The Moreau Quartet: Volume One: 1

  The door slid aside with a grinding noise and he ducked into the too-small room. When the door shut behind him, he finally felt comfortable with all that money on him.

  The chair the bank provided was too small to sit on. The best he could do was to lean against it and hunch over, hanging his tail over the back of the seat. Besides, somebody had pissed all over the damn thing.

  There was a short burst of static, and a voice came through one of the intact speakers. “Welcome to Society Bank’s Green Machine—bzt—Mr. Noharajasthan. Please state clearly what transaction you wish—”

  The voice was supposed to be female human, but it was tinny and muffled. Nohar interrupted. “Deposit. Card Account. Ten thousand dollars.”

  “Please repeat clearly.”

  “Deposit. Card Account. Ten thousand dollars.”

  “Please type in request.”

  Great, the damn thing couldn’t hear him. He typed in the transaction on the terminal.

  “Is this a cash transaction?”

  It didn’t believe him. “Yes,” he said and typed at the same time.

  A drawer opened under the terminal. Unlike most of the ATM, it seemed to be in perfect working order. “—bzt—please place paper currency in the drawer. There will be a slight pause while the bills are screened.”

  Nohar placed the two packets of bills in the drawer. Nohar knew that the note of surprise he heard in the ATM’s voice was in his own head more than anywhere else. “Your currency checks as valid. Thank you for banking with Society, Mr. Noharajasthan. The current balance on your card account is —bzt—ten-thousand-one-hundred-ninety-three-dollars and sixty-five cents. You may pick up your card and receipt at the door. Have a nice day.”

  Nohar left the ATM and turned up the collar of his coat against a sudden burst of more intense rain. He typed in his ID again at the keypad, blinking twice as water got in his eyes. The ATM released his card and the receipt. As he pocketed the items, he noticed a couple of ratboys hanging around across the street.

  An ATM in use attracted vermin.

  The two ratboys were crossing the street. Nohar had hoped that his appearance would have put them off. Apparently, they were too zoned or too stupid, perhaps both. As they closed he could smell that they were probably on something. Itching for a fight. both of them.

  “Kitty.”

  “Pretty kitty.”

  Nohar decided to ignore them. All he wanted was to get home and shuck his wet coat. He walked down the road past them.

  The damn rodents didn’t seem to know any better. They cut around in front of him, blocking his path.

  “No, no, wrong, kitty.” This rat was a dirty brown, shiny black in the rain. His nose seemed to twitch in time to his spastic tail. He wore an abbreviated leather vest and denim cutoffs. He was taking the lead in this idiotic display. “Doncha know who we are?”

  This was more than enough for Nohar. “You’re two rodent wet-backs too stoned for your own good. You’re future road kill if you keep this up.”

  The big one—well, the relatively big one, maybe 70 kilos, mostly fat—didn’t like that. “We the Ziphead, man, and you better up some bucks for that. We rule here . . .”

  This was nuts. These guys were Latin American cannon fodder. Honduras, Nicaragua, Cuba, Panama, all the Central American countries went for quantity and quick reproduction. Huge standing armies from zero—most of the rats were never even trained to use their weapons.

  Two of those, those jokes, were trying to face down someone whose genes had gone through a multibillion dollar evolution simulation to produce the elite troops of the Indian Special Forces. Nohar had no special training, but it was still ludicrous.

  He smiled, teeth and all. He couldn’t take this seriously. “Ever occur to you I just made a deposit?”

  Fearless Leader was put out. “You don’t fuck with us—stray—we’ll shave you.”

  “We vanish what don’t give us respect—”

  “Stigmata de nada.”

  Stupid and stoned. That last line only made sense to them, and they found it uproariously funny. Nohar stepped to the side and left them to their inside joke.

  “Fucking stray.” Snick. Bigboy had pulled a weapon, sounded like a knife. Nohar slowly turned around. Bigboy had a switchblade out and was showing the world that he couldn’t use it. It was long, pointed, and had no edge to speak of. Bigboy was swishing the thing like a baton. Wide slicing arcs that, had they connected with anything solid, might raise a welt and would probably sprain Bigboy’s wrist all to hell. “Teach you some respect. I’ll have your tail for a belt.”

  Nohar stowed the comments. He spread his legs apart and bent down, lowering his center of gravity. He thrust his left arm, claws forward, in a defensive posture, while his right arm hung back behind him, hand cupped to slice at any opening Bigboy gave him. He growled, deep in his diaphragm. The sound didn’t make it out of his throat.

  Bigboy was oblivious in his advance. Fearless Leader had a little more brains and hung back. Bigboy was reeking of excitement and adrenaline. Fearless was almost as jacked, but he was beginning to realize he might have bitten off more than he could chew.

  Bigboy swung one of his wide, predictable arcs. Nohar caught Bigboy’s wrist with his left hand, remembering Nugoya, and smiled at the rat. Nohar’s right hand swung forward in a well aimed sweep that left four light trails of blood on Bigboy’s overlarge gut.

  “Listen, ratboy, I could have pulled you into that sweep. We’d have a nice view of your intestines— Drop the knife.”

  The knife clattered to the ground. Nohar stepped on it and let Bigboy go. Fearless was still backpedaling. Fearless didn’t seem to get the point, he was still on his line of bullshit. “Your pussy bastard ass is mine.”

  Fearless was reaching behind, into the waistband of his cutoffs. Nohar knew instinctively that the rat was going for a gun. Nohar was about to jump Fearless—he could clear the distance easily before the rat got his hand untangled from his pants—but the action was broken by a burst of high-pitched rapid-fire Spanish from down the street, by the old bus.

  They all turned that way to face a snow-white female rodent. She wore the same abbreviated leather vest and denim cutoffs. Her naked tail was writhing, and she sounded pissed. Nohar immediately pegged her as a superior. Bigboy and Fearless seemed to forget about him and began talking back to her in Spanish as well. All babble to him, he just hoped she was cussing the fools out.

  Cat-and-mouse is not a smart game to play when you are the mouse.

  The three rodents were talking among themselves, and Nohar began to slowly withdraw from the rodent fiasco.

  Nohar had nearly gotten to the door to his apartment. Bigboy and Fearless had slunk away, but the white one stayed.

  “Rajasthan!”

  The white rat was addressing him directly. She wasn’t making any threatening moves, so Nohar stopped and waited.

  “You are a lucky cat, son of Rajasthan—”

  How did she know, how could she— “What do you—”

  “I speak! You listen.” The force of the rat’s voice actually made Nohar stop his question in mid-breath. The tiny rat’s body could produce a voice that would intimidate a rabid ursine. “The finger of God has just touched your brow, son of Rajasthan. Those that control want your life for their reasons. They buy you much tolerance.”

  The rat paused, and for once Nohar had nothing to say. She just stood there, staring at him with eyes that looked like high-carbon steel. Nohar turned toward his door—

  “Pray you that God doesn’t forget you, Nohar. If the blessing is lifted, Zipperhead will have you.”

  Nohar punched the combination on his door. He had given the rats enough of his time.

  “I’ll have you, Nohar.”

  As Nohar ducked inside, the white rat added. “You, or someone you love.”


  He slammed the door shut. It was a shame. She hadn’t been bad-looking. Her triangular face ended in a delicate nose—but she was a die-hard creep just like her idiot subordinates.

  She also wore cheap pink perfume. Why would a morey wear that kind of crap?

  Nohar had hurried away from the smell as much as the spiel. He took a few deep breaths of relatively clean air before he started up the stairwell.

  The humidity was making his door stick again, and it took him a few seconds to unwedge it. The damn thing was heavier than it should have been because it had a steel plate in it, a relic of the previous tenant. Nohar would have questioned the wisdom of sticking an armored door in a wooden door frame.

  Cat ran up to the door and immediately began rubbing against his foot. “So you hungry or lonely?” Nohar asked the yellow tomcat as he picked it up. A loud purr from under his hand told him to figure it out for himself. Nohar pushed the door shut with his foot and ducked into the living room. Cat started butting his head into Nohar’s chin, and, after glancing into the kitchen to check Cat’s dishes, Nohar decided Cat wasn’t hungry.

  “Sorry I took so long, I got distracted by the local color.” Cat closed his eyes as Nohar scratched him behind the ears. “But, lucky us, I got one hell of an advance from a client before the first of the month.”

  Cat started grooming Nohar’s thumb.

  “Yeah, right. Look, you little missing link, I have to put you down so I can get this damn pink clothing off. So don’t start mewing at me—”

  Nohar put him down and Cat started mewing.

  He undressed and looked at the comm. Two messages waiting now.

  “Comm on,” he said to the machine as he started peeling clothing off of his damp fur.

  “comm on.”

  Nohar reclined on the couch. Cat took up a perch on his chest and purred.

  “Classify. Phone messages.”

  “two messages. july twenty-ninth, three-oh-five p.m. from detective irwin harsk, calling from—”

  “Play.”

  Static, then Harsk’s bald black head appeared on the screen.

  “Sorry I didn’t catch you, Nohar.” There was a smile on Harsk’s face and Nohar couldn’t decide if it was ironic or sarcastic. “I thought I’d tell you that another little red light is flashing by your name. The DEA computer has this ‘thing’ about large cash transactions. Ten thousand dollars? The Fed is curious, and so am I. We’re watching you, so—on the off-chance the cash is legit—remember to withhold your income tax.”

  That was damn quick, even for the Fed. The DEA must have a tap on the ATM down the street. It was irritating, but not that surprising. Harsk knew he was clean, but he’d let the Fed wonder just out of a sense of perversity. The comm was asking if he had a reply.

  “Yes. Record,” Nohar cleared his throat., “Harsk, don’t call back until you have a warrant. End. Mail. Reply.”

  Nohar closed his eyes and clawed the back of the couch. He told the comm to play the earlier message without really paying attention to it. He wasn’t looking directly at the screen when he heard a husky female voice.

  “Raj?”

  “Pause!” His eyes shot open and he turned to look at Maria Limon. The call had come in close to two in the morning, during his meet with Nugoya. In the pressure of the moment, Nohar had forgotten to call Maria and cancel their date—

  This wasn’t the first time either. Nohar had a sinking feeling.

  She was at a public phone. He could see the streetlights behind her. There was frozen shimmer on the screen where the lights were reflecting off the black fur under her whiskers. Apparently the Brazilians had been more creative with their moreaus. She’d been crying. Nohar doubted his tear ducts could be triggered emotionally.

  Maria’s golden eyes, her pupils almost round, seemed to level an accusation at him.

  Cat tilted his head and gave Nohar a curious look.

  “Replay.”

  Static, then Maria’s face reappeared on the screen. Nohar watched as one delicate black hand wiped away the moisture on her cheek. The hand fell and she looked directly at Nohar.

  “Raj? I’m sorry about this. I should have the guts to face you, but I can’t. You’d say something and we’d end up shouting at each other, or fucking each other—or, God help me, both—I can’t do this anymore. I still care for you, but if we keep seeing each other, I won’t—” Maria’s voice broke, and more tears came. Maria was a strong person. Nohar had never seen her cry before. “Good-bye, Raj, I have to leave while the memories are still worth something to me.”

  Maria’s face vanished as she broke the connection.

  Nohar felt like someone had just kneed him in the balls, and he was feeling his stomach drop out just before the pain came.

  They had known each other for only two months. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. He had been expecting something like this all along. She was right.

  Cat must have sensed some of his agitation, because he started butting his head against Nohar’s face and licking his cheek. Cat stopped after a few seconds and regarded Nohar with his head cocked to one side. Cat’s expression seemed to be asking him what was wrong.

  Nohar stayed quiet for a long while before he told the computer to put the message into permanent storage. He tried to call Maria, but her comm was locking out his calls. Maria would want a clean break. He could probably talk her out of it once, maybe twice, more. She didn’t want him to.

  He spent a few moments in relative silence, stroking Cat and listening to the high-frequency hum of the comm.

  Instead of turning the comm off, he called up Maria’s message, and paused it. He paused it where the claw on the index finger of her right hand had caught a tear. The small sphere of liquid was nestled between the hook in her claw and the pad on her finger. It refracted the unnatural white of the streetlight behind her, causing arcs of light to emerge from one golden half-lidded eye. It was the kind of image that made Nohar wish he had a scrap of romance in his soul.

  Chapter 4

  After a while, Nohar decided he had better things to do than stare at Maria.

  “Load program. Label, ‘Log-on library.’”

  “searching . . . found.”

  “Run program.”

  Maria’s face disappeared as the computer started the access sequence. It showed the blue-and-white AT&T test pattern as it repeatedly buzzed the public library database, waiting for an open data channel. It was close to prime time for library access. It took nearly fifteen minutes for the comm to lock onto the library’s mainframe.

  Even when the Cleveland Public Library logo came up, there were a few minutes of waiting. The screen scrolled messages about fighting illiteracy, and how he should spend his summer reading a book. Nohar knew that a few thousand users on a clunky timesharing system at the same time tended to slow things down, but it still seemed the delay was directed at him.

  He shifted on the couch, trying to become more comfortable. Waiting always made him aware of his tail.

  Two minutes passed. Then, with a little electronic fanfare, the menu came up—though you couldn’t quite call the animated figure a “menu.” The library system called their animated characters “guides.” The software was trying too hard to be friendly. It verged on the cute.

  The “guide” facing him on the screen wore a sword strapped to his side, and was in the process of contemplating a human skull when he seemed to notice Nohar’s intrusion. The effect was spoiled by a glitch in the animation. A rolling blue line scrolled up and down the screen, shifting everything above it a pixel to the left. Nohar sighed. He had no desire to spend his time with a manic-depressive Dane. Especially after that call from Maria.

  He spoke before the prince had time to object. “Text menu.”

  The only library “guide” he liked was the little blonde human girl, Alice.

  The tex
t menu came up and the first thing he did, despite Smith’s admonition to start with Johnson, was to conduct a global search for information on Midwest Lapidary Imports. He wanted some sort of handle on his client’s employer, which was also the home of the alleged suspects.

  There was only a fifteen second pause.

  The computer came back with the report, “Three items found.”

  Nohar shook his head. Only three? With a global search? That meant there were only three items in the entire library database that even mentioned MLI.

  Nohar played the first item and got a newsfax about diamond imports, legal and illegal. The focus on the article was how hard it was to keep track of the gems. It had a graph that dramatized the divergence between the gems known to have come into the country, and those known to be in circulation. In the last fifteen years, a hell of a lot more gems had been in circulation than could be accounted for. It was, in fact, causing a depression in the diamond market. The article blamed the Fed and new smuggling techniques. The least likely smuggling method Nohar read about was casting the diamonds in the heat-tiles on the exterior of a ballistic shuttle. Midwest Lapidary was only mentioned peripherally in a list of domestic diamond-related companies at the end of the article.

  The second article was actually about MLI, but it was only barely informative. It was from some subscriber service and was just a sparse paragraph of electronic text. MLI, a new company, incorporated in 2038. Wholesale diamond sales. Headquartered in Cleveland. Privately owned. Address. That was it. Smith was right about these guys keeping a low profile. Nohar pictured most new corporate enterprises announcing themselves with trumpets and splashy media campaigns. It looked like MLI was trying to hide the fact it even existed.

  The third item was a vid broadcast from December 2, 2043. The broadcast was dated. The guy with the news was still following journalistic fashion from the riots. Grimy safari jacket, urban camo pants, three-day-old stubble, sunglasses. The outfit had nothing to do with the story. The guy was standing in a snowdrift outside a pair of low office buildings faced in blue tile. Nohar recognized a stretch of Mayfield Road behind the buildings. The guy was only a few miles to the east of Moreytown.