Manny gave his head a shake and poured himself a beer. 'Are you sure you want to talk business right now?'
Nohar glared down at Manny. 'I didn't ask you to meet me for a counseling session.' Nohar reined in the outburst. 'Sorry. Been a tough day. Did you bring the database?''
Unlike Nohar, Manny couldn't form a smile, but between them a nose-twitch on Manny's part served the same purpose. Manny took a notebook-sized case and put it on the table and flipped up the cover. There was a pause as it wanned up. 'What happened to your wallet computer?'
Manny gave a brief shrug. His voice held a tone of resignation. 'The Jap chip blew. It was a prewar model, so the county couldn't replace it. So, I got this new bug-ridden Tunja 1200. Soon we're going to be back to manual typewriters and paper records ... '
Manny's head shook, accompanied by a high-pitched sigh. In a few seconds, the screen began to glow faintly and the keypad became visible. 'I updated it from the mainframe after you called. Do you have a name for the stiff you're looking for?'
Nohar poured himself another beer. 'Yes, but this isn't a normal case—'
'But you want records for a stiff, right?'
'The name's Daryl Johnson.'
Manny's whole upper body undulated with a momentary shrug. 'Off hand, I don't remember that name. What species?'
'Human.'
Manny froze; the sudden absence of motion was eerie on the mongoose. 'What?' FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
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'I need the complete forensic record on the murder of a man named Daryl Johnson.'
'What the hell?'
Nohar could see him tense up. He could almost see the vibration in Manny's small frame. Nohar could smell Manny's nervousness even over the smell of the beer. 'You can access those records?'
'Nohar, you said human, you said murder.'
'I said it wasn't a normal case.'
Manny was silent. His black eyes darted from Nohar to his little portable computer and back. Nohar was a little surprised at his reaction. They'd worked together and had shared information ever since Nohar had gotten his license. But then, until now, it had simply consisted of Nohar making sure the moreys he'd been hired to find hadn't ended up in the morgue.
After nearly a full minute of silence, Manny finally spoke. 'Nohar, I've known you all your life. You don't ask for trouble anymore. You've never interfered with a police investigation. You've never messed with pink business.'
'You slipped, you said the 'p' word.' Nohar regretted it the instant he said it. Manny had to work with humans. He was one of perhaps a half-dozen mo-reaus in the city with medical training, and they would only let him cut up corpses. Only morey corpses at that. Manny was always open to the accusation of selling out, being pink under his fur. Nohar just rubbed Manny's nose in it.
'Forgive me if I don't want to see you mixed up in something that might hurt you.'
'Sorry. It's just a case. An important one. I'm trying to find out who killed him.'
Manny closed his eyes. His voice picked up speed. 'You are trying to find out who murdered a human? You know what'd happen if word got on the street? You know what happens to moreys that get too close to humans —'
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S. ANDREW SWANN 'I still need your help.'
Manny made an effort to slow down. 'I'm not going to change your mind, am I? I'll call up the file, but first—' One of Manny's too-long hands clasped No-har's wrist. 'Remember, my place is as far from Moreytown as you can get.' Nohar nodded.
Manny held Nohar's gaze for a brief moment. Then Manny looked down at his computer and started rapid-fire tapping on the screen. For a terminal with no audio, Manny handled it very efficiently. His hands were engineered for surgery, and their gracefulness permeated every gesture.
He did, however, have to hit the thing a few times to get it to work right. Manny's nose twitched. 'I don't believe it. The file's inactive. It's barely a week old.'
'The police are under pressure to drop the investigation.'
Manny looked like he was about to say something, but apparently thought better of it. 'Fine, well, we have the autopsy report, list of the forensic evidence, abstract of the scene of the crime, a few preliminary statements from the neighbors, as well as the witness who found the body, etcetera. Pretty complete record. Compared to most IVe seen.'
One of Manny's lithe hands dove into a breast pocket and pulled out a ramcard and slid it into the side of the computer. Nohar briefly saw the rainbow sheen of the card reflected in a small puddle of beer on the table. 'I'm running off a copy. Do me a favor and make a backup. Occasionally they do monitor access to the database.'
Nohar nodded when Manny handed him the card. Nohar slipped it into his wallet, next to the as yet unexamined card from his camera, the pictures from Johnson's funeral. 'Could you tell me how Johnson died?'
'It's all on the card I gave you. He was shot in the FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
61
head. Through his picture window. Splattered his brains all over his comm—oh, that's interesting ...'
'What?'
There was the hint of what might have been admiration in Manny's voice. 'Are you familiar with Israeli weaponry? Thought not. The forensics team found the remains of two bullets, from a Levitt Mark II, fifty-caliber.' A slight whistle of air came from between Manny's front teeth.
'So?'
'Came out of Mossad during the Third Gulf War. It was designed for a single sniper, and, like most designs they came up with, it's made to keep the sniper alive. The bullets are propelled by compressed carbon dioxide. It can't be heard firing by anyone farther away than fifteen meters or so. The ammunition is made from an impact- sensitive plastic explosive impregnated with shrapnel. It's intended as an antipersonnel weapon. I haven't seen an impact wound from one of these since the war. The Afghanis favored them for night raids—Nohar, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?'
'I don't know.'
Nohar knew Manny was tempted to try and talk him out of it. However, Manny wouldn't try. Nohar hated when Manny got into surrogate-father mode, and Manny was too aware of that feet.
Such meetings usually ended with them spending a few hours discussing innocent bullshit over too many beers. This time they finished the pitchers in relative silence. Nohar wanted to reassure Manny he wasn't in over his head. But it would have been a lie. Nohar had trouble with lies, especially with Manny.
So, at eleven-fifteen—an early night for them—they walked to the south end of the strip, and the lot where Manny had parked. The rain had intensified, finally chasing the moreys inside. The abandoned trash-strewn asphalt reminded Nohar of pictures of the Pan-Asian
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S. ANDREW SWANN
war. It was the view of a city waiting for a biological warhead.
They rounded the pylons on Euclid Heights Boulevard and Nohar caught sight of the other cop on the riot- watch. Nohar wondered what it would be tike, to come to work each day, to sit and wait for something to explode. The cops would have to be on rotation. Someone on permanent assignment would go nuts.
The cop looked at them as they passed, two unequal-sized moreys huddling through the rain. There was a flash of lightning, and Nohar saw the cop's face. The pink looked scared. In that instant he saw a man, a kid really, no more than twenty-two—young for a human that was, most moreys who made it into their twenties were well into middle age. The pink kid would have no idea what he would do if Nohar and Manny decided to do something illegal. He could imagine he sensed the smell of fear off of the kid, even with the car and the rain between them.
They passed the police car and walked into the parking lot of the old school. Nohar couldn't help but feel
