Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 2, May 2013 by et al. Mike Resnick
Authors: et al. Mike Resnick
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police what they need,” Josefina said, suddenly standing stiff.
“Will the Madam know about it?” I asked.
“Would it bother you if she didn’t?”
No, I had to admit, it wouldn’t.
“You’re taking this kind of hard,” I said. “Was Elvira a friend?”
“No, Señor Soto. She was my younger sister.”
***
Twenty-four hours later I got a text from Josefina asking me to meet her in West Hollywood. No indication why, just that she needed me urgently. An address was attached. I checked in with the branch office of the security firm I worked for, and clocked out for an extended lunch break.
Josefina’s apartment block was in what the supermetro called the Special District. Most of the Specials in Greater Los Angeles tended to congregate there—where everyone could be uniformly bizarre together. The sidewalk out front was replete with walking and talking cats, dogs, birds, wolves, rabbits, and other Specials who had had their human DNA artificially adapted to take on various other species’ characteristics.
Entering the block I passed a man whose fur was striped like a skunk’s, though thankfully he didn’t smell like one. If he cared that a Normal—the Specials’ word for everyone else in the world—was going into his apartment complex, he didn’t show it.
I took the elevator up to the tenth floor and found the door with number 1036, tapped the little button in the middle of the door, and waited while the tiny camera inside the button surveyed me.
The door handle clicked, and I was beckoned into Josefina’s home, microscopic as it was. I’d seen student studios with more square footage. But it was clean, and smelled gently of ginger and orange peel.
“Señor,” she said respectfully. I took off my sun hat and nodded at her.
Josefina immediately pressed a thumb drive into my hand.
“It is all here,” she said quietly. I noticed that she had on a plain-patterned traditionally-cut dress, with holes in the back for her wings, and no shoes. Her ankles and feet were the same color as the rest of her. Bright green.
“What is this?” I said.
“I tried to give it to the police, but they didn’t want it. Nobody cares about Elvira.”
“I told you, I—”
“ Por favor, Señor Soto,” Josefina said insistently. “There is no one else to do this. You must do it. Please! I don’t have much money, but I can pay you for your time. I can—”
I raised a hand and patted it down through the air, pleadingly.
“Just tell me what I’ll be looking at,” I said, “before you go giving me any money.”
“It’s Elvira’s schedule at the Aerie.”
“There are names? Everyone who ever used your sister?”
“ Hired her,” Josefina corrected me. “Yes.”
“I’ll probably just need the names of the people she saw the night she died.”
“But she was off that night, and there is no record of anyone having rented the suite or hiring Elvira.”
“Then what was she doing there at all?”
“I do not know,” Josefina said, eyes on the floor. Her wings had begun to tremble.
I slipped the thumb drive into a pocket and took her right hand in both of mine—the sensation of the tiny feathers on my bare palms was like mink pelt, but softer.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said, flashing back to an almost identical scene in my supermetro days, when I’d had to both question and console a stricken mother whose son had died in a gang turf tumble.
“Of course it is,” Josefina said. “It was my idea for her to come to the Aerie. I recommended her to the Madam. She was nervous about going Special, and I talked her into it. Mother and father never forgave me when I went Special, and they doubly hated it when Elvira came to work with me. I have no idea how much the whole family will hate me now.”
“So why did you wind up at the Aerie in the first place?”
“It was my best option.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Señor Soto, you’re not from East L.A.?”
“Not
“Will the Madam know about it?” I asked.
“Would it bother you if she didn’t?”
No, I had to admit, it wouldn’t.
“You’re taking this kind of hard,” I said. “Was Elvira a friend?”
“No, Señor Soto. She was my younger sister.”
***
Twenty-four hours later I got a text from Josefina asking me to meet her in West Hollywood. No indication why, just that she needed me urgently. An address was attached. I checked in with the branch office of the security firm I worked for, and clocked out for an extended lunch break.
Josefina’s apartment block was in what the supermetro called the Special District. Most of the Specials in Greater Los Angeles tended to congregate there—where everyone could be uniformly bizarre together. The sidewalk out front was replete with walking and talking cats, dogs, birds, wolves, rabbits, and other Specials who had had their human DNA artificially adapted to take on various other species’ characteristics.
Entering the block I passed a man whose fur was striped like a skunk’s, though thankfully he didn’t smell like one. If he cared that a Normal—the Specials’ word for everyone else in the world—was going into his apartment complex, he didn’t show it.
I took the elevator up to the tenth floor and found the door with number 1036, tapped the little button in the middle of the door, and waited while the tiny camera inside the button surveyed me.
The door handle clicked, and I was beckoned into Josefina’s home, microscopic as it was. I’d seen student studios with more square footage. But it was clean, and smelled gently of ginger and orange peel.
“Señor,” she said respectfully. I took off my sun hat and nodded at her.
Josefina immediately pressed a thumb drive into my hand.
“It is all here,” she said quietly. I noticed that she had on a plain-patterned traditionally-cut dress, with holes in the back for her wings, and no shoes. Her ankles and feet were the same color as the rest of her. Bright green.
“What is this?” I said.
“I tried to give it to the police, but they didn’t want it. Nobody cares about Elvira.”
“I told you, I—”
“ Por favor, Señor Soto,” Josefina said insistently. “There is no one else to do this. You must do it. Please! I don’t have much money, but I can pay you for your time. I can—”
I raised a hand and patted it down through the air, pleadingly.
“Just tell me what I’ll be looking at,” I said, “before you go giving me any money.”
“It’s Elvira’s schedule at the Aerie.”
“There are names? Everyone who ever used your sister?”
“ Hired her,” Josefina corrected me. “Yes.”
“I’ll probably just need the names of the people she saw the night she died.”
“But she was off that night, and there is no record of anyone having rented the suite or hiring Elvira.”
“Then what was she doing there at all?”
“I do not know,” Josefina said, eyes on the floor. Her wings had begun to tremble.
I slipped the thumb drive into a pocket and took her right hand in both of mine—the sensation of the tiny feathers on my bare palms was like mink pelt, but softer.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said, flashing back to an almost identical scene in my supermetro days, when I’d had to both question and console a stricken mother whose son had died in a gang turf tumble.
“Of course it is,” Josefina said. “It was my idea for her to come to the Aerie. I recommended her to the Madam. She was nervous about going Special, and I talked her into it. Mother and father never forgave me when I went Special, and they doubly hated it when Elvira came to work with me. I have no idea how much the whole family will hate me now.”
“So why did you wind up at the Aerie in the first place?”
“It was my best option.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Señor Soto, you’re not from East L.A.?”
“Not
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