it was pretty close. What they lacked in skill, they made up for with enthusiasm.
TEASER
A lot of people think there’s no crime on Earth. With matter-antimatter reactors and replicators, all the necessities of life are free for the taking—and most of the luxuries.
But a lot of people forget—not everything can be replicated. And even when it can—some people still prefer the real thing.
So even on Earth, you’ll find people who want things they can’t have—or shouldn’t have. And sometimes those people will commit crimes that would make even a Ferengi shudder.
I know—because I am a Ferengi. My name’s Huff. I’m an insurance investigator, checking claims for Alliance All-Risk.
I was in my office on Ferenginar, one afternoon recently, filing my teeth, when I got a call from the claims manager, Tarbo—my boss.
“Huh-heeyah,” I said, trying to talk around my toothfile.
“Huff? Tarbo here. Come to my office right away.”
“What’s the rush?” I said.
“The Civil Guard on Markal IV pulled the body of a Human female out of the Wetlands, north of Belkalu City,” Tarbo said. “She turned out to be a policy holder.”
“What am I—a private detective?” I said. “Why don’t you let the cops find your killers?”
“We know who the killer is,” Tarbo said. “They’re going to mindwipe him at the end of the week. What we need to know about is the victim.”
ACT ONE
Expense Account, submitted by Investigator Huff to Home Office, Alliance All-Risk Insurance Company, Ferenginar.
The following is an accounting of expenditures during my search for the beneficiary of policy-holder Jennifer Williams.
Item One: Spacefare from Ferenginar to Markal IV—specifically, Kar Zartkaar prison, last place of residence of the girl’s convicted murderer, Slat Zolmess.
He was sitting in his cell playing Markalian solitaire, his iguana-like face expressionless.
“Hey,” he said, looking up: “what time is it, Ferengi?”
“About thirteen o’clock, Slat,” I said.
“An hour more,” he said. Then: “How much you say the policy was for?”
“Fifty bars of gold-pressed latinum,” I said.
“Fifty bars,” he said, turning his attention back to his cards. “Heh. That’s funny. Just what I got paid for the job. Who’d she leave it to—the old lady?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I knew she would.”
“You know where I can find the beneficiary?” I said.
“Beneficiary,” he said. “You didn’t know the beneficiary, did you?’
“Never had the pleasure,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “if you’d known her, you wouldn’t be looking for her.”
I shrugged, and said: “Mrs. Williams’ virtues are none of my business, Slat. The company has fifty bars of latinum, and I’ve got to help them get rid of it. What good are you doing yourself by not telling me where she is? If you know?”
“What time is it now?” he said.
“A little after thirteen,” I said.
“Boy, did that money look good,” he said. “You know all the things you can do with those fifty bars? This girl back home…I was going to get married…ahh. Nah, I wasn’t going to get married. I would have lost it all playing dabo, like all them other times.”
“You never did say who hired you.”
“Yeah. That’s right. I never did.”
“Slat, I know you’ve been through this before, but you’ve got to admit—it’s a good point. They’re going to wipe your mind—and the real murderer is getting off free. Does that make sense to you?”
He looked at me again. “What’s your business, Ferengi?”
“Insurance.”
“Stick to it,” he said, and turned his attention back to the game.
“I think I will,” I said.
“You know what I’d do if I was you?” he said, turning over his last card. “I’d take all that latinum, and put it in flowers.”
“Thanks, anyway.”
“Hey, Huff,” he said, gathering up the cards and shuffling. “Let me give you some last-minute advice. Leave it alone. It’s the most unnatural mess you ever got yourself into in all your life.”
***
Expense Account—Item Two: Air-tram fare, from Kar Zartkaar Prison to Civil-Guard Headquarters, Belkalu City, where the next morning Inspector Snok Nasseng offered me photographs of the dead girl, a cup of nodwort tea, and what little information he had.
“Here’s her body,” he said, pointing a clawed finger.
I studied the crime-scene photos. “Are there many Humans on Markal IV?”
“Some. Not many.”
“Any connection between her and Slat Zolmess?”
“None that we know of.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“A patrol drone spotted him dumping her body in the Wetlands,” the Inspector said, pointing to another photo. “We picked him up on the way back to the city. The file was cut and dried.”
“You don’t have any idea where I can start looking for the mother?” I said.
The Inspector shook his head and sipped his tea. “Most I can do for you is give you the girl’s last known address,” he said. “But, we’ve been over the ground a hundred times. It’s a rooming house, for offworlders. Nice but stupid old couple that don’t know nothing.”
“The address on the policy…”
“Zarathustra, ten years ago.”
“Zarathustra?”
“Human colony on Epsilon Reticuli III. Became a Federation Trust Territory after they discovered the natives were sentient.”
“Right. I remember now. Most of the colonists had to leave. Was the girl one of them?”
“Guess so. We’re still working on it. Anything else?”
“Just the girl’s last known address,” I said.
***
Expense Account—Item Three: Cab fare, to a rooming house on the lower east side of Belkalu City.
An elderly Markalian female answered the door to the manager’s apartment when I knocked.
“Oh,” she said. “Come in.”
I came in. She said: “Norrl?” Then, to me: “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Thanks,” I said. An equally elderly Markalian male came in.
“You the manager?” I said.
“I’m the manager,” he said.
“Norrl’s the manager,” she said. They both sat down.
“My name is Huff. I’m with the—”
“It’s all right,” she said, “we don’t ask for references. Do we, Norrl?”
“Except under special circumstances,” he said.
“I’m afraid you misunderstand,” I said. “I’m not looking for an apartment. I’m an investigator with an insurance company, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“We’ve never had a fire in this building,” he said. “That was next door.”
“They keep rubbish in the basement,” she said.
“The company’s warned them, time and time again.”
“It never does any good.”
“I’d like some information,” I said, “about a Human who I understand was a tenant here. A female named Jennifer Williams.”
“The civil guard were already here, Mr. Huff,” he said.
“Four times,” she said.
“Inspector Nasseng thanked us for our cooperation.”
“She was such a nice girl.”
“How long was she with you?” I said.
“How long was it, Norrl?”
“Just two weeks,” he said.
“Just two weeks,” she said, “but we got to know her so well. She was such a lonely girl. She used to come down after dinner, sometimes, and talk about all the places she’d been.”
“Where’d she come from, originally?” I said.
“Zarathustra,” said the old female. “Where the Fuzzies live.”
“We saw a Fuzzy once, at the zoo” he said. “Cute little thing. Only said ‘yeek’.”
“Of course, they had to let it go.”
“They’re intelligent, you know. Like little people.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said. “But about the girl. Did she have any visitors?”
“Oh, no,” she said.
“I remember,” he said, “one of the first things she told us was, no visitors. If anybody asked for her, she wasn’t at home.”
“No, Mr. Huff, no visitors.”
“Did she act as if she were frightened of something?” I said.
“That’s just what the Inspector Nasseng asked us,” she said, “and we told them before, and we told them at the trial, that she was frightened.”
“We had her luggage here for a while, but the civil guard took it,” he said.
“I’ve been through it, thanks.”
“Did you notice all the labels, from all over everywhere?” she said. “Wonder what they’re going to do with all those lovely dresses and shoes.”
“Look,” I said, “I know the civil guard asked all these questions, but did you happen to notice if she got any mail?”
“Yes, we did. She didn’t,” she said.
“Not a single letter,” he said.
“Hmm. She spend much time away from her apartment?”
“Very little,” she said. “Only—”
“Twice a day,” he said. “Once in the morning, once in the afternoon. But she always came back within an hour.”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea where she went?”
“That’s right. We don’t,” she said.
“Hmm,” he said. “What did you say you were again?”
“An insurance investigator,” I said, standing up. “Thanks for your time.”
***
Expense Account—Item Four: Numerous cab fares.
It spent the rest of that day and half of the next visiting neighborhood postal substations. It looked like a big waste of time—but I was betting that her daily excursions had been for mail.
The second afternoon I dragged into a fruit store that advertised “postal station 324,” along with a special on soursweet rindfruit. I walked up to the little cage.
“Anything for Williams today?” I said, without much hope.
“Who?” said the clerk.
“Williams. General delivery.”
“Just a minute. What was that name again?”
“Williams. W-I-L-L-I-A-M-S.”
“Just a minute. Yes, here we are: three issiks postage due, Las Vegas, Nevada, Earth.”
***
I looked at the envelope: Jennifer Williams, all right. It had been forwarded from Earth a week ago. I said something to myself about hard work, patience, and…dumb luck. Then I headed for a public communicator station.
My boss’s face appeared on the screen. “Hello?”
I said: “This is Huff, Tarbo. On the Williams thing. I’m still cold on the beneficiary, but we’ve got the girl traced as far as Earth.”
He scowled. “That’s a long haul for a fifty-bar policy. You have a final address on her, there?”
“A letter was forwarded to general delivery, here on Markal IV, which was originally addressed to the Piper Club, in a city called Las Vegas. I got a permit, and had it opened. It’s nothing but a dressmaker’s bill. I guess the Terran postal authorities sent it on. It’s all I got. Want me to follow it up?”
“Nothing else we can do. You hereby have authorization. Get going.”
***
Expense Account—Item Five: Space fare from Markal IV to Earth—specifically, the Piper Club, Las Vegas, Nevada.
I walked into the lounge at the Piper Club just as a female employee was taking a seat at the bar.
I walked up to the seat next to her. “Is this taken?” I said.
She looked a little surprised. “No,” she said. “Sit down.”
The bartender said: “What’ll you have, mister?”
“A good bourbon,” I said. “With soda.”
He smiled. “Well, thanks for your confidence in me. I’ll fix you up.”
While he was fixing me up, I turned my attention back to the female. “You worked here long?”
“Have I,” she said.
“You like Nevada?”
“Mmm,” she said, with a shrug.
“What’s your home town?”
“Las Vegas,” she said. “Arrowhead in the summer.”
“Yeah? I guess you’d know a lot of people here, huh?”
“By sight mostly. Very few by name. Everybody’s a stranger.”
“Say—maybe you know a Human friend of mine—I went to school with her, on Zarathustra. What was her name again—oh, yeah—Williams. Jennifer Williams.”
She got up to leave. “Save me my drink, Eddie, I’ve got to get back to work. Take it easy, mister,” she said. Then she was gone.
I was thinking, this would probably be a lot easier if I wasn’t a Ferengi when the bartender came back with my drink. “Best bourbon in the house,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “You take latinum?”
“Of course. That’s a strip and a half. This is a real clip joint,” he added, apologetically.
“Yeah, I can see,” I said. I gave him two strips. “Here you are.”
“Thanks!”
I sampled my whiskey: to be fair, it was pretty good. “Say—wait a second,” I said. “You know where I can find Mrs. Dorothy Williams? She’s the mother of a girl that used to hang around here—Jennifer.”
The bartender didn’t say anything—just stood there, polishing glasses, like he hadn’t heard me.
“Well?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, finally. “Yeah, I think I can help you. Harry, take over.” Then, to my surprise, he gave me back my money. “Here’s your latinum. Come on.”
The stairway led to the mezzanine. I followed the bartender along the thickly carpeted hall to a door labeled Michael Black. My benefactor knocked, the door opened, and just like that—there he was. A long red gash of a scar ran along the left side of his face, twisting it into a humorless smile.
The barkeep was dismissed with a nod. We sat down.
“Drink?” he said
“Thanks, no,” I said.
“What can I do for you?” he said. He seemed friendly enough.
“I’m looking for a Mrs. Dorothy Williams,” I said.
“Why?”
“I’ve got business with her.”
“What kind of business?”
“Insurance.”
“She don’t need no insurance,” he said. Maybe not as friendly as he seemed.
“Where can I find her?”
“She don’t need no insurance,” he repeated. Definitely not as friendly as he seemed.
I stood up to leave. “Well, thanks, anyhow.”
“Sit down,” he said.
“What for?”
“You see this mark across my face? You know how I got this? Asking foolish questions, and not giving the right answers. Suppose you tell me what you want with Mrs. Dorothy Williams.”
“I’ll tell Mrs. Williams you were interested.”
“Ah, look, look,” he said, “this is no way to talk to me. I got a lot of respect for your business ethics, and all that but you know how it is sometimes.
Then he took out a small Type-I phaser. “Now, come on, Mr. Insurance,” he said. “What do you want with Mrs. Williams?”
“Are you a pretty good shot with that thing?”
“Type-Is are my specialty.”
“In that case, I’ve got a check.”
“What kind of check?”
“A fifty bars of latinum kind of a check.”
“From whom?”
“Her daughter.”
“Jennifer?” he said, frowning.
“Jennifer,” I said. “She left her mother fifty bars of latinum.”
“How did you trace Jennifer to Las Vegas? Ah, never mind,” he said. “You know what you look like to me? You look like a city official.”
“It’s the paisley,” I said. “Now how do I find Mrs. Williams?”
“It’s very simple. Eddie!” he shouted. The bartender came back in. “Eddie, this is—what’s your name, insurance?”
“Huff.”
“Take Mr. Huff to see Mrs. Dorothy Williams. Treat him gentle—he’s got some money for her.”
***
The place looked and sounded the same on the way out, but something was different. Maybe it was the four muscle boys waiting at the door. As they fell in behind me, I thought maybe I’d asked one question too many.
At the alley, I found out how right I was.
It wasn’t the worst beating I’ve ever taken in my life, but it was pretty close. What they lacked in skill, they made up for with enthusiasm.
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