Alliance All-Risk 01: Double Dip
(Adapted from “The Main Death” by Dashiell Hammett.)
My ship docked at Deep Space Nine on Stardate 53122.2—six days after the murder, and late Saturday afternoon, station time. This wasn’t the first time I’d been there. By coincidence, the first time was about nine years ago, when it was still Terok Nor. And a few times after that--but not since the war.
I was happy to see the place hadn’t changed much. The war memorial was new. Rom wasn’t working at Quark’s anymore, of course--I remember when the Nagus was a busboy, and his alien wife, Leeta, was a dabo girl. Odo the Changeling was gone as well. When I walked into the Security office, a dark-haired, square-faced Bajoran female was sitting behind Odo’s desk, wearing the two-tone uniform of the Militia.
She looked up from the padd she was holding and stared at me. I smiled at her, trying not to let my teeth show. Ferengi teeth make a lot of aliens nervous. “Lieutenant Ro?” I said.
“Yes?” she said.
I took a step forward, and the door closed behind me. “My name is Huff. We spoke over subspace. I have an appointment.”
“Oh,” she said. “Of course. Have a seat. Welcome to Deep Space Nine.”
“Thank you.” I sat on one of the chairs facing the desk. Lieutenant Ro put down her padd, leaned back in her chair, cocked her head, and stared at me some more.
Finally: “You said you’re an insurance investigator?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I tried not to stare back at her--especially that mole beneath her lower lip: that would have been a lovely beauty mark on a Ferengi female. “I work for Alliance All-Risk,” I said. “As I said earlier, I’m here about the murdered Cardassian.”
“Glinn Girling,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “His life was insured.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Oh? I didn’t know that.”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. For 200 bars of gold-pressed latinum.”
She pursed her lips and nodded slowly. “That’s a lot of latinum. Who’s the beneficiary?”
“His widow--Girling Miu.”
“His widow?” she sneered. “Hardly. She wasn’t his wife. Just his blanket.”
“His what?”
“His blanket. His Bajoran mistress. She took his name when her family disowned her for collaborating. On her back.”
“I see,” I said, doing my best not to smile. Females. They’re all members of the same trade union—the Interstellar Sisterhood of Sex Workers. Like all trade unions, the ISSW drives up the price of labor by restricting the supply. When their employer won’t pay, they go on strike. And they don’t like non-unionized replacement workers—not one bit.
“Well,” I said, “Miu may not have been Girling’s wife, but she was his beneficiary.”
Lieutenant Ro frowned. “Is that a problem?”
I shrugged and spread my hands. “The man’s dead. We had him insured, and it’s going to cost us money. That’s always a problem.”
The lieutenant leaned forward. “No--what I meant was, do you suspect fraud?
“Do you?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“What can you tell me about the case?”
She picked up the padd again, tapped it a few times, and started to fill me in. Glinn Girling had been away from Deep Space Nine for a month, on a business trip to Altair IV. He went there to sell something for a Ferengi businessman, Quark.
“I know Quark,” I said.
Girling came home on Stardate 53108.8--early Monday evening, about quarter to eight. He told his mistress that he’d sold his merchandise for two hundred bars of gold-pressed latinum, and that he was taking the money to Quark’s a bit later. She went to bed about ten-thirty, leaving him drinking and watching the viewscreen. The latinum--all two hundred bars--was in a metal briefcase.
So far, so good. He’s in the living room, drinking kanar. She’s in the bedroom sleeping. Just the two of them. Then a racket wakes her. She jumps out of bed, runs into the living room. There’s Girling, wrestling with a couple of home invaders. They’re both Bajoran--they’ve got scarves wound around their faces, but Miu can see their noses and earrings. One’s tall and muscular. The other’s little--Miu says he looked almost girlish.
When Miu shows, the little Bajoran breaks away from Girling and holds her at gunpoint. Sticks a Bajoran phaser in her face and tells her to behave. Girling and the other Bajoran are still fighting. Girling has a disruptor in his hand, but the Bajoran is twisting his wrist. Finally, the Glinn drops his weapon. The Bajoran flashes a phaser of his own, holding Girling off while he bends down to pick up the disruptor.
When he stoops, the Glinn jumps on him. Girling knocks the Bajoran’s phaser out of his hand, but by that time the man had Girling’s disruptor. They’re struggling for a couple of seconds. Miu can’t see what’s going on. Then--zzzt. Girling takes a disruptor blast up through his chin. He collapses to the floor, smoke coming out of his mouth, and the hole in the top of his head. Miu passes out.
When she comes to, she’s alone: nobody’s in their quarters but herself and her dead lover. His disruptor is gone, along with his briefcase. She was unconscious about half an hour. We know that because her neighbors heard the shot and could give the time--even if they didn’t know where it came from. There was nobody in the corridor outside Girling and Miu’s quarters around that time, so nobody saw the two Bajorans coming or going.
“Any forensic evidence?” I asked.
“None,” said Lieutenant Ro, putting down her padd.
“Could Miu identify them?”
“She says she’d know the little one. Maybe.”
“Hmm,” I said. I leaned back and scratched behind my ear. “You said you suspected fraud. You don’t believe her story?”
“No.”
I nodded. “So--what? You think Miu killed Girling?”
“Not with her own hands. I think she had an accomplice--a boyfriend, probably. She knew when Girling was getting back from Altair IV. She set up the robbery. I wasn’t sure at first if his death was an accident.”
“But now you’re sure.”
“Yes. This way, she gets both Quark’s money, and the insurance.”
I was impressed. This Bajoran female thought like a Ferengi. And to be honest, she was turning me on, with her cute little mole, and her cute little Bajoran nose, and those long, slender, supple-looking fingers….
“Double dip,” I said, nodding, trying to get my mind back on business. “So--what’s your next move?”
“My people have her under surveillance. Sooner or later, she’ll contact her accomplice, or he’ll contact her. What’s your next move?”
“Well,” I said, standing up, “you seem to have things under control. But I’d like a little more background information. About this business deal, for example. So, I think I’ll stop in at Quark’s.”
“Then you can do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Find out where Girling got all that cash. And why he didn’t store it in the assay office when he returned to the station. Or take it right to Quark’s. Quark has a safe.”
Good questions, I thought. “I’ll do that. Thanks for your cooperation, Lieutenant.”
***
I stopped in at Quark’s. The proprietor spotted me right away. “Investigator Huff,” he said, smiling. “Nice to see you again.”
“Nice to be back,” I said, sitting at the bar.
Quark’s brow furrowed, and he held up a finger. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t tell me.” After a couple of seconds, he pointed at me. “Free Bajor,” he said.
I smiled. “I’m impressed.” I was, too. Free Bajors are my favorite, but like I said, I hadn’t been to Deep Space Nine since before the War.
Quark smiled back, shrugged, and spread his hands, as if to say it was nothing. Then he mixed my drink himself, just the way I like it--he even rubbed the rim of the glass with the Kava wedge before pouring in the Springwine brandy and Slug-o-Cola.
I took a look around. Yeah, the place looked pretty much the same. Except--the dabo girl was staring at me. I didn’t recognize her. She was Bajoran--pretty, but very young. Too young for me. She looked away before we could make eye contact.
“That’ll be five slips,” said Quark.
I turned back to the bar: my Free Bajor was sitting in front of me. I paid for it, and took a sip: it wasn’t too badly watered. I raised it in salute, to my bartender, and glanced back over my shoulder at the dabo table. The Bajoran girl looked away again. Interesting.
“So,” said Quark, as he wiped the counter, casually. “What brings you back to Deep Space Nine, Investigator?”
“An associate of yours,” I said, holding my drink in front of me, two-handed. “A Cardassian. Glinn Girling.”
“Girling?” said Quark. “You mean--.” Then he laughed. “Girling had life insurance?”
“That surprises you.”
“Frankly, yes,” he said, still chuckling, pouring himself some hot millipede juice. “I’ll bet Miu paid for it.”
“His Bajoran mistress,” I said.
“That’s right,” Quark said. “She was always the brains of that outfit.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Girling never thought that far ahead,” said Quark. “Money ran through his fingers like water. It was disgusting, really. But he was a good salesman. You know he was a political officer, here on Terok Nor, during the Occupation?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” I said. “Is that how you met?”
“Uh-huh,” said Quark. “That’s how he met Miu, too. She was one of my dabo girls. Girling and I went into business together, selling Bajoran artwork and antiquities to Cardassian collectors. Bajorans would sell their treasures to me, and Girling would re-sell them back on Cardassia Prime.”
“Wasn’t that illegal?”
Quark shrugged. “Not under Cardassian law.”
“The Bajorans didn’t prosecute you, after the Occupation was over?”
“Nope,” said Quark. “That was the beauty of it. The Cardassians had so much money, and Girling was such a good salesman, that I was able to pay generously for those Bajoran items, and still make a profit. Then the Bajorans would use the money to buy food and equipment, from me. I sold it to them just above cost. They were grateful.”
“Not all of them,” I said.
Quark’s smile tightened a little. “Well,” he said, “there’s no pleasing some people.”
The Kohn-Ma had called Quark a grave robber and a bloodsucker, and bombed his bar. Quark had insured his place with Alliance All-Risk, and I was the one who checked out his claim, nine years ago. It was grossly inflated, of course, but instead of canceling Quark’s policy and turning him over to the FCA, I let him ‘persuade’ me that it was all a misunderstanding.
“Can I get you anything else?” he said.
I finished my drink and held up the empty glass. “Another one of these,” I said. “Was Girling still working for you, after the Occupation?”
Quark shook his head as he rubbed the rim of a fresh glass with a fresh kava slice. “Not at first,” he said. “He went back to Cardassia. Took Miu with him, too. I didn’t hear from him for years. Then they showed up again, after the War, like nothing had happened. He was out of the service, and before I knew it, we were back in business together. Only this time, we were selling Cardassian artwork and antiquities. Sometimes even to Bajorans. Five slips.”
I paid for my new drink. “That’s why Girling went to Altair IV, and came back with two hundred bars of gold-pressed latinum.”
Quark nodded. “An Altairian client of mine collects objects from the First Hebitian civilization. Girling sold him a kuluk-metal funeral mask. Got a good price for it, too.”
“So that was your money.”
“Most of it. Minus Girling’s percentage.” Quark frowned. “Lucky for him he’s dead--if he was alive, I’d fire him for not bringing that latinum right here when his ship docked.”
“That was pretty careless of him,” I said. “Any idea who took it?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Miu must have set up that robbery. Only Girling and I knew when he was coming back, and I didn’t tell anyone. That leaves him--and her.” He gave me a puzzled look over the rim of his mug. “What do you care, anyway?
“Death benefits are not payable if the beneficiary murders the assured,” I said. “If she was in on the robbery, then Alliance All-Risk is not liable.”
“Ah.”
I jerked my head back, in the direction of the dabo table. “Who’s the new girl?”
Quark’s face went sour again. “Keeta?”
I nodded. “She’s kind of young, isn’t she?”
“Typical teenager. Lazy. Never on time—she was an hour late, last Saturday. And she always wants Sundays off. If she wasn’t quitting, I’d get rid of her.”
“Quitting.”
“Gave me notice a few days ago. Good riddance. You know,” he said, tossing his bar towel over his shoulder, leaning in close, and lowering his voice, “say what you will about the Occupation, but it was a lot easier to get good help back then.”
“The good old days, huh?” I finished my drink.
“The good old days,” he said, straightening back up. “Another?”
“No, thanks,” I said, slipping down off the bar stool. “I think I’m going to call it a night. It was a long trip from the Home Office.”
“Come by any time,” said Quark, turning away. “Morn! The usual?”
I walked out of Quark’s, but I didn’t go straight to my quarters. Instead, I walked back down the promenade, took the stairs up to the next level, and found a spot where I could watch the downstairs entrance to Quark’s without being seen.
It didn’t take long for my hunch to pay off. I heard Quark shouting something I didn’t catch, and then saw the Bajoran dabo girl, Keeta, hurrying out of the bar and along the promenade.
I tailed her, upstairs, carefully. She was looking around, and behind, but she never thought to look up. Finally, she stopped at the public communicator and made a call. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought the man’s face on the screen was Bajoran as well. After a few minutes, she switched off, and hurried back to the bar.
I scratched behind an ear. Probably nothing--but after a few nasty surprises, I got into the habit of taking an interest in anybody who takes an interest in me.
I walked down the stairs to the same communicator booth, and placed a call to a detective agency on Bajor--not the one we deal with at Alliance All-Risk, but one I’ve used before, personally. Good men. Reliable. Discreet.
Yosso’s face appeared onscreen, looking even craggier than I remembered. “Yosso and Molka,” he rumbled. Then he smiled. “Investigator Huff. It’s been a long time.”
“Glad to see you’re still in business, Yosso,” I said.
“Likewise. What can we do for you, Investigator?”
“Send an operative to Deep Space Nine. I need him to tail an employee of Quark’s--a Bajoran dabo girl named Keeta.”
“I’ll send my best man.”
“I appreciate that.”
I gave him everything I had on Keeta, then closed the channel, and considered going to see the other female--Miu. Then I yawned, and decided to go back to my quarters instead. It really had been a long trip.
***
I slept late, and spent the rest of the morning eating a leisurely breakfast and people-watching on the Promenade. Then, figuring that even kept women are out of bed by noon, I went to see the grieving widow at her quarters.
She was out of bed--but only just. When she answered the door, she was wearing a loosely-tied robe over a nightgown, both of khaki-colored silk. She was tall, with a curvy figure that reminded me of ripe fruit. Her hair was long and wild--black, like her eyes. Her face was heart-shaped and beautiful, with just a little hardness around the mouth and eyes. She had a glass of something in one hand--kanar, from the smell. Some eye-opener.
She looked every inch a fallen woman. I was in love--or at least, in lust. “Mrs. Girling?” I said.
“What do you want?” she said, her voice low and smoky.
“My name’s Huff,” I told her, instead of what I wanted. “I work for your insurance company--Alliance All-Risk. I’m here to ask you a few questions about your partner’s death. May I come in?”
She didn’t move out of the way--just crossed her arms, leaned against the door jamb, and stared at me. “An insurance investigator,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Come to cheat me out of my money?”
I shrugged. “Only if you make it easy for me.”
She snorted, shoved away from the door, and walked into her quarters. I followed her inside, watching her walk, from behind. Her hair was about the same color as Lieutenant Ro’s, only much longer--halfway down her back. And I’d been wondering what Lieutenant Ro looked like without that silly uniform. I didn’t have to wonder quite so much about Girling Miu.
“Have a seat,” she said. She went over to the kitchenette counter, opened up one of those distinctive coiled-glass bottles, and poured herself some more breakfast. Then, she held up the bottle and looked over her shoulder.
“You want a drink?” she said. “All I have is kanar.”
“Sounds good,” I said, sitting on the living room chaise and watching her some more.
She looked back, a little surprised. Then poured one for me. “How do you take it?”
“Got any kava juice?”
“Kanar and kava,” she said. Glass clinked on glass. “You know what they call that?”
“A Collaborator.”
She walked over and handed me my drink. “That’s right.” She sat down on the sofa. She was barefoot, and when she crossed her legs, I saw she was wearing a kuluk-metal anklet. “You said you had some questions for me?”
“Mm,” I said, sipping my drink. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve already spoken to Lieutenant Ro...”
Mio’s face twisted with hate. “That bitch,” she snarled. “Federation sponsor child thinks she’s so good. She wasn’t even in the Resistance—did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t,” I said. “She’s convinced that you were involved in Glinn Girling’s death.”
“I know.”
“In fact, you’re her prime suspect.”
“I know.”
“That’s a nice anklet you’re wearing, Mrs. Girling. Is that Cardassian?”
She shifted a bit, and twined her ankle behind the leg below. “You were saying,” she said.
“If you were involved in Glinn Girling’s death, then Alliance All-Risk is not liable.”
She looked at me levelly, coolly. “You think I killed him too?”
I thought about that as I took another drink. Then, finally, I leaned back and said: “No.”
She did her best not to let her surprise show. “No?”
I shook my head. “No. Not like this. Not when you had his life insured. You would have known station security would suspect you right away. You didn’t set up that robbery, either.”
“I didn’t?”
“Uh-uh. Too risky. Too much chance of your accomplice deciding to keep it all for himself.”
“Then you believe my story.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She frowned, tossed off the rest of her drink, stood up, and walked over to the counter again. “Well, what do you think?” she asked, irritably.
I stood up and followed her part way, so I could get a better view. I waited until she had the cork in one hand and the bottle in the other, ready to pour. Then: “I think your Cardassian friend killed himself.”
She almost missed the glass, but caught herself just in time. “Himself,” she said.
“Uh-huh. I think the robbery happened just like you said--only Girling didn’t fight them. I think they got the drop on him, and walked away with two hundred bars of gold-pressed latinum, without a shot fired.”
She turned to face me. Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were blazing with anger. I finished my drink. “When Girling realized this meant he was out of a job--the only job he was good at--I think he took his disruptor, stuck it under his chin--” I pointed my finger under my chin. “--and aired his own brains out.”
She flinched, slightly, but her expression didn’t change. I pulled the finger out from under my chin, looked at my nail, and then scratched behind my ear. “Suicide,” I said. “In which case, Alliance All-Risk is not liable.”
“Get out of here,” she snarled.
“The only thing I can’t figure,” I said, looking down at my empty glass, “is who set up the robbery. Who knew Girling was coming back to DS9 with two hundred bars of latinum, besides you and Quark, and--”
I ducked just in time. The half-full bottle of kanar flew over my head and smashed against the wall, behind me. Mio pointed a shaking finger at the door. “Get out!” she screamed.
I backed away from her, put my glass down on the coffee table, and headed for the door. “Thanks for the drink,” I said.
***
I spent the rest of the afternoon writing a preliminary report. Then I went to Quark’s for dinner and drinks. The slug steak was excellent--Quark assured me it was real, not replicated. M’Pella was working the dabo table--there was no sign of Keeta.
When I was done, I went back to my quarters, and read about stolen Cardassian antiquities. Law and order broke down completely on Cardassia Prime, for a few days, after the ceasefire following the Battle of Cardassia. There was a lot of looting. The insurance industry came through all right--most policies don’t cover loss or damage due to war, invasion, civil war, rebellion, revolution, insurrection, or civil commotion. But a lot of priceless relics were lost, and I was pretty sure that some of them had found their way to Quark’s at some point.
Yosso called me the next morning with his operative’s report. Keeta had slept even later than I had--but then, she’d been working late Saturday night, at Quark’s. In the early afternoon she went shopping for clothes and jewelry on the Promenade, and seemed to be spending a lot of money. Back to her quarters to change, then off on the late-afternoon shuttle to the Capital on Bajor.
A male Bajoran was waiting for her at the spaceport terminal: age, early twenties; medium height, slender--
“Almost girlish?”
“My operative didn’t say.”
“Never mind. Go ahead.”
Brown hair and eyes. Long thin face with pointed chin. They took a taxi to the Capital’s nightlife district, where they met another male and another female at a trendy restaurant. Second male was about the same age, but taller, muscular build, brown hair and eyes, broad, flat face with high cheekbones. Yosso described the second female as well, but I wasn’t interested in her. Everybody was wearing new and expensive-looking clothes.
The party of four made a night of it: dinner and drinks, followed by a show, followed by more drinks and dancing at one of the district’s hottest nightclubs. The two young men seemed to be tipping freely. They left only when the place closed, taking another taxi to the Evening Star Hotel, and went up to the fourth floor.
Keeta came back with the other female a few hours later, in the early morning. They had breakfast together, then parted company. Keeta went back to the spaceport and caught the first shuttle back to Deep Space Nine. She was back in her quarters on the station right now.
“Any idea who those two males were?” I asked.
“I checked them out,” said Yosso. “The little one’s named Fek. The big one is Weel. They’re a couple of small-time hold-up men. Only it sounds like they might have hit the big time.”
Hold-up men, I thought. Well. Better lucky than good. “Can you find out if those two were on Deep Space Nine a week ago? Last Monday?”
“No problem,” said Yosso. “It’ll take a few minutes. I’ll call you back.”
I replicated some nodwort, sat back down in front of the communicator, and started stuffing the leaves into my mouth, one at a time, chewing thoughtfully. They turn my teeth green, but they wake me up faster than coffee. Finally, Yosso called back.
“How did you know they were on Deep Space Nine last Monday?”
I grinned. “Lucky guess,” I said. “Give me the details.”
“Fek and Weel took the morning shuttle from Capital City to Deep Space Nine, and the afternoon shuttle back. They were on the station for six hours.”
I stopped grinning. “Did you say they left in the afternoon?”
“That’s what the record says. They departed Stardate 53108.5.”
Hours before the robbery. Damn. Yosso looked curious. “Was there anything else?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”
I closed the channel and sat there, chewing and frowning. My two suspects were in the right place--at the wrong time. Had Miu lied about the time of the robbery? Why would she do that?
Why would she lie?
Then, it came to me. I checked the station’s docking records, just to be sure. There it was, on Stardate 53106.1—last Sunday, around eight o’clock p.m. I reopened the channel to Yosso’s office.
“Something else?” he said.
“I’m catching the next shuttle to the Capital,” I said. “Meet me at the Evening Star Hotel in four hours. Bring a phaser.”
***
After I landed at the spaceport, I went directly to the hotel. Yosso was waiting for me in a corner of the lobby.
“Are they in?” I asked him.
He nodded. “Let’s go up and see them,” I said.
Up on the fourth floor, Yosso pressed the doorbell. A voice inside said, “Who’s there?”
“Alliance Express,” I said.
A slender young man opened the door. Yosso pushed it open wider and moved in. Weel and I followed. He didn’t try to stop us—just stepped back. Yosso has that effect on people.
“Are you Fek?” I addressed the little one while Yosso was closing the door behind us. Without waiting for him to say yes, I turned to the big, broad-faced one sitting on the bed. “And you’re Weel?”
The Bajoran on the bed didn’t even get up. Just frowned and said: “You’re that Ferengi. The one Keeta--”
“Shut up!” said Fek.
Fek was the smart one, I guess. “We’re here for the latinum you took from the Cardassian,” I said.
Weel glanced at his partner. “What latinum?” he said. “Are we under arrest?”
I pulled out my phaser. “You’re being robbed, you idiot. Get your hands up. Now.”
Weel’s hands went up quick. Little Fek hesitated until Yosso prodded him in the ribs with the nose of a Bajoran phaser.
“Search them,” I told Yosso. “Then toss the place.”
Yosso went through Fek’s clothes, taking a hand phaser, some papers, and loose money. He put the phaser in his pocket and threw the rest on a table. Then he did the same for Weel. I kept them covered until he was done.
Then Yosso started searching the room. It didn’t take long to find a metal briefcase. He opened it up, looked inside, then looked at me and nodded.
“Count it,” I said.
For a few minutes, we all sat and listened to the dull clinking of soft metal on soft metal. I love that sound. Then, finally: “One hundred and eighty bars.”
“Any sign of the rest?”
Yosso took another look around.
“Hey, wait a minute,” said Weel, “you can’t do this!”
“I can’t?” I said, turning my phaser on him. “Why not? What are you going to do? Call the Militia?”
He didn’t answer. “No?” I said. “Then just sit there and shut up.”
“No more latinum,” said Yosso. “Just two hundred and thirty-five litas in cash.”
“Take those too,” I said, picking up the briefcase. “Let’s go.”
“Hey, come on,” Weel whined: “leave us something!”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” I said, backing toward the door.
The hall was empty. Yosso went out first, and covered Fek and Weel while I backed out. We let the door close, waited a second to see if they were coming after us, then headed downstairs and out of the hotel.
***
When my shuttle docked at Deep Space Nine I went to the assay office and stored the briefcase--the way Glinn Girling should have. I went to my quarters, called up something I’d been reading last night, and downloaded it onto a padd. Then I went to Miu’s quarters. She was dressed this time, in black, patterned with gold. Her hair was done up, Cardassian-style, and she had kohl around her eyes. What a woman. She looked like something out of a holosuite fantasy.
“Hello, Mrs. Girling,” I said.
“Drop dead,” she said, and tried to close the door. I pushed my way into the doorway, to prevent it from closing.
“I’m calling security,” she said, and went for the comm panel. I stepped into her quarters and let the door close.
“I’ve just come back from Bajor,” I said. “I got most of Quark’s money back from Keeta’s little boyfriends.”
She stopped. Her shoulders slumped, and her head drooped. Instead of activating the comm. panel, she used her outstretched hand to steady herself against the wall.
“I was pretty close, wasn’t I?”
She looked at me. I was expecting to see the anger I saw before, but all I saw was resignation. “Too close,” she said. She turned, and walked over to the kanar bottle on the kitchenette counter.
“You had me fooled about the robbery, though,” I said, as she uncorked and poured. “I thought it happened here, like you said. Not somewhere else. Where was he, anyway?”
She took a gulp of kanar. “Keeta’s quarters,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” I said, sitting down in the chaise.
She turned around to face me. “Girling got back to the station a day early, on Sunday evening,” she said. “He spent the night with her. They robbed him on Monday--tied them both up, to make it look like Keeta had nothing to do with it. Took them hours to get loose.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Girling told me.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
She walked over, and sat on the couch, looking out the porthole. When she crossed her legs, I noticed she was wearing that same anklet. “When he got loose,” she said, “he came home, and told me everything. That idiot—he still thought Keeta had nothing to do with it. I had to explain it to him.”
“Quark said you were the smart one.”
She sighed, bowed her head, ran her fingers through her hair, then looked up at me. “Some parts of my story were true,” she said. “I really did go to bed at half past ten. And he really was in the living room, drinking and watching the viewscreen. It was the sound of the shot that woke me. When I came out, he was lying on the floor, with a smoking hole in his head.”
I nodded. “So you hid the disruptor somewhere, knocked a few things over to make it look like a struggle took place, took a few minutes to get your story straight, and called security.”
She smiled a little, crookedly. “Not bad, huh?”
I smiled back. “Not bad at all.”
She drank more kanar. “How did you know?”
I shrugged. “The first thing Lieutenant Ro told me. Girling was away for a month.”
“So?”
“So, a Cardassian goes away for a month, on business, and he comes home to his beautiful Bajoran mistress, and what happens? They talk for a bit. Then she goes to bed, and he sits up drinking and watching the viewscreen.” I shook my head. “Not a very likely story. Unless...”
“Unless he’s gotten tired of her.”
“Right. And if he’s gotten tired of her, he’s probably looking to trade her in for a younger model. And as it happens, there’s a younger model working at Quark’s. She’s about the same age you would have been when you met Girling. And she’s acting furtive, and she’s quitting her job all of a sudden.” I shrugged. “All I did was put two and two together.”
She stuck out her lower lip and nodded. “So what happens now?”
I stood up. “Now I give Quark his money back.”
“I mean, what happens to me.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You’re not going to turn me in?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “Too much paperwork, too little profit.”
“You don’t even want a bribe?”
“Have you got any money?”
“No.”
“Well, then...”
She stared at me. “You’re a strange Ferengi,” she said. “You must want something.”
I looked her up and down and scratched behind my ear. “Well,” I said, smiling, moving toward her. “There was one thing...”
Her face hardened, and I finally saw some of that anger that I remembered, in her eyes. “Relax,” I chuckled. I reached into my inside jacket pocket, pulled out the padd, and held it out to her. She snatched it away and looked at it. Her expression began to soften a bit, from anger to puzzlement.
“Tell me about that,” I said, pointing.
***
A little while later, I walked into Quark’s, briefcase in hand. I looked around for Keeta. There was no sign of her.
“Where’s the new girl, Quark?” I said, walking up to the bar.
“Keeta? How the hell should I know?” he said, irritably. “She got a call, and then just ran out. I told her not to bother coming back. What can I get you?”
I put the briefcase on the bar. Quark froze.
“Can we talk some place more private?” I said.
A minute later, we were in the back room. I told Quark about Keeta, and Fek, and Weel. “Girling must have told Keeta when he was coming back to the station,” I said. “She set up the robbery. Miu had nothing to do with it. Everything happened just as she said.”
“Uh-huh,” said Quark, not really listening. “Is it all there?”
I opened the case. “One hundred and eighty bars of gold-pressed latinum,” I said. “They must have spent the rest.”
Quark frowned. “Twenty bars of latinum in less than a week?”
I shrugged. “Ah, well,” Quark said. “Ninety per cent of something is better than a hundred per cent of nothing.” He reached out for the money, but had to jerk his hand back when I closed the case again.
“Minus ten per cent for my finder’s fee,” I said. “That leaves one hundred and sixty-two bars.”
“Your finder’s fee?”
“Alliance All-Risk doesn’t pay me to find your lost property, Quark.”
“Okay, fine,” he said, sourly. “Ten per cent.”
I smiled. “Minus another fifty per cent. That leaves eighty-one bars for you.”
“Fifty per cent?” he squealed. “What for?”
“My standard fee.”
“For what?
“For keeping my mouth shut.”
“About what?”
“Your traffic in stolen Cardassian artifacts and art, since the end of the Dominion War.” I pulled out the padd and showed it to him. “This kuluk-metal mask, for example. This was looted from the Union Museum on Cardassia Prime, during the Occupation.”
“Never seen it before.”
“No? Well, Miu has. Girling showed it to her, before he left for Altair IV. He said you bought that mask from the Klingons who stole it.”
“That’s just hearsay.”
“Hearsay is admissible in a Cardassian court, Quark. You know that. And the penalty for trafficking in stolen cultural treasures is death.”
“But--fifty per cent? Be reasonable!”
“Come on, Quark. You know how this goes.”
He knew, all right. I let him bargain me down to my real standard fee--twenty-five per cent--just like I did when his bar was bombed, nine years ago. And I walked out of Quark’s with ninety-nine bars of gold-pressed latinum. Not bad for a couple of days’ work.
***
Lieutenant Ro was disappointed when I told her the same story that I told Quark. She really wanted Miu to be guilty. She looked very unhappy when I left her office. Oh well.
A few minutes later, I was back at Miu’s door. When she opened it, I saw the kohl around her eyes was smeared down her cheeks. She’d been crying. She’d had a couple more drinks, and now she was feeling sorry for herself. That was fine.
“Hi there,” I said. “Miss me?”
She glared. “Now what?”
“Well,” I said, slipping past her into her quarters, “I thought we’d have another drink for starters.”
She stayed by the door. “Get out of here.”
I sat down--on the couch this time. I patted the cushion beside me. “Then, I thought we’d discuss my share of your insurance money.”
“What do you mean, your ‘share’? There isn’t any money.”
“Sure there is. Glinn Girling was killed in a robbery, wasn’t he? That’s what I told Quark. That’s what Lieutenant Ro’s case file says. My report could say the same thing.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Miu,” I said. “You’re a smart female. Nobody knows what really happened except you and me. As far as everyone else knows, Keeta’s accomplices killed Girling. Now--how about that drink?”
She stared at me for a moment. Then, finally, she shoved herself away from the door, and walked over to the kitchenette. “I still only have kanar.”
“Kanar is still fine.”
She took a moment to wipe her face and compose herself. Then she fixed me a Collaborator, carried it over to the couch, handed it to me, and sat down, smiling, but keeping her distance. For now. “How big a share did you have in mind,” she said.
“Just my usual fee. Fifty per cent.”
She looked down into her glass, running a fingertip around the rim. “That’s a lot.”
“Not really,” I said, shrugging and taking a sip. “I have to kick some back to the claims manager.”
“I see.” She put her glass down on the coffee table. “But still...” She shifted over next to me, on the couch. “Mister...?”
“Huff.”
“Mister Huff,” she said, looking me in the eye. “That money is all I have in the world, now. Can’t I persuade you to take a little less?”
I frowned, and put my glass down on the coffee table. “I’m a Ferengi, Mrs. Girling. Profit is very important to me.”
She leaned close and put her right arm on the back of the couch, behind me. “I’d be so grateful,” she said.
“I don’t know...”
She leaned closer, and ran the fingers of her right hand lightly down the outer edge of my right ear. “Very, very grateful,” she breathed into the left.
I grinned. “I think we can work something out. Computer,” I said: “Lights.”
Hey--money isn’t everything.
THE END
And a very fitting metaphor.
By the way, count me in on the Alliance All-Risk fan club. I love stories from the Trekverse that show us life outside of Starfleet. And you do a great job of telling exciting and compeling Ferengi stories.
