shrugged. “When doing a rimstint I try not to let the indigs and their ways get to me, you know?”
“You’re very charitable, Inspector Horn.”
Hal smiled. “I try to be.” The fact that Glasc didn’t react at all when he referred to the citizens of Darkknell as “indigs” or his time on the world as a “rimstint,” told him very clearly she wasn’t the local she was purporting to be. A local could no more have failed to react than Moranda could give up her cigarras. Something is not right here, and I’m not looking forward to finding out how wrong it’s become .
Trabler moved ahead and opened the door to the crowded tapcaf. Hal descended the trio of steps to the serving floor, then worked his way around past a table of boisterous Devaronians. He wanted to reach the bar before Glasc did. He managed to delay her by tapping a Devaronian on the shoulder. As the man swung his head around to see who had touched him, a horn snagged Glasc’s uniform tunic, slowing her down.
Hal spotted a small man wearing a name tag that proclaimed him to be the manager and moved to intercept him before the guy could head through a doorway leading into an office marked “Private.” “I’m Inspector Horn; these are Agents Glasc and Trabler. We have some questions for you. Do you want to answer them now, or after we lock this place down and have it searched for contraband?”
The little man gulped air audibly, and coughed half of it back up. “I don’t want trouble.”
Hal half turned toward Glasc. Her glare had only been partially melted by the way he’d braced the man. “Agent Glasc here has some holographs for you to look at.” Hal held his hand out, and she gave them to him, then he fanned them in front of the manager. “Recognize anyone?”
The man gave them a cursory glance. “No, I don’t think I do.”
Hal settled his left hand on the man’s right shoulder. “Look, pal, I’m just trying to give you a chance to help yourself here. The surveillance team we’ve got on this place has pointed out to us which of these guys has actually been through here. Now you confirm their information and answer more questions, or we send you away for obstructing justice. We can still send him to Kessel for that, right, Agent Glasc?”
Glasc nodded, her expression getting cold. “For a long time.”
The little man shivered. “Kessel? I don’t even know what that is.”
“And that’s the way you want to keep it, friend. Look at the holographs again, closely.”
The man did, running a finger across the surface of each. The manager didn’t let recognition flash through his eyes on any of them. Even so, with his hand on the man’s shoulder, Hal could feel the tiny twitches of shoulder muscle that marked each pause over an image. Three of the five guys had actually been in the place, but the longest pause had come over the center picture, the one of the short blond guy with a military-style haircut.
The manager blinked. “I’m not sure.”
“Let me help you.” Hal shuffled the blond’s picture to the top of the pack, then plucked it off the top and smacked it against the man’s forehead. He did so with a bit more gusto than he wanted to, but the fact that the man’s head bumped against the wall eased Glasc’s scowl and, after all, Hal was playing more to appease her than anything else.
“This guy was in here and you remember him. How recently?”
“Um, um, yesterday maybe, no, wait, this morning. Early. Only the habituals in that early, you know?” The manager aped Hal’s growing smile. “He was waiting for someone, but then he burst into flames.”
Glasc pounced on that remark. “Burst into flames?”
The manager winced at the sharp tone in her voice. “Well, he was sitting there, then this woman with a drink and cigarra tripped and spilled the drink on him. Cigarra caught it on fire, I guess. She helped him put it out and he was okay.”
Hal gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze. “Great, and
“You’re very charitable, Inspector Horn.”
Hal smiled. “I try to be.” The fact that Glasc didn’t react at all when he referred to the citizens of Darkknell as “indigs” or his time on the world as a “rimstint,” told him very clearly she wasn’t the local she was purporting to be. A local could no more have failed to react than Moranda could give up her cigarras. Something is not right here, and I’m not looking forward to finding out how wrong it’s become .
Trabler moved ahead and opened the door to the crowded tapcaf. Hal descended the trio of steps to the serving floor, then worked his way around past a table of boisterous Devaronians. He wanted to reach the bar before Glasc did. He managed to delay her by tapping a Devaronian on the shoulder. As the man swung his head around to see who had touched him, a horn snagged Glasc’s uniform tunic, slowing her down.
Hal spotted a small man wearing a name tag that proclaimed him to be the manager and moved to intercept him before the guy could head through a doorway leading into an office marked “Private.” “I’m Inspector Horn; these are Agents Glasc and Trabler. We have some questions for you. Do you want to answer them now, or after we lock this place down and have it searched for contraband?”
The little man gulped air audibly, and coughed half of it back up. “I don’t want trouble.”
Hal half turned toward Glasc. Her glare had only been partially melted by the way he’d braced the man. “Agent Glasc here has some holographs for you to look at.” Hal held his hand out, and she gave them to him, then he fanned them in front of the manager. “Recognize anyone?”
The man gave them a cursory glance. “No, I don’t think I do.”
Hal settled his left hand on the man’s right shoulder. “Look, pal, I’m just trying to give you a chance to help yourself here. The surveillance team we’ve got on this place has pointed out to us which of these guys has actually been through here. Now you confirm their information and answer more questions, or we send you away for obstructing justice. We can still send him to Kessel for that, right, Agent Glasc?”
Glasc nodded, her expression getting cold. “For a long time.”
The little man shivered. “Kessel? I don’t even know what that is.”
“And that’s the way you want to keep it, friend. Look at the holographs again, closely.”
The man did, running a finger across the surface of each. The manager didn’t let recognition flash through his eyes on any of them. Even so, with his hand on the man’s shoulder, Hal could feel the tiny twitches of shoulder muscle that marked each pause over an image. Three of the five guys had actually been in the place, but the longest pause had come over the center picture, the one of the short blond guy with a military-style haircut.
The manager blinked. “I’m not sure.”
“Let me help you.” Hal shuffled the blond’s picture to the top of the pack, then plucked it off the top and smacked it against the man’s forehead. He did so with a bit more gusto than he wanted to, but the fact that the man’s head bumped against the wall eased Glasc’s scowl and, after all, Hal was playing more to appease her than anything else.
“This guy was in here and you remember him. How recently?”
“Um, um, yesterday maybe, no, wait, this morning. Early. Only the habituals in that early, you know?” The manager aped Hal’s growing smile. “He was waiting for someone, but then he burst into flames.”
Glasc pounced on that remark. “Burst into flames?”
The manager winced at the sharp tone in her voice. “Well, he was sitting there, then this woman with a drink and cigarra tripped and spilled the drink on him. Cigarra caught it on fire, I guess. She helped him put it out and he was okay.”
Hal gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze. “Great, and
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