Trumps of Doom (11 page)

“No, I’ve been off hiking in the Pecos all day,” he answered.
 
“I always do that when I’m out this way.
 
It’s great.

“I’ll have to try it sometime,” I said.
 
“Now it seems it’s my turn to buy dinner.”

“You’re right,” he answered.
 
“Let me catch a shower and change clothes.

I’ll meet you in the bar in fifteen, twenty minutes.
 
Okay?”

“Right.
 
See you.”

I headed up the corridor and located the place.
 
It was medium-sized, dim, cool and relatively crowded, divided into two widely connected rooms, with low, comfortable-looking chairs and small tables.

A young couple was just abandoning a corner table off to my left, drinks in hand, to follow a waitress into the adjacent dining room.
 
I took the table.
 
A little later a cocktail waitress came by, and I ordered a beer.

Sitting there, several minutes later, sipping, and letting my mind drift over the perversely plotted events of the past several days, I realized that one of the place’s passing figures had failed to pass.
 
It had come to a halt at my side-just far enough to the rear to register only as a dark peripheral presence.

It spoke softly: “Excuse me.
 
May I ask you a question?”

I turned my head, to behold a short, thin man of Spanish appearance, his hair and mustache flecked with gray.
 
He was sufficiently well dressed and groomed to seem a local business type.
 
I noted a chipped front tooth when he smiled so briefly-just a twitch-as to indicate nervousness.

“My name’s Dan Martinez,” he said, not offering to shake hands.
 
He glanced at the chair across from me.
 
“Could I sit down a minute?”

“What’s this about? If you’re selling something, I’m not interested. I’m waiting for somebody and-‘

He shook his head.

“No, nothing like that.
 
I’know you’re waiting for someone - a Mr.
 
Lucas Raynard.
 
It involves him, actually “

I gestured at the chair.

“Okay.
 
Sit down and ask your question.”

He did so, clasping his hands and placing them on the table between us.

He leaned forward.

“I overheard you talking in the lobby,” he began, “and I got the impression you knew him fairly well.
 
Would you mind telling me for about how long you’ve known him?”

“If that’s all you want to know,” I answered, “for about eight years.
 
We went to college together, and we worked for the same company for several years after that.”

“Grand Design,” he stated, “the San Francisco computer firm.
 
Didn’t know him before college, huh?”

“It seems you already know quite a bit,” I said.
 
“What did you want, anyway? Are you some kind of cop?”

“No,” he said, “nothing like that.
 
I assure you I’m not trying to get your friend into trouble.
 
I am simply trying to save myself some.
 
Let me just ask you-‘

I shook my head.

“No more freebies,” I told him.
 
“I don’t care to talk to strangers about my friends without some pretty good reasons.”

He unclasped his hands and spread them wide.

“I’m not being underhanded,” he said, “when I know you’ll tell him about it.
 
In fact, I want you to.
 
He knows me.
 
I want him to know I’m asking around about him, okay? It’ll actually be to his benefit.
 
Hell, I’m even asking - a friend, aren’t I? Someone who might be willing to lie to help him out.
 
And I just need a couple simple facts-“

“And I just need one simple reason: why do you want this information?”

He sighed.
 
“Okay,” he said.
 
“He offered me - tentatively, mind you – a very interesting investment opportunity.
 
It would involve a large sum of money.
 
There is an element of risk, as in most ventures involving new companies in a highly competitive area, but the possible returns do make it tempting.”

I nodded.

“And you want to know whether he’s honest.”

He chuckled.

“I don’t really care whether he’s honest,” he said.
 
“My only concern is whether he can deliver a product with no strings on it.”

Something about the way this man talked reminded me of someone.
 
I tried, but couldn’t recall who it was:

“Ah,” I said, taking a sip of beer.
 
“I’m slow today.
 
Sorry.
 
Of course this deal involves computers.”

“Of course.”

“You want to know whether his present employer can nail him if he goes into business out here with whatever he’s bringing with him.”

“In a word, yes.”

“I give up,” I said.
 
“It would take a better man than me to answer that.
 
Intellectual properties represent a tricky area of the law.
 
I don’t know what he’s selling and I don’t know where it comes from-he gets around a lot.
 
But even if I did know, I have no idea what your legal position would be.

“I didn’t expect anything beyond that,” he said, smiling.
 
I smiled back.

“So you’ve sent your message,” I said.
 
He nodded and began to rise.

“Oh, just one thing more,” he began.

“Yes?”

“Did he ever mention places,” he said, staring full into my eyes, “called Amber or the Courts of Chaos?”

He could not have failed to note my startled reaction, which had to have given him a completely false impression.
 
I was sure that he was sure I was lying when I answered him truthfully.

“No, I never heard him refer to them.
 
Why do you ask?”

He shook his head as he pushed his chair back and stepped away from the table.
 
He was smiling again.

“It’s not important.
 
Thank you, Mr. Corey.
 
Nus a dhabzhun dhuilsha.”

He practically fled around the corner.

“Wait!” I called out, so loudly that there was a moment of silence and heads turned in my direction.

I got to my feet and started after him, when I heard my name called.

“Hey, Merle! Don’t run off ! I’m here already!”

I turned.
 
Luke had just come in through the entrance behind me, hair still shower-damp.
 
He advanced, clapped me on the shoulder, and lowered himself into the seat Martinez had just vacated.
 
He nodded at my half finished beer as I sat down again.

“I need one of those,” he said.
 
“Lord, am I thirsty!” Then, “Where were you off to when I came in?”

I found myself reluctant to describe my recent encounter, not least because of its strange conclusion.
 
Apparently, he had just missed seeing Martinez.

So: “I was heading for the john.”

“It’s back that way,” he told me, nodding in the direction from which he had entered.
 
“I passed it on the way in.” His eyes shifted downward.

“Say, that ring you have on-“

“Oh, yeah,” I said.
 
“You left it at the New Line Motel.
 
I picked it up for you when I collected your message.
 
Here, let me .
 
.
 
.”

I tugged at it, but it wouldn’t come off.

“Seems to be stuck,” I noted.
 
“Funny.
 
It went on easy enough.”

“Maybe your finger’s swollen,” he remarked.
 
“It could have something to do with the altitude.
 
We’re up pretty high.”

He caught the waitress’s attention and ordered a beer, while I kept twisting at the ring.

“Guess I’ll just have to sell it to you;” he said: “Give you a good deal.”

“We’ll see,” I told him.
 
“Back in a minute.”

He raised one hand limply and let it fall as I headed toward the rest room.

There was no one else in the facility, and so I spoke the words that released Frakir from the suppression spell I had uttered back aboard the Shuttlejack.
 
There followed immediate movement.
 
Before I could issue another command, Frakir became shimmeringly visible in the act of uncoiling, crept across the back of my hand and wound about my ring finger.
 
I watched, fascinated, as the finger darkened and began to ache beneath a steady tightening.

A loosening followed quickly, leaving my finger looking as if it had been threaded.
 
I got the idea.
 
I unscrewed the ring along the track that had been pressed into my flesh.
 
Frakir moved again as if to snag it and I stroked her.

“Okay,” I said.
 
“’Thanks.
 
Return.”

There seemed a moment of hesitation, but my will proved sufficient without a more formal command.
 
She retreated back across my hand, rewound herself about my wrist, and faded.

I finished up in there and returned to the bar.
 
I passed Luke his ring as I seated myself, and took a sip of beer.
 
“How’d you get it off?” he asked.

“A bit of soap,” I answered.

He wrapped it in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket.
 
“Guess I can’t take your money for it, then.”

“Guess not.
 
Aren’t you going to wear it?”

“No, it’s a present.
 
You know, I hardly expected you to make the scene here,” he commented, scooping a handful of peanuts from a bowl that had appeared in my absence.
 
“I thought maybe you’d just call when you got my message, and we could set something up for later.
 
Glad you did, though.
 
Who knows when later might have been.
 
See, I had some plans that started moving faster than I’d thought they would-and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

I nodded.

“I had a few things I wanted to talk to you about, too.”

He returned my nod.

I had decided back in the lavatory definitely to refrain from mentioning Martinez yet, and the first things he had said and implied.
 
Although the entire setup did not sound as if it involved anything in which I had any interest any longer, I always feel more secure in talking with anyone-even friends-when I have at least a little special information they don’t know r have.
 
So I decided to keep it that way for now.

“So let’s be civilized and hold everything important till after dinner,” he said, slowly shredding his napkin and wadding the pieces, “and go somewhere we can talk in private then.”

“Good idea,” I agreed.
 
“Want to eat here?” He shook his head.
 
.

“I’ve been eating here.
 
It’s good, but I want a change.
 
I had my heart set on eating at a place around the corner.
 
Let me go and see if they’ve got a table.”

“Okay.” He gulped the rest of his drink and departed.

.
 
.
 
.
 
And then the mention of Amber.
 
Who the hell was Martinez? It was more than a little necessary that I learn this, because it was obvious to me that he was something other than he appeared to be.
 
His final words had been in Thari, my native tongue.
 
How this could be and why it should be, I had no idea.
 
I cursed my own inertia, at having let the S situation slide for so long.
 
It was purely a result of my arrogance.
 
I’d never anticipated the convoluted mess the affair would become.
 
Served me right, though I didn’t appreciate the service.

“Okay,” Luke said, rounding the corner, digging into his pocket, and tossing some money on the table.
 
“We’ve got a reservation.
 
Drink up, and let’s take a walk.”

I finished, stood and followed him.
 
He led me through the corridors and.
 
back to the lobby, then out and along a hallway to the rear.
 
We emerged into a balmy evening and crossed the parking lot to the sidewalk that ran along Guadaloupe Street.
 
From there it was only a short distance to the place where it intersected with Alameda.
 
We crossed twice there and strolled on past a big church, then turned right at the next comer.
 
Luke pointed out a restaurant called La Tertulia across the street a short distance ahead.