Tek Net (20 page)

“Do I care who hears me?” asked the old Teklord. “I drag my weary ass from England all the way up to this goddamn Movie Palace so I can attend this hush-hush meeting and Marriner sticks me in a room that'd make a peanut feel cramped.”

“It is, they assured me at the desk, the largest and most lavish suite in the entire Chateau Hollywood Hotel, sir.”

“Who assured you? Some fag robot.”

“I don't think robots can have sexual preferences, Mr. Anzelmo, and besides, there's no reason why Mr. Marriner would house you in a suite that's anything less than—”

“And what kind of lousy view is this?” Anzelmo went shuffling over to the wide window. “Palm trees, for Christ sake. Palm trees and a bunch of skinny broads with their little bitty asses hanging out of their swim togs.”

“It's what you call a Hollywood ambiance, sir.”

Pointing at the control panel next to the window, Anzelmo said, “What else can you dial up in the way of a view?”

Julie squinted. “Well, it's mostly just variations, sir. More palm trees, more starlets, more sand on the beach. Oh, and seagulls. Would you like to see a dozen more seagulls swooping in the midday sun?”

“Sheep,” said Anzelmo, turning his back on the view.

“Beg pardon?”

“I want,” said the Teklord evenly, “to see frigging sheep. Lots of them out in a green meadow with a bunch of cute little goddamn thatched cottages in the background.”

“We don't seem to have that option, sir.”

Very stiffly, the older man sat suddenly down on the edge of a fat grey armchair. “Well, shitcan, arrange it so that we do.”

“Don't you want me to get rid of all the eavesdropping devices first?”

“I want,” Anzelmo repeated, “to see sheep out the window.”

35

Gomez, both hands sunk deep in his trouser pockets, was slumped in the least comfortable chair in their shuttle compartment. “This
nariz
that Moonjohn stuck on me,” he complained, gingerly touching at his new nose, “will be the ruin of me.”

“It's only temporary,” reminded Jake. He was standing at the small circular viewindow.

“Did you notice the disdainful look our lovely blonde attendant gave me when she served our complimentary snack?”

“She's an android, Sid.”

“You're insinuating I'm incapable of charming a mechanism any longer?”

“Not with that schnoz apparently.”

Gomez touched it again. “This thing is sapping my self-esteem.”

“You've got an ample supply,” Jake assured him, “so don't fret.”

“No more disguises after this. From hence, I'll risk recognition.”

“I don't think you want Marriner's crew—or any of Anzelmo's bunch—to spot you and realize who you are.”

“I suppose not.” He touched the nose yet again.

“Attention,” spoke the voxbox in the metal ceiling. “We will be docking next at the Movie Palace satellite. All passengers for that destination will assemble in five minutes at Exit 12-14. Repeating. We'll …”

Sighing, Gomez rose. “Well, let's slink to Exit 12-14.” He extracted his single suitcase from the shelf. “Aren't you at all chagrined by the present stage of your own looks?”

Jake grinned. “Not particularly,” he said. “In fact, I think I look splendid with grey hair. Splendid and distinguished.”

“I was alluding to that extra chin.”

“I have such a strong faith in my inner goodness that the state of my outward self doesn't affect me at all.”

“I don't think you've fully recovered from your stay at The Institute.”

Jake moved to the door. “Probably not,” he agreed.

They'd just left the Security Check Section of the docking area and entered the Arriving Passengers Concourse, when Jake said, quietly, “Very unobtrusively, Sid, glance over at the lad in the shuttle attendant uniform to our right.”

Gomez rubbed at his new nose. “The
hombre
who emerged from the door marked
Staff Arrivals?
”

“Him, yeah.”

“Not an especially amiable-looking chap. Why are we ogling him?”

“I think,” said Jake, “I better tail him and find out where he's staying.”

“Okay, I'll go check in and start contacting informants for news of Nat,” said his partner, frowning. “But who exactly is this
pendejo
and why's he worth tagging?”

“I thought he was still up in the Freezer prison,” answered Jake. “But that's Austin Quadrill.”

“
Ai
, he was an expert at arranging explosions, wasn't he?”

“I'm betting he still is,” said Jake. “Fact, he might be the fellow who sent the Santa Clara Hotel on to glory.”

As Jake turned to move away, Gomez said, “Be sure to ask him if he has anything planned for this satellite.”

When Wolfe Bosco scowled, a multitude of new wrinkles joined those already crowded together on his lined little face. “What gives, pal?” he inquired of the disguised Gomez. “You act like you're auditioning for
Galactic G-Men
.”

The detective, paying him little heed, continued using the bug-detector on the small office. “One can't be too careful about spy devices when one is about to discuss an important vidwall production,” he told the wrinkled little talent agent.

From behind his small desk Bosco asked, “You ever do any voice work, pal? I got this hunch I've heard your voice someplace before.”

Satisfied there were no eavesdropping gadgets in the room, Gomez dropped the detector into a pocket. “
Sí
, Wolfe, you've often heard the mellow tones of my voice,” he told him. “We've been doing business ever since the days when I was a cop down in Greater LA and—”

“Holy Hannah.” The little agent slumped. “It's my old nemesis, my jinx. Sid Gomez.”

“
Verdad
, but don't go howling my name around.”

“Why the fake honker, pal?”

“Disguise.”

“What sort of god-awful mess are you in now, Sid? No, don't tell me, don't impart any details. Just simply take a hike for yourself.”

“Wolfe, besides being one of the great talent agents on or off the planet, you—”

“Great, am I? You, Sid, as well as that carrot-topped Newz, Inc., broad you hang around with—and to whom you are probably slipping the old salami unless I miss my guess—the pair of you are the main contributors to my fall from grace.” Standing up, Bosco pointed an accusing finger. “I've sunk so low that I have to peddle android talent up on this second-rate satellite and—”

“What a coincidence,” cut in the detective. “It's Natalie Dent I've dropped in to talk to you about.”

“Amscray,” invited the forlorn agent. “Hit the road, check out. That skirt is poison and—”

“A thousand dollars.”

“How's that again?”

Gomez moved closer to the desk. “That's the initial fee I'm offering you, Wolfe,” he answered. “As I was trying to say—in addition to being a top-seeded agent, you're also a terrific informant. You've helped me on several cases over the years, and soon as I learned you were in residence on the Movie Palace, why, I—”

“Informant? Say rather stool pigeon,” said the wrinkled little man. “A Judas.”

“A Judas who'll add at least a thousand dollars to his income for today.”

“Twelve hundred.”

“Too much, Wolfe.”

“I won't have anything to do with Natalie Dent unless you can sweeten the—”

“Okay, eleven hundred.”

“Split the diff, Sid.”

“Eleven-fifty.”

Very slowly, very reluctantly, Bosco invited, “Sit down, Sid.”

Gomez sat down.

36

When the pain caught her this time, Yedra Cortez was crossing the main dining room of the club. She lurched, cried out. Her skull felt as thought it had suddenly burst into flame and she saw zigzags of intensely bright colored light go circling around her head.

The young woman staggered, dropping to her knees amidst a stand of yellow holographic bamboo. She knelt there, surrounded by ghostly images of the slanting bamboo reeds, bent in on herself.

“
Mierda
,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “
Mierda
.”

She brought up both hands and pulled at her short-cropped dark hair.

“What's wrong, kid?” Trocadero came hurrying over to her, stepping right through a projected banana tree.

“It's my damned head again, Johnny.” Her voice was thin, uneven.

“We got to get you to a medic,” said the Teklord.

“No, I'll be okay.” The hand she reached out to catch hold of his arm was shaking.

“It's that gadget in your coco.” He helped her to stand, then guided her over to a table and put her in a chair.

“No, it isn't that. Forget it.” She was hunched, both elbows on the tabletop.

“Listen, Quadrill is on the vidphone and he wants to talk to you. But if you feel—”

“That bastard is supposed to be up on the satellite by now. Why the hell is—”

“Yeah, he
is
up there. He's calling from the Movie Palace.”

“Why's he doing that? He's liable to tip them off.”

“The guy claims he's using a tap-proof phone. A special one he cooked up himself.”

She straightened. “I better talk to him.”

“You up to it, sure?”

“I'm feeling all right now.” Yedra slipped a palmphone out of her pocket. “Put that asshole on.”

“You're not looking especially well—even for you, dear,” said Quadrill. “How are you feeling?”

“You're calling me from the frigging Movie Palace just to ask how I am, Austin?”

“In point of fact, that
is
one of the reasons,” he replied. “I wanted to find out how you're enjoying your headaches.”

She exhaled sharply. “What the hell do you know about that?”

He smiled thinly. “You're not as bright as you claim to be,” he said. “I'm responsible for what you've been experiencing.”

“What's that son of a bitch telling you?” asked Trocadero, leaning closer.

“Hello, Johnny,” said Quadrill from the little phonescreen. “Stand aside, would you, until I finish with Yedra?”

“Stand aside, my ass. What's the big idea of—”

“Let him speak,” cut in the young woman. “Go on, Austin. What's this all about?”

“I've come up with a little device that allows me to manipulate the skull-phone you saw fit to have installed inside your head,” continued Quadrill. “Simple little gadget, but it allows me to send you fairly severe spasms of pain whenever I want to.”

“We'll get the damn thing removed,” said Trocadero. “You're not going to hurt—”

“Come on, Johnny,” said Quadrill. “I've taken care of that too. If anybody starts to operate on Yedra's lovely little skull—well, you don't want to try that.”

“Listen, you're working for me,” said the Teklord, angry. “What the hell you up to?”

“I want to make sure I get paid all I'm owed,” he said quietly.

“I always pay off.”

“And I'm equally interested in making sure I survive after my job has been successfully completed.”

Yedra said, “You're not going to stop this shit until you've collected and gotten away clear?”

“It bothered me when you found my workshop, dear,” he told her. “This is to make sure nothing like that happens again.”

Trocadero said, “You have my word that nothing is going to—”

“I also have my gadget, Johnny,” he said. “Oh, and by the way. I want a bonus for this job up here.”

“Why the hell for?” asked Yedra.

“Because somebody was tailing me—I don't know if it's somebody who's working for you or some kind of cop,” Quadrill told her. “Pudgy guy, around fifty, with a couple of chins.”

“You're the only one we sent up to the Movie Palace, Austin,” she assured him.

“This gentleman arrived shortly after I did,” said Quadrill, smiling another small, narrow smile. “But I didn't have any trouble eluding him. It meant extra work though, hence extra money.”

“Forget about your damn money,” said Trocadero. “I don't want Yedra to suffer any more pain from—”

“Lay off, Johnny,” she told him. “You win, Austin.”

Quadrill held up a small silvery control panel. “Just a little reminder,” he said, and touched one of the keys.

“Oh, Jesus!” The young woman bent over, her head nearly hitting the table.

“Start getting my money ready.” Quadrill's image left the phonescreen.

The big blonde woman in the dark blue uniform asked Gomez, “Well, which one?”

He shifted slightly in the railcar seat beside her. “The wide-brimmed hat,” he said with very little enthusiasm.

“Instead of this cap with the tassel?”

“If you prefer that one,” he said, some impatience in his voice, “then go ahead and wear it.”

“What I'd appreciate knowing, Mr. Gomez, is
your
preference.” She removed the cap with the tassel and replaced it with the wide-brimmed hat.

“My preference,
Señorita
Kording, is that we get rolling through the innards of the satellite,
muy pronto
.”

The small railcar was sitting on the narrow left-hand track at the mouth of one of the many long dim-lit tunnels that crisscrossed the interior of the orbiting Movie Palace.

“Since you're bribing me an impressive amount to do this—and I do appreciate Wolfe Bosco's recommending me for the job—I want to make sure there's nothing about my appearance and attire that rubs you the wrong way.”

“Okay, wear the cap.”

“It's simply that all of us who work in Interior Maintenance have the option of wearing either the cap or the hat. Which is why I—”