Shakedown Page 4

  ‘What question?’ croaked Relk.

  ‘The same one,’ snarled Roz. ‘What did your boss look like?’

  ‘He was tall,’ croaked Relk. ‘Very tall with silver hair, always wore it long. He had this natty little pointed beard and he always wore the best, silk robes mostly.’

  ‘That’s more like it. Clear off!’

  ‘Thank you for your co-operation, sir,’ said Chris. Relk sneered at him and hurried away.

  Roz looked at Chris. Now what?’

  ‘We go on looking.’

  ‘How?’ demanded Roz. ‘Where? He’s got more credits and a new appearance.’

  ‘We’ve got the new description.’

  ‘What’s the point? We won’t find a trace of him until there’s another killing – and another and another. Until he gets tired of this planet and moves on to –’

  ‘Fresh fields and slaughters new,’ said Chris poetically.

  ‘With us panting behind like a pair of worn-out Vrangian tracker-pigs. I’m getting pretty tired of it, Chris.’

  Suddenly they heard the roar of ground-car rocket motors, hoarse angry shouts and the tramp of booted feet. Three enormous figures burst into the room. Bigger even than Chris, they wore jackboots, leather trousers and leather jerkins. They had massive skulls, brutal underhung jaws and high-domed foreheads fringed with matted hair. They carried big old-fashioned blasters, all trained on Roz and Chris.

  Roz knew a gang of Ogron bandits when she saw one. She turned to Relk, who could be seen hovering behind the three giant newcomers. ‘Don’t just stand there, call the police,’ she yelled.

  She was reaching for her blaster when Chris’s hand gripped her arm. ‘No use calling the police. They are the police!’ He pointed to the rusty badge pinned to the leading giant’s jerkin.

  The Ogron stepped forward. ‘You come with us!’ it roared. ‘You under arrest!’

  2

  Chief

  ‘I don’t think you quite understand,’ said Chris. ‘You see we’re private investigators engaged on a legitimate –’

  ‘You under arrest! You come with us!’

  Chris reached in his pocket for his credentials and was immediately grabbed by a pair of huge hairy hands.

  Strong as he was, Chris knew better than to wrestle with an Ogron.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘Why don’t I just come with you?’

  Chris and Roz were grabbed, roughly searched, and relieved of their weapons. They were dragged out of the office, through the change bureau and thrown into the back of an armoured hover-wagon, already occupied by two burly miners and a deeply depressed Alpha Centaurian.

  The latter was so overcome by the shame of arrest that he sat huddled in the corner with his head in his tentacles.

  The miners were still fighting drunk. Chris had to bang their heads together to ensure a peaceful journey.

  He then had to spend some time pacifying Roz, though rather more gently. She’d scooped up many a suspect herself, but she didn’t much care for being on the other end of the process.

  ‘Try and see it as a new perspective on law-enforcement,’ urged Chris.

  Roz told him where to put his perspective.

  After what seemed like a very long ride, the wagon screeched to a halt and they were all decanted in a cobbled yard behind a high wall. Their fellow passengers were hustled away towards a low stone cell-block. Chris and Roz were taken into the main building, marched up a grimy stone staircase, and thrown into a holding cell, a barred recess in a long corridor. The building was dark and dank and gloomy, like some medieval castle. The stone walls seemed soaked in the pain and suffering of the prisoners who had passed through here. Somehow you felt there were dungeons and torture chambers down below.

  Chris looked around, sniffed deeply and smiled happily.

  ‘What are you looking so cheerful about?’ snarled Roz.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know...It’s all so familiar somehow. I mean, a station house is a station house any planet you go to. They’re all more alike than they’re different. They even smell the same.’

  ‘I hate to spoil this orgy of nostalgia, but we happen to be on the wrong side of the bars here.’

  ‘It’s probably all a mistake,’ said Chris optimistically.

  ‘You think so? What kind of administration uses Ogrons for police work?’

  ‘No wonder those furry muggers pleaded with us not to call the police,’ said Chris. ‘At least there seems to be some respect for the forces of Law and Order here.’

  ‘Law and Order? In Megacity?’ snarled Roz. ‘Don’t make me laugh. The Chief of Police is probably a Dalek!’

  After the usual interminable wait, another feature of station houses everywhere, an Ogron policeman appeared, opened the cell, and motioned them out with a blaster. They were herded along a stone corridor and shown into an enormous office.

  The guard shoved them into the centre of the room and stepped back, standing sentinel at the door.

  Chris and Roz looked around them in amazement. The vast room was lavishly carpeted, its walls lined with gorgeous hangings and colourful holographs. Comfortable-looking chairs and elegantly designed tables were scattered about. Sculptures, depicting a variety of exotic life-forms, stood around the room.

  On the far side of the room, a massive figure sat behind an enormous desk. It was another Ogron, the biggest, most brutal-looking Roz had ever seen. It wore a luxurious version of the usual Ogron dress. The shirt appeared to be silk rather than sack-cloth, and the jerkin was made of finely embroidered calfskin.

  Most surprisingly of all, the Ogron was jabbing at the keyboard of an antiquated computer terminal with its long hairy fingers.

  Well, an Ogron in silk was still an Ogron, thought Roz. The only way to deal with Ogrons was to dominate them – if you lived long enough. A low-ranking species, mostly used as guards, bodyguards and jailers, they were used to obeying the voice of authority, if it was loud enough. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Why you bring us here?’ she shouted. ‘We good people, we not do bad things.’

  The Ogron rose and bowed. ‘My dear lady, I’m sure you wouldn’t dream of doing bad things. Do forgive me for keeping you waiting. Pressure of work, you know. Megacity is such a busy place. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Garshak, Chief of Police of Megacity.’

  It was a rich, resonant, almost plummy voice and Chris and Roz stood listening to it in silent astonishment.

  Garshak waved at the Ogron by the door. ‘Chairs for our guests, you oaf. And fetch some refreshment.’

  The guard picked up a massive armchair in each hand and slammed both chairs down before the desk. It retreated through the door and returned with a loaded tray which it placed carefully on the desk. It returned to its position by the door.

  Roz saw that the tray contained a tall slender teapot surrounded by delicate cups. A number of plates held an assortment of elaborate little cakes and pastries.

  Garshak reached for the teapot with a massive hairy hand.

  ‘Shall I be mother? Isn’t that what you say on Earth?’

  Roz had never said any such thing, and didn’t intend to. Dumbly she accepted a cup of herbal tea, and a plate of little cakes. She made a desperate attempt to regain the initiative.

  ‘I insist on knowing why we have been brought here,’ she repeated. ‘What are the charges?’

  Garshak took a delicate sip of tea and glanced at the monitor screen of the desk-computer. ‘Oh, I don’t know. How about “Impersonating a police officer” for a start? According to the deposition of Mr Relk...’

  Chris swallowed a little cake and said indistinctly, ‘Not guilty, we never said we were police officers.’

  ‘Of course not,’ agreed Garshak. ‘You merely forced your way in, threatened and bullied the poor little fellow, and asked him a number of questions about matters that were none of your business. Naturally he assumed you were the police.’

  ‘Can’t help what people assume,’ said Roz smugly.
>
  ‘Come now,’ said Garshak. ‘Isn’t that being rather pedantic? We must obey the spirit, not just the letter of the law. Surely you are both guilty of Suppressio veri et suggestio falsi?’ He saw Chris’s baffled face and said, ‘Suppressing the truth –’

  ‘And suggesting a falsehood,’ completed Roz, thankful she’d remembered the scrap of Old Earth legal jargon from some long ago course in the Adjudicator’s Academy.

  ‘Exactly,’ beamed Garshak. ‘So refreshing to deal with a being of education.’

  Roz bowed her head, accepting the compliment. ‘All the same, Chief, surely the law is pedantic? It means what it says. Did we actually claim to be police? No, we didn’t. Case dismissed.’

  ‘Generally speaking, your argument would be irrefutable. However, here in Megacity the law is rather more flexible. It means what I say it means.’ Garshak leaned forward. ‘I don’t give a Drashig’s fart about the charge,’ he roared. ‘What I want to know is, why have you two been going around Megacity asking questions?’

  ‘Why is it such a big deal?’ asked Chris innocently.

  ‘Because a lot of very important people in Megacity have something to hide. Quite a few somethings, most of them. Stock deals, share manipulations, irregular sources of income, involvement in organized crime...’

  Roz frowned. ‘If you know so much about these people, why don’t you do something about it?’

  ‘Why should I? It’s not my job.’

  ‘Then what do they pay you for? What is your job?’

  ‘To keep reasonable order on the streets, not to mention the bars and dives, to lock up drunken miners, to see tourists aren’t robbed more than is reasonable, or murdered unless absolutely necessary – and to manage Megacity so that the rich who run it keep getting richer.’ Garshak smiled, showing long, yellow fangs. ‘It’s the job of the police in most big cities actually. We’re just a little more open about it here. Oh, and they don’t pay me by the way. Not a single credit.’

  Roz smiled. She and Chris weren’t paid either, not as such. She remembered asking the Doctor if they drew a salary.

  Chris looked at the richly dressed figure and glanced around the luxuriously furnished room. ‘Then how...’

  ‘The job is self-financing,’ explained Garshak. ‘How do you think we arrived so quickly at the change bureau? The late proprietor paid a regular fee for quick service in case of trouble. So does every bar, club and casino in town, incidentally. Then there are our criminal clients – like your fellow passengers.’

  ‘What happens to them?’

  ‘The two miners will be released as soon as they’ve sobered up and paid a small fine. Usually the mining corporation pays it, and docks it from their wages.’

  ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘The Alpha Centaurian?’ Garshak beamed. ‘Now he really is worth something. He’ll have to pay a very large fine.’

  ‘Why does he have to pay more than the others?’

  Garshak looked at him in surprise. ‘Because he’s got more. They’re poor miners, he’s a prosperous merchant. Surely that’s only fair? Besides, Alpha Centaurians hate scandal, so he’ll pay extra for a quick release and no publicity.’

  Roz gave him a disgusted look. ‘Wall to wall corruption. Quite a system you’ve got here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Garshak. ‘I’m only a poor corrupt police official but I do my best. But we seem to be straying from the point. You still haven’t told me the purpose of your activities here.’

  ‘Can’t we just pay a fine and leave?’ asked Chris.

  Garshak shook his head. ‘Unless you’re a little more frank with me, you won’t be leaving at all.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ said Roz indignantly. ‘What about our rights?’

  ‘You haven’t any,’ said Garshak simply. ‘I can lock you in a cell in the sub-basement and forget about you. They’re so inefficient down there, they’ll probably forget to feed you.’

  Chris looked enquiringly at Roz. ‘Looks like we don’t have any choice.’

  It was time for the cover story. Roz leaned forward and her face took on the expression of transparent honesty that always meant she was lying. ‘Well, to tell you the truth, chief – we’re P.I.s – operatives for Pinkerton Intergalactic.’

  She indicated her breast pocket. ‘May I?’

  Garshak nodded.

  Taking care to move slowly, Roz produced a silver badge in a black leather holder and held it out. The badge showed an open eye in a silver circle.

  Even Garshak was impressed. ‘Pinks!’

  The Pinkerton Agency – The Eye That Never Sleeps – had started on Earth, back in the mists of history, a spy service in some long forgotten civil war. It had flourished as far back as the nineteenth and twentieth centuries‘ and when men had gone to the stars the Agency had soon followed.

  Public justice and public policing were often erratic on far-flung worlds, and the demand for the private kind grew ever stronger. In their hundreds of years of existence the Pinks had acquired legendary status. Stars of innumerable holovid series, agents of interplanetary justice, invisible and invincible, they were everywhere, and they never gave up. Whatever the obstacles, whatever the odds, they always got their sentient life-form.

  Garshak studied the badge. ‘Pinks in Megacity – this is not going to reassure the bosses. Who are you after?’

  Roz put the badge away. ‘No one they need worry about. Someone from off-planet, like us.’

  ‘We’re chasing a serial killer,’ said Chris. ‘We call him the Ripper and we’ve tracked him from planet to planet.’

  ‘What made you pick up on the change bureau job?’

  ‘Typical Ripper MO,’ said Roz. ‘We think he spends most of his loot on space-liner fares – he always travels as far as he can. He’s broke when he arrives, so his first job is done to raise petty cash, often somewhere near the spaceport.’

  ‘What does he do next?’

  ‘He usually does a few more jobs, until he’s raised enough finance to feel secure. Then he digs in, gets to know the score, picks a victim, does one last big job and moves on.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Usually – not always, but usually – he partially dissects his victims. And he steals their identity as well.’

  Garshak looked puzzled. ‘He does what?’

  ‘He nearly always impersonates his victim after the murder,’ explained Chris. ‘That’s how he makes his getaway. He did it again today.’

  Garshak sat back considering all they’d told him, balancing profit and loss for himself and the tycoons who ruled Megacity.

  ‘It doesn’t seem like this new arrival is going to be much of an asset for my masters on the City Council.’

  ‘They might find him a downright liability,’ said Roz. ‘They sound just like the sort of people he’d go for.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘The Ripper doesn’t like to use credit, leaves too much of a trail. So he tends to go for people who have large sums in easily realizable assets – credit bills, bearer-bonds and so on. And who keeps large sums of untraceable cash around? Top-level crooks.’

  She smiled sweetly at Garshak. ‘Sounds just like your City Councillors to me!’

  Chris gave him a sincere look. ‘So you see, Chief, it can only be to their advantage, and yours, to co-operate with us.’

  Garshak seemed to be thinking hard. ‘Who’s actually after this Ripper?’

  ‘We are,’ said Chris innocently.

  ‘Who’s paying the bills?’

  ‘He killed a multi-millionaire banker back on Earth,’ said Roz. ‘The family want him caught – whatever it costs.’

  Garshak was still searching for an angle. ‘Is there a reward?’

  Roz shook her head. ‘The Agency advised against it. Big rewards bring big publicity. We don’t want every bounty hunter in the galaxy muddying the trail and scaring off our Ripper.’

  Garshak looked dejected. ‘Pity.’

  He cheered
up when Roz went on, ‘There is, however, a substantial contingency fund. We are authorized to make discretionary payments to anyone who is of real help to us.’

  Garshak held out an enormous hand, palm-upwards.

  ‘To anyone who is of real help,’ repeated Roz.

  ‘Letting you go is a real help, isn’t it? You won’t do much investigating from inside a cell.’

  ‘Good point.’ Roz produced a sheaf of Megacity credit notes and began dealing them one by one into the leathery palm.

  When she stopped Garshak said, ‘Don’t forget your fines.’ She dealt more notes.

  ‘And the voluntary contribution to the Police Benevolent Fund?’

  ‘What benevolence?’ said Roz, putting the notes away. ‘I haven’t seen any. Forget it!’

  ‘Ah well,’ said Garshak. He closed his palm and the notes disappeared inside his jerkin.

  ‘Now start earning it,’ said Roz, a snap in her voice. She stood up, leaning over the desk, glaring into the astonished Ogron’s face. ‘I want a list of the biggest and richest crooks in town, and the names of all the joints they own or where they hang out.’

  Garshak looked horrified. ‘I can’t let you have a list like that! It’s more than my job’s worth.’

  ‘Call it a list of civic benefactors and their favourite beauty spots if you like,’ snarled Roz. ‘I need names and places and I need them now! Oh, and put out a full description of the murdered manager of the change bureau.’

  It was Roz at her most forceful, and there was no resisting her. Garshak’s long, hairy fingers stabbed at the desk-computer console. There was a whirring and chuntering and an ancient printer ground out a long strip of coarse paper bearing a list of names and addresses in blurred type.

  Garshak handed it over. ‘Don’t leave it lying about.’

  ‘If there’s an emergency, my partner will eat it,’ promised, Roz. ‘Get the description of the murdered change-bureau manager on the most-wanted list right away.’