“Dog?”
“Big, black, like a police dog, or military. Mean looking. It belonged to the guy in the suit. He gave it orders. There was no way I could argue. They took me down to the traffic level. They had a car waiting. And then . . .” Sarda frowned. It was clear up to that point, but then everything became fragmented, like a jigsaw picture breaking up into pieces and gaps.
“What?” Balmer prompted.
“I’m not sure. . . . We sat in the car. There was another car parked not far away. Elaine was in it. She came across and looked in at me.” Sarda drew a hand across his forehead as if wiping a piece of hair away. “She was upset. I’m not surprised. It’s crazy—I didn’t know who she was. She went back to the other car with the guy in the suit. . . . And the black guy from the car brought me here, to this office. You were in a panic, talking to Walworth at Zodiac. I couldn’t understand what was going on then, but it’s clear now. The deal went through, but we weren’t a part of it.” Something sickening seemed to open up in Sarda’s stomach, and his anger came flooding back. He started to rise from the recliner. “What’s happened, Henry? If you’re pulling some kind of double-cross—”
“No, no, I assure you.” Balmer eased him back down. “The man with the dog. He’s the one we have to find.”
“Are you telling me the money from that deal has gone missing too?” Sarda asked menacingly. “You’d better not be, because—” A call tone sounded from the comset in Balmer’s jacket pocket. He snatched it out and answered.
“Yes? . . . Yes.” Balmer’s face paled. “I’m working on it now. I think we have the answer. It just needs a little time. . . .” He listened, then gulped visibly. “Yes, I understand. . . . No, of course not. . . . Three days.”
“What—” Sarda began. Balmer cut him off with a wave. Sarda saw that he was sweating.
“This man with the dog. Can you describe him?”
“Well, as I said, he had a suit—dark; black, or maybe navy. Tall, with wavy hair. Easygoing, smiling kind of person. He had clear eyes, like blue ice—the kind that seem to look right through you.”
Balmer gesticulated nervously. “Anything else? What about the person who was driving the car? Can you recall anything more about him or her? Or the car itself? Did you get its registration?”
“The driver was all wrapped up. I don’t go around memorizing the registrations of every car I see. Do you?” Sarda thought back. “It was classy looking, dark colored. Not sure of the type . . .” Then Sarda remembered something. “But there was a sort of chrome logo on the trunk. It said something Machine. Funny name. Alice, or something like that.” Sarda cast his mind back, trying to visualize it. Balmer fished out his comset again, activated it, and brought up a directory listing of vehicle dealers and renters in Lowell.
“Alazahad?” he offered.
Sarda nodded. “Good thinking, Henry. Yes, I’m pretty sure that was it: Alazahad Machine.”
“Let’s try their web link, just out of curiosity,” Balmer murmured. He operated the comset again and watched for a response. “Hm. Owner and proprietor, Mahom Alazahad.” He entered another command, studied the result, and then directed a copy to the larger screen on the desk to one side of the room. Then he looked at Sarda inquiringly.
Sarda took in the face: coal black, massively proportioned, smiling broadly beneath a red fez nesting in a wild bush of fuzzy hair. The caption beneath read: THE MR. WHEELS OF UNBEATABLE DEALS. When Sarda had seen him, he was wearing a silky green coat.
“That’s him!” he pronounced without hesitation.
3
Solomon Leppo had been born on Mars and raised in a settlement called Americyon, founded among the southern highlands in the early days to put into practice the ideals of communal living and sharing. There, apart from household furnishings and personal effects, the community had owned everything. Private quarters were allowed only for married couples and families; the rest slept in dormitories, ate together, relaxed and exercised together, and worked together in roles assigned via a military-style command system that employed ranks and uniforms. The expectation was that everyone would find fulfillment through universal recognition of their contributions according to their inclinations and abilities, great or humble. Solomon departed at the age of fifteen by stowing away with a passing Arab caravan of surface crawlers and trailers that had camped nearby on their way to make a home somewhere. He eventually ended up at Lowell, where he found work as a trainee fitter in a machine shop. From there he had progressed to equipment servicing and repair, and now, at nineteen, was making good money as Mahom Alazahad’s resident mechanic.