THIRTEEN
I made the trip home and emptied the arsenal I kept under the bed, dumping the full complement into a duffel bag I had to dig out of Niki's closet. I gave the duffel a final once-over: Three lase-blades with a range of ten centimeters all the way out to a full meter. One broad-beam lase-pistol. Two showerhead lasers, one set to spray, the other on pulse. One lase-rifle with remote targeting. Four charge packs. One trail-cam. One flycam. One AV recorder. A couple penlights.
I rolled my pant leg down over the ankle blade and strapped my holster on backward to make it lefty. It didn't feel right, so I dumped the holster and tucked my piece into my belt instead and headed out with the bag draped over my shoulder.
The rain had stopped, so I made for Tenttown on foot. Lights were coming on behind windows, telling me it was morning. I sloshed through flooded intersections whose drains were clogged with jungle. I left my neighborhood behind, not knowing when I'd be back. Those barge murders had me plenty spooked, and if everything went to shit, I didn't plan on being easy to find.
Maggie called. “I got the scoop on the offworlder.”
“Good.”
Maggie sounded tired, but her holo looked chipper as it skimmed alongside. “Horst Jeffers is a travel agent.”
“A travel agent?”
“Well, actually he's more of a tour operator. His company is called Jungle Expeditions. They have an office on the Old Town Square.”
“Do they cater to the Orbital or the mines?”
“Both. They have an office on the Orbital, but their main office is on Asteroid B 3, which is where he's from.”
It made sense that he was from the belts. He was always wearing traditional-looking clothes, albeit with a vampire flair. Miners usually dressed a bit more conservative than the offworlders from the Orbital.
Maggie's feet disappeared below the water as I splashed through another ankle-deep intersection. “Are they on the up-and-up?” I asked.
“They appear to be. Their specialty is organizing deep jungle adventure.”
“What does that mean?”
“I assume it means monitor hunts, fishing, that kind of thing. The guy's a successful businessman and by all accounts a personable one at that. Not exactly a loner, Juno.”
“What are you saying?”
“Serials are usually loners.”
“We can't be sure he isn't a loner. His bubbly personality could be nothing more than a digital implant.”
“True,” she admitted, “but it occurred to me that the killer could be one of his clients.”
Horst Jeffers: Tour Guide for the Discerning Serial. Maggie could be right. “Is there a way we can get our hands on a list of his clients?”
“Not without walking into their office and demanding one. I thought that was a little too bold for us right now.”
“I agree.” Stay on the fringes.
“The only other thing I could think of was to talk to somebody at the Koba Office of Customs. Offworld visitors have to write in their tour operator's name on customs forms, so I thought they could compile a list for me. I must've talked to a dozen people before I got somebody who said she could get me the information in two or three days.”
“Days? All they have to do is query the database.”
“I know. But she needs to get approval.”
Typical government bullshit. “Anything else to report?”
“No. Just that Ian's making it tough at work.”
“How so?”
“Nobody will talk to me. I mean nobody. Not even Lieutenant Rusedski. They all ignore me like I'm not there.”
“Just stay out in the field.”
“I'll do that as much as I can, but there's always going to be a meeting or two that I have to attend.”
“I say skip them.”
She gave me an annoyed exhalation. “That wouldn't look very good on my record.”
She'd never change. Career first. I was already in the outskirts of Tenttown. No more roads, just footpaths that wound their way through haphazardly placed tents. “Listen, I gotta go. I'll see you after you get off work.”
To keep out of the mud, I walked across a series of planks laid end to end. At one point, I had to step off to the side in order to make room for a series of men with rickety wheelbarrows loaded down with sacks of rice. Once the sweat-stained group had passed, I almost tipped over trying to yank my feet out of the suctioning mud. The tents were getting denser as I penetrated deeper into Tenttown, each one now a mere meter from the next.
I took a set of rock steps down toward the canal, the smell of sewage coming through strong. I found a nice new-looking tent with the renter's red rag tied to the corner post. I popped my head in. “Got any openings?”
“Yeah,” said the man inside as he rushed out to meet me.
I followed him as he led me around back. I weaved left and right to avoid having to step over tied tent stakes. He stopped at a faded blue tent and grinned rotten teeth. I looked the tent over, thinking that it wasn't as new as I'd have liked, but it looked solid enough. I couldn't see any frayed edges that told of leaks. “How about the inside?”
“Yes, yes,” he said. He shook the tent by grabbing hold of one of the ropes. Out came a young woman holding her baby. The man waved me ahead and I peeked into the now vacated tent, deciding it would do.
We haggled over price while the woman, who looked like his daughter, went back in and began stuffing her belongings into a threadbare carpetbag. It didn't take her long to come back out. She didn't have much-the bag wasn't even half full. I momentarily felt bad about evicting her from her home but knew that she'd be glad to move in with her father if it meant they could earn a little money. Once her father and I settled, I went in and stripped off my muddy shoes, setting them on a rock by the entryway. I stepped from stone to stone to keep off the otherwise dirt floor and hung my duffle from the center post. Then I hoisted myself into one of the hammocks and sent the entire tent shaking and ruffling.
I swatted a mosquito, angry that I'd forgotten my bug spray. Hopefully it would start raining soon, putting enough moisture in the air to keep the little bloodsuckers grounded. I swatted another one… and another. I hate this fucking place. I began to wonder if it was a good idea to come here. Surely I could tough it out for a while. I'd grown up here, for god's sake. And my family's tent was a hell of a lot rattier than this one. Yet I knew that I'd softened after so many years of living high on the KOP food chain. I'd just have to suffer through it.
I called Vlad. “Did you get the new room?”
“Yeah. I got her set up in the morgue.”
“The morgue!”
“Yeah. You don't want anybody to find her, right?”
“Shit, Vlad. I don't want her in the morgue.”
“Listen, Juno. The morgue's perfect. It'll be the last place anybody looks, and the doors have locks.”
“No, Vlad. Find someplace else.”
“But-”
“Fucking listen to me, Vlad. You're going to find someplace else. You hear me?”
“All right, boss. Whatever you say.”
“Do it now.”
“You got it, boss. Hey, are you coming down anytime soon?”
“No. Why?”
