Ex-Kop (16 page)

“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?”

“Well, she's been asking for you.”

“What's she been saying?”

“Listen, Juno, I don't want to get in the middle of anything.”

“Just tell me, Vlad.”

“Well, she's in a real bad way. She just keeps crying, and then she starts choking like she can't clear her throat. I have to keep getting the nurses to come and take care of it.”

“Can't they give her a sedative or something?”

“Yeah, but she refuses.”

Unbelievable. “Okay, I'll come down.”

“When?”

“Fucking later, okay?”

“Sure, you bet. Just call me before you come, and I'll tell you where we are.”

“Right.” I clicked off as the sick feeling in my gut reached epic proportions. I took a few hits off my flask and closed my eyes. Visions of Niki in the morgue haunted me. I tossed and turned as much you could in a hammock. I needed sleep. I tried changing the subject of my thoughts by thinking about the case and just found myself haunted by thirteen mutilated victims instead.

I turned my thoughts to Liz, and the way her toes had massaged me. I jerked off, concentrating on her cleavage, and then closed my eyes again, wanting desperately to sleep.

I woke up an hour later and thought I'd been lucky to even get an hour's worth of rest. I scarfed down a bowl of veggies and rice that my new landlord had brought over. I tried to ignore the occasional crunch as I bit down on a grain of sand. I wondered what Horst would think of the local cuisine if he had to eat like a Tenttowner. I found a bathroom, which was really just a hole in the wooden planking built over the canal. I took a whiz and tried to forget that the food I just ate was cooked with that same steeped-shit canal water.

I made my way to the hospital, finding Vlad in maternity and paying him before I went in to see Niki. I took a chair by Niki's bed. She was asleep. I felt desperate to get her out of here, where she'd be safe from Ian, but I had no choice but to keep her here with her machines and her doctors. I left her side and made my way up and down the ward, passing out thousand-peso notes to the staff like I was one of those street kids on the Old Town Square who would just about tackle you in order to pass you a flyer. I told every one of the staff, “Anybody asks for Niki, you tell him she checked out.” I doubted it would do any good. My best hope was that Ian would continue believing that I didn't care about Niki, and that he couldn't go through her to get at me.

I returned to Niki's side. She looked worse than normal; her eyes were dark and puffy, and her complexion was more yellow than usual. I took her hand knowing I wouldn't wake her—she couldn't feel it. I was surprised by the warmth in her fingers. For some reason, I always expected her hands to be cold.

Why was she being so stubborn? Things would change
when she got her spine. Things would go back to the way they were. I'd quit drinking. Okay, maybe a glass with dinner, but no more bingeing. I'd quit freelancing for the rags. I'd just get a job, a regular job, with regular pay. We could sell the house and move into someplace smaller and less expensive. I could be a better husband. I could.

“Juno.”

I opened my eyes. I was still at the hospital, still holding Niki's hand. I checked my watch—a half hour had gone by.

“You fell … asleep,” she said.

“Yeah.” I rubbed a kink in my neck. “Is this room okay?”

“Yeah.” Her tone implied a ho-hum shrug. A baby started crying next door.

I said, “I hear you've been having a hard time.”

She didn't respond.

“I know it's hard for you right now, but we can get through this.”

“And what if … I don't w—want to get … through it?”

“You won't feel that way when you get your spine.”

“And why n—not?”

“Jesus, Niki, you'll be able to walk, eat, run. … You'll be able to do whatever you want.”

“How about kill my—myself?”

Anger started welling up inside me. “Dammit, Niki. Stop making this so difficult. I'm sacrificing everything to get you patched up. The least you can do is make an effort.”

“I never asked y—you to spend all … your money.”

“Our money.”

“S—still, I never … asked you.”

“What do you expect me to do? Just let you die?”

“Yes.”

“Well that's not an option. Like it or not, you're alive, and
you're going to stay that way, so grow up and deal with it already.”

She stayed silent for a minute or two before saying, “You d—don't understand.”

“Don't give me that bullshit, Niki. I understand just fine.”

“No you don't. … If you … did, you wouldn't … make me suffer any … more.” She was being ridiculous, once again putting on this woe-is-me crap that I'd been hearing for over two and a half decades.

“You think I don't understand? You think you've got all this secret pain. All these burdens that you and you alone have to bear. You think the whole world is living this dream life while you're the only one that's suffering?”

“If you only … knew.”

Enough
. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, surging from down deep. Anger shot up straight from the knot in my stomach. I practically hissed, “I'm not going to feel sorry for you. It's not going to work anymore.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I'm serious,” I said.

She looked away.

It was always the same shit with her.
I'm so tortured. You'll never understand.
Like her secrets were some license to feel miserable. She kept it all inside and then beat me over the head with it whenever it was convenient. And I'd let her do it. For all these years, I'd let her do it. I'd tell myself, maybe she'll open up one day, when she's finally ready, or maybe she won't, maybe some doors are better left shut. Truth was, she did go through a lot of hell in her life, but so did I, dammit. And so did everyone else on this backwater world. Yet she always acted like she was the only one, like the hell she went through was so far off the hell meter that she didn't have to listen to anybody. Well fuck that, fuck it to hell.

I leaned forward, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “I'm serious, Niki. I know your secrets. I
know
.”

Her eyes went quizzical.

“I
know,
” I repeated.

Her eyes widened in fear.

“That's right, Niki. I've always known.”

“You're full of sh—shit.”

“Am I full of shit when I say that I know your father raped you?” There. It was out.

“That's not t—true.”

“Oh yes it is. And I know you murdered him, and your mother.”

Her eyes were going misty. “No.”

I couldn't keep from raising my voice as words that had been buried for decades erupted out of me. “You think I'm stupid? All this time you thought I couldn't figure it out? You thought I was just a dumb oaf who'd just believe anything you said? Shit, Niki, I was the one who covered it up.
Me
. If it wasn't for me, you would've gone to the Zoo.”

Tears were breaking loose from her eyes.

“I've always known. So don't go thinking I don't understand.”

She was full out crying now. She started to gag.

Dammit. Why does she have to do that?
All the anger in me instantly melted. I rolled her on her side, putting some tissues by her mouth so she could spit out the mucus. I pinched a tissue over her nostrils so she could blow her nose. I kept her like that as she sobbed and choked. It went on for a long time, long enough to use up half a box of tissues. When the sniveling finally subsided, I laid her flat on her back and caressed her cheek. “We're going to get through this,” I said. “It wasn't your fault.”

I
CROSSED
the Old Town Square, feeling great, better than I had in forever. The knot in my stomach was completely tame, and I hadn't had a drink for hours now. About time I got that off my chest. Year after year, I'd let Niki continue believing I didn't know about her father, thinking I was doing what was best for her. But now it was out, out in the open where she'd finally be able to face it and move on. I called the hospital and had them bring her some flowers, something nice I told them, not those wilted week-old flowers that die in a day.

I cut through one of the many narrow streets that ran off the square. I looked for numbers by the doors of the souvenir shops, but they were all hidden by cascading displays of monitor-hide handbags and oil paintings of regal-looking 'guanas perched on top of rocks or rooftops. I reached the end of the block and had to turn back before I spotted the Jungle Expeditions placard on the walk. I checked out the sign as I approached—sun-faded nature shots with words like
adventure
and
excitement
written in the gaps between pics.