****
When a
demon invites you over for a barbeque with her family, it pays to wear your nicest
holster. If your nicest holster, and
gun, are currently police evidence, it pays to have a spare set.
Leaning on
he metal railing, I idly watched the plume of smoke curling up. The numerous sounds of somewhat belligerent
young Descended was behind me. Though,
it was fairly easy to tune out.
I
concentrated on waiting for the tell-tale creak of the grill's lid opening,
followed by the hiss of cooking meat and a rather pleasurable, anticipatory
smell. I gave a thin smile. Opening the
girl also quieted down the rambunctious broodlings.
It did not
last. Soon enough the lid was
closed, and without fresh meat to
distract them, the gaggle of young people went back to their rather noisy play.
There was a
creak on the railing.
"Mer
Valli was awfully generous," I noted looking out at the side street three
stories below the patio.
"Repaying
a favor," Camille said.
I heard her
sniff.
"I
don't know how Helen stands those things."
"That's
why I'm smoking out here," I stated, tapping my cigarette on the railing
to let the ash fall down.
Camille
glanced down a vague look of disapproval on her face.
"No
one's down there," I assured. This
was her place and I did not want to upset her neighbors.
"The
marshal have anything more to say about our little adventure?"
"Vallhun's
a bit put out that we're insisting on playing by the book."
The
Descended snorted. "I'm not worried about that. It was a good shoot, we were justified."
I held my
tongue. That may be true, but the system still had their own say in
the matter. And even out here, the
system worked at its own pace. There was
too much blood, too many bodies, and Vallhun was too straight of a shooter, to
pretend that there was no crime. And since there was a crime, there had to be
criminals, and there had to be
victims. It was in our interest for
Camille and myself to take the role of victims.
"I'm
worried about the men that left. You know that dandy with the fancy cane has to
have more men."
I blinked
at her.
"Yeah,
you have a personal involvement, but
your company does work for the Marshall's office. Research, clerical
support. Don't we even help them with
payroll validation or something?"
"Medical
expense reporting," I shrugged.
"Right,
so while you Executive Victoria Fallbrook aren't allowed to work with the
Marshals on this account, our little company has other managers."
"Which
aren't allowed to tell me anything."
Camille
scoffed
I stood up
and turned to lean with my back on the railing. She followed. We spent a moment watching her family, and
Helen, enjoying themselves. The patio
was rather nice being built from recovered pallet-wood and with the siding
helped obscure that the building was made out of stacked container boxes.
"There's
more to this. They would have been better
off with less flashy mods, or even a few compact pieces, and folding the money
they saved in some decent training"
"Quality
instructors tend to shy away from gangs of flesh-smugglers. Even ones that,
hypothetically, would have connections in Descended Waters."
Camille
shrugged.
The grill
opened, and the broodlings quieted down. A few moments later, a woman with
brown hair in a short bob walked over to us holding a plate with a couple burgers. "This
again?" she asked.
I eyed the
burger on the left side of the plate.
"Helen,"
Camille bowed her head and then took the burger nearest her.
"Is it
wrong that part of me regrets, asking for your help, Vicky." Helen frowned
and looked to my cigarette.
I stubbed
it out in a little case I carried in my pocket for that purpose.
"The
nickname is," I stated as I lifted the bun and inspected the condiments.
"Mer
Valli's glad for your help," Camille said.
"Yes, but it's still so much trouble," Helen pushed the burger into my hand.
"Stop. It's red onion, not yellow.
Mustard on one side, mayo on the other, no ketchup."
"You're
a good friend," I took a bite.
"Covering
your butcher costs for a while is the least I could do."
I
concentrated on enjoying the burger. I did not want to tell Helen just how many
steaks it would take, even out here to equal a weeks worth of our attorney's
fees. However, given she worked on the
telescope array at the island's summit I was certain she could do the
calculation faster than I could.
And given
the smirk she was giving me...
"Besides,
you were, technically, or fiscally, on company business, no?"
I nodded
and took another bite.
"And
once the marshals find them it'll be over?"
I shook my
head. "Hans and his men look like local distribution and muscle; they're
not the type with access to long range shipping."
"That
sounds like an awfully educated guess on your part," Helen noted.
"But
the other managers aren't allowed to share their research with you,"
Camille said after she finished her burger.
"Either
way, a regular supply needs people on the acquisition end, and I doubt they were only selling in
Mooring."
"Ick,
so there's another group out there somewhere else killing people for their
flesh?" Helen shivered. "Flesh-peddlers, so creepy."
"It's
not just that," Camille noted.
Helen
frowned and glanced at me.
I nodded.
"If
they had gotten off the ground here,
they'd be selling to people.
Customers, repeat customers."
Distaste
welled on my friend's face, but her eyes were calculating. "Blackmail?" she hesitantly ventured.
"Yeah,"
Camille sighed. "Human customers
especially, but anyone that goes to flesh-peddlers
could have their culinary tastes becoming public used as leverage."
"They'd
be extorted into giving up secrets?"
"Depends
on where they work. Someone at the Navy
base or the imperial bank, or in working for Victoria could have plenty to offer."
"Someone
else might not have secrets but there's always something they could do." I
exhaled.
Helen
winced. "They'd be ordered to find more flesh... more bodies?"
"If
they're ruthless enough."
"Yeah..." Helen coughed. "I'm really sorry for
asking you for a little favor."
***
