Alien Rites (12 page)

There were prices on the gravel, stuck in the center with a pronged stick, like you'd find in an old-fashioned butcher shop. Voices rose and fell in the back room. Even from the front of the shop the conversation sounded intense—two or three Elaki, voices sharp. David could not make out any words.

The voices stopped, and an Elaki came out of the back room, closed a partitioning door. He was tall, even for an Elaki, and significantly wider—double load. His inner belly was an unhealthy grey, his black outer hide faded, rough and patchy with missing scales.

“This is the snitch of mine,” Walker said. “He name Brian, but is called for informal, the Smalls.

Walker slid from side to side, looked at them, made a sharp whistle. “I have given you the snitch introduction. Are there not questions?”

David heard Mel mutter something about Walker and her usual charm. The feeling in his chest was getting worse. He wondered what a panic attack felt like, and if he was having one.

Mel turned sideways. “According to protocol, Walker, he's your snitch, so you're supposed to question him. We're just showing you a little professional courtesy here, but hey, feel free to stand aside and keep your mouth shut.”

Brian-Smalls twitched a prong, belly rippling just slightly, but enough to let David know the Elaki was amused.

“Rules of courtesy nonsensical do not interest me. Human bow and scrape of a time-wasting dullness.”

“You know, Walker, some snitches won't talk if you're offensive.”

“You must have no conversations then, Burnett.”

“
Enough
,” David said. He rubbed the back of his neck, and the Elaki named Brian-Smalls skittered sideways, an eye prong cocked his way. “We're looking for a human named Luke Cochran.”

“Would this relate to the automobile black and sleek, crashed up on the ramping exit?”

David nodded.

“He mean yes,” Walker said.

“Yes,” David said.

“I know this auto. Belonging to human who does the strange jobs.”

“Odd jobs?” Mel said.

“He would be working the antique circuit, mainly with the Sifter.”

“The sifter?” David said.

“Sifter. Is Elaki antique dealer. Sells some to Elaki passing through from shop, but main deals in bulk to home planet.”

“He sells antiques from Earth to the home planet?” David said.

“Isss big this,” String said, waving a fin. “Much is the valuable.”

“What, like furniture and folk art?” Mel asked.

Brian-Smalls rolled forward on his fringe. “The used tennis shoe very big. Odd items, for to you, but would be like the folk art for Elaki. Human cooking utensils. Teddy bear, wax fruit, the Pez.”

“What is this Pez?” String asked.

David shook his head. “No idea.”

Brian-Smalls waved a fin. “I do not know, me this. Just know that Sifter has many times asked for me to be on the lookout.”

“What do you know about this Cochran?”

Brian-Smalls moved out from behind the counter, looked out the windows, seemed satisfied.

“This boy in much of the trouble. Has offended deeply. Has been offered the Sanctuary.”

Neither String or Walker said anything, but both went rigid. String moved in closely, and David took a step back.

“You know what it is that you say?”

Brian-Smalls hissed. “I make this up, me this?”

David and Mel exchanged looks.

“The Sanctuary is great offense,” String said. “The sharps sales of antiques or business screw around will not be the least justification.”

“I do not know of all the details. The antique is not for the problem, and the Cochran was champion of the boss, Sifter, who pulls the heavy weight, him do. This is a blood sanction.”

“He kills an Elaki, then?” Walker said.

Brian-Smalls cocked an eye prong her way. “A betrayal. This is all I know. Three were sent to bring him on this night of the crash. But there is disagreement; we do business here, we don't wish to bring this law human trouble on us, or Izicho in flock.”

Walker looked at String, but said nothing, to David's immense relief. String was Izicho, Elaki secret police, with no official authority, but a great deal of quiet power among his own. He was not supposed to be active. Walker did not trust him. David did. He also knew String was active.

“What did Cochran do?” David asked.

“This me do not know. Just the blood betrayal. And that night there is much of the consternation, and we close early and some go home, and many others stay. Plenty enough for a quorum.”

“A quorum for what?” Mel asked.

“For dealing the penalty.”

“There was a woman with him that night,” David said.

“The woman does not exist,” Smalls said.

Mel choked and moved forward, but David laid a hand on his arm. “You better explain that. Did something happen to her?”

“Nothing happens to no one.”

“What about the woman?” Mel asked.

“Nothing happens to no one.”

The Elaki slid back behind the display case and Mel started toward him. String scooted forward and headed him off.

“We go.”

Mel looked at him.

“We go,” String told him. “Please trust.”

TWENTY-FOUR

David went alone to the antique store. Walker hung back, according to plan, watching the three Elaki who watched him. String and Mel had headed out, over Mel's loud objections, to go through Miriam's professional notes on the Trey autopsy and take them to Aslanti. David wanted an objective opinion, untainted by any police or social work connections. And he wanted Mel out of the way, something String had picked up on right away.

It would be uncomfortable if he had to take Mel off the job.

The Elaki antique shop was very like the human version, dark inside, aisles narrow, too many things crammed into too small a space. Elaki liked to live this way as a matter of course, so it was no surprise that they had taken to selling antiques.

The shop did not look prosperous. From the little David knew about the antique business, this meant Sifter was likely wealthy, and accomplished.

David expected furniture but got teddy bears—rows and rows of them. Winnie The Pooh, Sears tags prominently displayed. Brown bears, with mohair fur, one like a clown with curly white goat hair. They were well-loved, these bears, fur matted and worn. One bear wore a wedding dress. David paused and gave it a second look.

“Golden tan mohair, circa 1983. Made by Gloria Franks. Only one hundred fifty of them be ever made—created on a farm in West of the Virginia. Originally sold for two hundred dollars. If you can imagine.”

The Elaki was sleek and well built, even handsome. His eyes were full of fun, and he gave David look for look, unlike most Elaki, who bent an eye prong and moved away. He waved a fin, actually touching David's arm. David had never had an Elaki touch him that way, companionably, like a pal.

My first Elaki salesman, David thought.

“If you like this Gloria tan, I can get you the price better. My name be Chuck, by the by. And you, good sirs?”

“Silver, David Silver. I'm looking for the owner. I'm looking for Sifter.”

The Elaki rolled back, then forward. “But you have found me, David Sssilver. I am the Sifter. They calls me Sifter Chuck.”

He was not at all what David expected. He had imagined an old Elaki, barely standing, dark and crabbed, grumpy and clipped. Never this youngster, bursting with so much energy he could not stay still. There was something so very likable about him, something that made you want to ask him out for a drink, tell him a joke, hear him laugh. Elaki, of course, did not laugh out loud. But if one ever did, David thought, it would be this Sifter Chuck.

“Isss the Winnie Poohs bring top of the dollar,” Chuck said. “The Piglets, not so much, the Tiggers, little at all. All Elaki love the Winnie, though. And the storybooks, they read to pouchlings.”

David remembered reading the stories in school. He pictured little pouchlings grouped around the Mother-One, and wondered if they identified with Pooh or Christopher Robin.

“Only original versions,” Sifter Chuck said. “Bad form to use the Disneys. A pollution, is thought, on home planet.”

There were pictures on the wall, of bears made up like old-timey Wanted posters. David gave one a second look. Exactly like the bear that belonged to little Jenny Trey, the one he figured had come to her secondhand, through charity. David moved closer. That was the bear all right.

“Ever see such the bear?” There was a sigh in Sifter Chuck's voice, as if he asked a rhetorical question. “If ever see such a one, please send it my way. Pay you top of the dollar, you must imagine the wealth.”

“That valuable?” David said.

“Worth a year of you pay, good sirs, if they pay you well your worth.”

David frowned. “You have any like that in stock?”

“No, sirs, this is why the Wanted poster. Nice touch?”

David nodded. “How would I recognize that bear, if I came across one? I mean, how would I know it was the genuine article?”

The Elaki hunched himself together, something like a human shrug. If Sifter Chuck had pockets, his fins would have been tucked inside. “Isss English bear, the Chiltern teddy—short head, wide feet tell you this. Bloodlines British, no doubt. Paw pads velveteen or canvas. But this bear bigger than the usual, and, is softer to touch; like silk this bear's mohair, and the face, for the animal, so sweet. Is called sometimes a Hugmee Bear, for the human sees this and wants to hug. Sifter cocked an eye prong. The Elaki sees this, wants to own. So best to tell, if you see the bear, and desire to hold, to touch, and to have, maybe you have the Chiltern. Values rising, every day. If you know this bear, David Sssilver—”

“No,” David said. Too quickly. What was the matter with him today?

“Am always be looking. And for the Pez.” The Elaki pointed and David frowned.

“What is that, anyway?”

“Plastic, many colors, a head shape of strange animals, Mickey the Mouse, Animaniacs, Bugging Bunnies.”

It looked like a cheap, old-fashioned child's toy. A short plastic cylinder with a silly animal head.

“See, the head props up and a cube of sugar candy emits from the animal neck. Is a wonder, not this? These human children who wish to feed from the neck of cartoon animals? Hard to find, I be telling you, badly made few survive. But worth a fortune to my home buddies. Candy intact would be out of the world.”

“If I see one,” David said, “I'll be sure and let you know.” He brought his ID from his pocket. “I'm a detective, Mr. Sifter, Saigo City Police, Homicide. I'd like to ask you some questions.”

Sifter Chuck took a look at the ID, and became still.

“You have come over my young worker human. The Luke Cochran, gone missing these many days?”

“You've seen him?” David asked.

“Not since car go over the ramp, and the uproaring here in this town. We must talk with privacy. Please to follow.”

The Elaki moved swiftly when he wanted to, no jittering from side to side. David hesitated. The Elaki turned to one side, stopping at the mouth of a doorway that showed nothing but darkness and shadows.

“Please to come,” Sifter Chuck said. His voice was different now, quieter, but firm. The happy-go-lucky salesman was gone.

David followed, feeling nervous.
Too easy
, said the voice in his head. He shrugged and headed toward the Elaki. Even cops got a break now and then.

TWENTY-FIVE

The hallway was dark, Close, and hot, Three things David did not like. Typical Elaki architecture, he told himself. He wished he had not sent Mel away; he almost wished for Walker.

The hallway twisted and turned, so narrow that David's shoulders brushed both sides. Brian-Smalls would have gotten stuck. David heard music, getting louder the closer they got. The floor sloped upward, the Elaki solution to the staircase problem. The incline got steeper, and then David saw light, and a room that qualified, in an Elaki building, for a second floor. Living space, for Sifter Chuck.

The Elaki looked at him over one shoulder. “Tina Turner.”

“What?”

“This music be the Tina Turner. You like to hear the stuff?”

The Elaki pushed a button and the music got louder. David smiled politely and looked around. The floors were a dark linoleum that looked like sheets of hardwood, except, as far as David knew, hardwood did not come in sheets. On the walls were state-of-the-art speakers. Tables, old scarred tables, were covered with bits and pieces of teddy bears, paintbrushes, bottles of chemicals, paint. Bolts of fabric were stacked on a bench.

David lifted an eyebrow.

“Restoration,” Sifter Chuck said, and turned the music back down.

The Elaki pulled a battered gold velveteen recliner away from the wall, moved a bag of mohair out of the seat.

“Iss chair for the Cochran, Luke. Please to sit, I know the human gets tired. May I offer you the Elaki coffee?”

David's throat was sore, and he was slightly queasy. Elaki coffee sounded good; it might even settle his stomach.

“Please.”

Sifter Chuck slid across the room, working deftly with a pot and some water.

“Iss my Luke Cochran dead?”

“Why do you think he's dead?” David asked.

“You are the cop of the homicide. This means murder, no less.”

“What happened that night? The night the car went over the guardrail?”

The Elaki did not answer, seeming to concentrate on the making of the coffee—one thing at a time, very Elaki-like. He did not appear flustered, did not scoot from side to side on his fringe. He moved steadily over the pot, and David smelted fresh ground beans and cinnamon. Elaki coffee, properly made, was the best in the world.

“You have tasted the New Orleans chicory brew?” Sifter Chuck asked companionably.