are you worried about?'
'One kills once, one kills again. You have no idea what it would mean if one of our number is directly involved in a human's death. The company is a worthy project, but someone may commit atrocities hi its name. I cannot, nor can anyone else, abide our secrecy, our existence, if one of us kills to further our ends.'
'How is your organization involved?'
'The police call it a robbery-murder because there are over three million dollars in campaign funds missing from his house—'
'Sounds plausible.' Nohar realized that he was just leading the frank on. He had some natural curiosity, but there was no sane way he could touch this case.
The frank's bulk groaned and rippled as he leaned toward Nohar. The heat and stench that floated off of the frank's body almost made Nohar wince. 'I am the accountant for MLI. The three million that is missing is never there. Campaign records the police use are
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wrong about this. The money comes from MLI, and should be there. But 1 handle the books and such a sum never leaves our accounts, or, if it does, it returns before the sum is debited.
'I do not go to the police. For now I must retain the secrecy. I can be wrong. I cannot damage the company until my suspicions are proved correct. I can't work within MLI. I have no idea who of my colleagues are involved. And I am closely watched—'
Nohar stood up. 'I don't deal with anything involving murder. I have to walk from this one—find an out-of- towner.'
'I have a five thousand retainer, and I will pay five times your usual rate, another five thousand when you complete the job successfully.'
Nohar froze, his usual rate was five hundred a day. No, he told himself, it's a bad job all over. You don't get involved with killings. You don't get involved with pinks. You don't get involved with things bigger than you are. Against his will, he found himself saying, 'Double the retainer.'
It was a ludicrous request. The frank would never go for it. He'd be able to walk away clean.
'Agreed.'
Damn it. 'Plus expenses.'
'Of course.'
Nohar had trapped himself.
'Time closes in on us.' The frank handed him an envelope. Ten thousand. He'd been anticipated. 'Start with Johnson, work back. Do not contact anyone at MLI. I'll contact you every few days. Get any information about MLI through me. We have few minutes. Any immediate questions?''
Nohar was still looking at the cash. 'Why is a bunch of franks backing a reactionary right-winger like Binder?'
'Quid-pro-quo, Mr. Rajasthan. The corporate entity will see its interests served in the Senate. The fact that we're of a background Binder despises is of little
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consequence. Binder doesn't know who runs MLI. Anything else?'
'What's your name?'
Nohar heard the engine start up again. As the door closed with its pneumatic hiss, Nohar heard the frank say, 'You can call me John Smith.'
The ugly green van drove away, leaving a pair of divots in the grass. The ghost of the frank's smell remained, emanating from the money Nohar still held in his hand.
Once he took the money, he did the job. No matter what.
No matter what, damn it.
Nohar put the money in one of the cavernous pockets of his trenchcoat. Now that he was on the job, he pulled out his camera, slipped in a ramcard, and started recording the funeral.
CHAPTER 3
The ATM was half a block from Nohar's place. To his relief, it appeared to be working. At least the lights were on. He stopped in front of the armored door, and, under the blank stare of the disabled external camera, he pulled his card and slipped it into the slot. The mechanism gave an arthritic wheeze and he feared it was going to eat his card again. Fortunately, the keypad flashed green at him. He punched in his ID number while the servos on the lensless camera followed his every move.
The door slid aside with a grinding noise and he ducked into the too-small room. When the door shut behind him, he finally felt comfortable with all that money on him.
The chair the bank provided was too small to sit on. The best he could do was to lean against it and hunch over, hanging his tail over the back of the seat. Besides, somebody had pissed all over the damn thing.
There was a short burst of static, and a voice came through one of the intact speakers. 'Welcome to Society Bank's Green Machine—bzt—Mr. Noharajasthan. Please state clearly what transaction you wish—'
The voice was supposed to be female human, but it was tinny and muffled. Nohar interrupted. 'Deposit, Card Account. Ten-Thousand-Dollars.'
'Please repeat clearly.'
'Deposit. Card Account. Ten-Thousand-Dollars.'
'Please type in request.'
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Great, the damn thing couldn't hear him. He typed in the transaction on the terminal.
'Is this a cash transaction?'
It didn't believe him. 'Yes,' he said and typed at the same time.
A drawer opened under the terminal. Unlike most of the ATM, it seemed to be in perfect working order, '— bzt—please place paper currency in the drawer. There will be a slight pause while the bills are screened.'
Nohar placed the two packets of bills in the drawer. Nohar knew that the note of surprise he heard in the ATM's voice was in his own head more than anywhere else. 'Your currency checks as valid. Thank you for banking with Society, Mr. Noharajasthan. The current balance on your card account
is—bzt—ten-thousand-one-hundred-ninety-three-dollars and sixty-five cents. You may pick up your card and receipt at the door. Have a nice day.'
Nohar left the ATM and turned up the collar of his coat against a sudden burst of more intense rain. He typed in his ID again at the keypad, blinking twice as water got in his eyes. The ATM released his card and the receipt. As he pocketed the items, he noticed a couple of ratboys hanging around across the street.
An ATM in use attracted vermin.
The two ratboys were crossing the street. Nohar had hoped that his appearance would have put them off. Apparently, they were too zoned or too stupid, perhaps both. As they closed he could smell that they were probably on something. Itching for a fight, both of them.
'Kitty.'
'Pretty kitty.'
Nohar decided to ignore them. All he wanted was to get home and shuck his wet coat. He walked down the road, past them.
The damn rodents didn't seem to know any better. They cut around in front of him, blocking his path.
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'No, no, wrong, kitty.' This rat was a dirty brown, shiny black in the rain. His nose seemed to twitch in time to
