Odd Girl Out

jacket pocket. 'An anonymous tip, I presume?'

Bhatami shrugged slightly. 'True, and we both know the general value of such tips,' he conceded. 'However, given that we've been unable to contact either of the two officers by comm, we're inclined to take this one a bit more seriously.'

I looked past his shoulder at the three cops by the door, their guns now pointed at the ceiling but still ready for action. So that was where at least one of the three missing Fillies had gotten to. He'd been lurking outside somewhere where he could spot my return and sic the cops on me. 'May I ask who it is who's missing?'

I looked back at Bhatami in time to catch his flicker of disappointment. Sometimes murderers gave themselves away by forgetting to ask the identity of their alleged victim. Obviously, he'd been hoping I would add that indicator to the case against me. 'Sergeant Aksam and Officer Lasari,' he said. 'The fact that you had a run-in with them earlier this evening makes the tip somewhat more credible.'

'I didn't have a run-in with them,' I explained patiently. 'They tried to serve me with a trumped-up warrant and my legal representative politely invited them to take a hike.'

'So I gather,' Bhatami said. 'They called in for a new warrant, which was subsequently issued.'

'Which I was never served.'

'Because both officers subsequently vanished.'

'Which I know nothing about,' I said. 'Allow me to point out I've been on New Tigris less than a day, hardly enough time to work up a good grudge against anyone, let alone a pair of cops just doing their duty. Furthermore, there must have been twenty people who observed Sergeant Aksam and Officer Lasari accost me in the restaurant. If any of them had a grudge, they would have seen me as a gift-wrapped patsy.'

'Facts which also have not escaped my notice,' Bhatami agreed. 'But the serious nature of the information requires that we make inquiries.'

'I suppose,' I said, looking over his shoulder again as the door opened and a newcomer shambled into the bar. Caught up in his own thoughts, or else blurred by his blood alcohol level, he got a full three steps inside before he noticed the cops lining the walls around him.

He jerked in shock and skittered nervously in a wide circle around the two nearest ones, keeping a wary eye on them as he backed hurriedly toward the bar. He looked toward me, his eyes narrowing as he peered at the evident object of the cops' attention. As he did so, he lifted his closed fist, thumb extended upward, toward his face. He dabbed the tip of his thumb at the corner of his mouth, the hand wiggling slightly as he did so.

Only then, as I gazed into his eyes, was I able to pierce the layer of grime and sweat and recognize McMicking's face.

McMicking's face, and a wiggling fist with thumb extended upward. The sign-language symbol for ten.

Ten cops? Ten minutes?

Ten seconds?

McMicking turned away and continued his shambling walk toward the bar. 'But there's no reason we can't be comfortable, is there?' I asked, looking back at Bhatami. 'Let's sit down.'

Before the two cops flanking me could react, I took a step backward to the Fillies' table and sat down in the chair the Human arm wrestler had recently vacated. 'Lieutenant?' I invited, gesturing Bhatami to the other empty chair as the two cops hurriedly moved back to my sides.

Bhatami looked pointedly at the two Fillies still seated at the table. 'I think we'd do better to have this convers—'

From somewhere outside came the muffled thundercrack of an explosion.

Automatically, every head in the room spun that direction, every eye probing the half-dozen frosted windows for signs of what had happened.

And with their attention momentarily elsewhere, I pulled the damning contract pen from my jacket and dropped it, point down, into the open dilivin bottle.

Quickly but casually I pulled my hand back again, glancing at the two Fillies at the table and the one still standing nearby. If any of them had spotted my gambit and yelled for the cops, there might still be time to retrieve the pen before the witch's brew in the dilivin destroyed all traces of the murdered cops' blood and my own fingerprints.

But the Fillies weren't yelling, or even looking accusingly at me. All three of them were staring straight ahead, their necks stiff, their eyes glazed over, their lower jaws trembling in the classic Filly indicator of extreme emotional agitation.

And I suddenly realized what McMicking had done. The explosion that had so neatly distracted the bar's attention had been the car with the two dead cops inside. Probably not coincidentally, the blast had also fried the hidden Modhran coral, creating a surge of pain and shock that had kicked back through the group mind connection into my three agitated Fillies.

I looked at the bar, where McMicking was staring in the direction of the explosion with everyone else. His eyes flicked sideways to meet mine, one eyelid dropping in a sort of half wink.

I inclined my head microscopically. Whether he'd deliberately intended it or not, his stunt had just pulled the other half of my bacon out of the fire. With the car probably now blazing away, any traces of DNA that the contract pen might have left in the cops' chests were rapidly disintegrating into their component atoms.

Bhatami recovered first. 'Bomb squad and fire department,' he snapped, jabbing a finger toward one of the cops beside me. 'You—stay with him,' he told the other, the jabbing finger shifting to me. Turning, he raced for the door.

It was the signal for instant mass chaos, with everyone in the bar either shouting, gasping, or clawing their way toward the door to see what was happening out there. A minute later, the only ones left in the bar were me, my police escort, the Fillies, the bartender, Karim, and about a dozen men already slumped in their chairs or collapsed across the bar in dilivin-induced slumber.

And, of course, McMicking.

I looked at the Fillies. All three were looking back at me now, their eyes blank in a way that sent a shiver up my back. 'I hope that didn't hurt too much,' I said.

It was probably the wrong thing to say. Slowly, deliberately, one of the Fillies reached into his tunic and pulled out his contract pen. Staring into my face, he turned it around in his hand, gripping it like a knife—

'Is there a problem?' the cop standing behind me asked.

The color of the Filly's blaze paled a bit, his eyes coming back to normal focus. 'Problem?' he asked. He looked at the pen in his hand as if wondering how it had gotten there, and tucked it away again. 'No. There is no problem.'

'Glad to hear it,' the cop said. 'Maybe you and your friends should move to a different table.'

The Filly looked at me. Then, without a word, he and his companion climbed off their chairs, and the three of them walked over to a table across the room. They settled themselves around it, one of them facing me, the second facing the door, the third watching Karim behind the bar.

'Thank you,' I said quietly to the cop.

'Save it,' he muttered back. 'If I find out you killed Aksam and Lasari, I'll take you apart myself.'

I sighed. Clearly, I still had the knack of making friends wherever I went.

Someday, I really should work on that.

TEN :

Over the next half hour or so the bar's patrons dribbled back in, talking in the subdued tones of people who've just seen something horrific. At the same time, though, I could sense the excitement and relief that something had happened to shake up their otherwise boring routines. This evening, I guessed, would be fodder for barroom conversations for months to come.

Still, despite the excitement, the free dilivin continued to take its toll. Soon after