The Right Kind of Town
By Christian Klaver
You can always tell what kind of town you’re in by how they treat a corpse in the street. I’d been watching Sol lying in the dust for nearly an hour now, and I knew what that said about Dusty River. Of course, to be fair to the townsfolk, he wasn’t really a corpse at first. The twitching stopped quickly, though, and the pool of blood spread and dried in the sun and dust. He qualified now.
Three rough looking miners stepped out of the saloon, two humans and a Manchu. They glanced with mild interest, but Sol was already picked clean. The Manchu fiddled briefly with the mustache-like fleshy bits that gave his race their human name, and leaned over to tear a strip of dirty cloth off Sol’s ragged shirt. He used the piece to clean out the floppy ears of his gisel-horse and wipe some extra grime off the horns before tossing the dripping scrap back onto Sol’s chest. They rode off, taking the Northern road out of town that pointed at the dirty gleam of the seven-story Waystation. Probably heading for the Nightwalker ship in orbit. They’d trade their weeks worth of dust for a night of Riska tables, lab whiskey and pleasure slaves and be back mining by morning.
In the civilized places closer to Hegemony space, you don’t see many bodies in the street in the first place. When you do, they’re always swarmed with sheriffs, marshals, constables, morticians and the like. Then the body gets moved fast, so as to not ruffle the civilized folk. The rest happens behind closed doors.
Sometimes they wouldn’t get the body up fast enough, and you’d have time for people carrying on: women shrieking, youngins gawking, babies crying and men standing helpless nearby not knowing what should be done before the authorities come.
Some towns don’t ever get bodies in the street. The only deaths are from sickness or accidents or old age. But I don’t tend to get to those towns so much, since they frown on my whoring profession. The towns I work in, everyone carries a gun. Being a pretty woman in my line of work, I carry two.
Some towns treat the dead with respect, no matter how they got to being dead. Not Dusty River, though. In Dusty River, they stripped Sol’s body right after he was shot and well before he was done bleeding. The rifle and boots went to the gunfighter, but then the scavengers took anything left of value. Then they left the discards (the nearly naked Sol included) to lie in the street. Being an alien, Uchebi, Sol’s body was probably of more interest to the local government than the actual murder. Eventually, they’d send someone to collect it.
I sat in the upper balcony of the Big Dipper Motel drinking coffee under the double glare of Everlasting’s twin fireballs. They looked like two egg centers in the flaming pink swath of sky and it made me wish for some breakfast to go with my coffee. It was too hot outside for most folk, but it didn’t bother me so much. And I liked the open space better than being stuffed inside all the time. The canopy shaded me some, and I didn’t mind fishing the occasional grit of sand out of my coffee. I was barefoot, and my little white dress was short, light and thin.
Besides, I was waiting for someone, and I wanted to talk to him here, rather than inside. The sun’s flush on my face and the warm smell of something like cinnamon that came off the sands of the desert comforted me. It was like being in my mother’s kitchen while she baked dessert. Again, it made me want something more than coffee for breakfast. That would have to wait.
I could hear voices down in the hotel restaurant. Even from here, I could pick out Freeman’s smooth and deep rumble. He’d be up shortly. He wouldn’t rush, though. He never did.
That was the first thing I’d noticed about him, last month when I first laid eyes on him, that he never rushed. Or rather the second thing. The absolutely first thing I noticed was that he was gorgeous.
He was tall, and rangy with the build of someone who worked outdoors all day. His hands looked like workman’s hands, but his skin was pale, and his clothes too fine. They marked him as a wealthy man: a dark chocolate colored suit of a very soft and light material, possibly Durian silk, with ivory buttons and a pearl colored shirt.
He’d smiled at me when he saw me, but stopped and talked to a few friends as he made his way over to me at the bar. No rush.
I was in very demure clothes: dark pants, a black suit coat, duster and wide brimmed hat. I wasn’t working, and I wasn’t expecting any attention. Word was a woman I knew had died accidentally on the ship late last night. She was just an acquaintance, but she did the same work, and had started about the same time and it made me feel melancholy.
“Excuse me, Ma’am.” He was suddenly at my table, holding his hat in his hands in a deferential manner. I looked up, but didn’t say anything. “I’d like to talk a little business, if that’s all right.”
I slid an info chip out of my suit pocket. “I’m not working tonight. My contact information is here. I’d rather make any arrangements over a secure communication.”
“That’s the problem, Ma’am. Let me explain, please. My name’s Mort Freeman. I’d like to make arrangements for a couple of friends of mine, and one of the wives works at the ship control tower. She monitors all sorts of transmissions.”
I didn’t usually bend my rules, but his approach was sincere, polite and respectful. I don’t always get a lot of that. And his smile caused a whirling in my stomach. I get even less of that.
He was charming throughout the arrangements, which were quickly handled. I would see his friends tomorrow night, and the following, in turn.
“Damn!” a voice hollered. “It’s that high-class whore!” A drunken miner stumbled over, pointing at me. I don’t think he meant to be insulting. His young face looked like someone who just found a million dollars in the sugar jar.
Freeman was up and interposed himself. “Lady’s not working tonight, Scooter.”
“Aw...Hell, Mr. Freeman, tonight’s the only night I got! Don’t make me shoot someone to get some tonight.” He suddenly had a gun in his hand. He pushed right past and pointed the gun at me. “Don’t worry, little lady, I won’t hurt ya much.”
Freeman let him slide past, then seized the wrist with the gun in it, twisting it behind Scooter’s back until something cracked and the man yelped. Scooter stumbled and Freeman got his other hand on the back of the man’s neck and put all his weight behind it. Scooter’s head bounced off the table, then Scooter and gun both tumbled harmlessly to the floor.
“Sorry about that, Ma’am,” Freeman said to me calmly. “Maybe I could buy you a drink by way of apology?”
“Friend of yours, Freeman?” I said
“Not exactly, but a fellow I know.”
I found out later that Scooter worked for Freeman, that lots of people in town worked for Freeman.
I let Freeman buy me a drink that night, and later, I let Freeman do a lot more.
“Damn, Cates,” Freeman’s deep and creamy voice said behind me. “Anyone else would be deep fried to a crisp out here, but you look as fresh n’ sweet as a cool glass of lemonade.”
I stood up and smoothed out my dress as he stepped closer and brushed my neck with his warm lips, his hands lightly touching my waist as he did it. Damn, he smelled good. This was going to be harder than I thought.
He held onto my waist just a bit longer than necessary as he whispered into my ear. “But a damn sight sweeter to taste,” he murmured, and my stomach fluttered, but I didn’t let it show on my face.
“As if you’ve ever tasted lemonade,” I said. I didn’t say anything about tasting me. We both knew the answer to that one.
“Sure enough you’re right, darlin’. Folks like us don’t get them kind of luxuries. Too far from the Motherland. No taste of lemonade for us.”
I’d had lemonade as a child, but I didn’t see the need to correct him.
He was wearing the same dark suit I’d first seen him in, his favorite. He liked wearing that suit next to me when we went out, he said. He liked the look of my nearly black skin and vacuum black mane of hair, delicate build and frame next to his pale hugeness in the dark suit. The contrast appealed to him, and probably me too, when I was being honest. Part of his appeal. I’d remembered that when choosing the dress this morning. Sentimental of me.
He had a dark wide brimmed hat, too, with a matching pearl stripe set on top of his pale yellow mane of hair to hide the fact that it was thinning up top, but I know what was up top, and what was down below, too.
I’d found out a lot of things about Freeman in the past few weeks. I knew how he smelled before and after the shower. (The dark coffee smell of the Nilon trees from his mill, and the deeper, richer smoke smell of his Machog tobacco.) And how he smelled after. (Salty sweet, then just sweet.) I knew how sensitive the small of his back was. I knew he owned most of the money in Dusty River, but that he didn’t seem to abuse it. He treated his various workers with fairness and decency, but had a reputation well earned as a man not to cross. If Scooter had heard half the stories I heard about Freeman’s past, he wouldn’t have drawn the gun unless he meant to shoot. I knew that Freeman liked Orange tea, heavily sweetened. I knew that late at night, when he thought I was asleep, he would sing to me in a toneless, hushed baritone. They sounded like children’s songs. Then he would touch my cheek with a feather light gesture that wafted Machog and was gone.
I knew he loved me. I didn’t want to think about how I felt about that.
Best get to it.
“Is this a business arrangement, Freeman, or personal?” I said, still looking at the naked sun.
He laughed immediately. “A what, honey?”
“Us. You. Me. I tend to keep these things separate, at least in my mind.” I stood up and went over to the balcony rail, looking at the rest of town. Not much. A few bars, some random stores, and then the pink desert past that, ready to claim the settlement when it stumbled and fell.
“Business? Darlin’ I don’t follow.” Suddenly his face and voice went tight. “Should I expect a bill, Darlin’?”
“It depends,” I said, still not looking at him. “I wasn’t thinking about you as a client, but that could be my mistake. We didn’t actually talk about it directly, so I wanted to hear it from you.”
“You’re not making any damn sense.” He was sounding angry now. “If you wanted flowers or some damn thing, you have a funny way of asking for ‘em. Sure as Hell, I’m no damn customer.”
He didn’t know it, but he’d just lost something. The Nightwalkers had a brutal code, but they honored its tenets ruthlessly. If he was my customer, he would have been protected by Nightwalker hospitality. Guests had a near immunity to Nightwalker laws. Being part Nightwalker, it would have bound me, too. I didn’t realize until I felt the sickening whirl in my stomach, but I’d lost something, too.
I kept my face blank as I turned around. “Now I want to hear about D’na.”
“Who?”
“Maybe you didn’t know her name. She used to work up on the Nightwalker Frigate orbiting overhead. An escort, like me. Before she died. The Nightwalkers call it an accident. When you specialize in the rough stuff, these things happen.”
“Cates, I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about,” Freeman said slowly.
This morning, during the checking of weapons, scented bath and the long buttoning process of the fancy dress, I was worried that he might know enough about the Nightwalker code, or enough about me, to make this difficult. If he had pleaded with me or told me he hadn’t done it, that would have been even more difficult, even if I knew he was lying.
I should have known he thought too much of himself, and too little of me. Why bother lying? Still, I was grateful. It would be easier for me this way. I wouldn’t have to think too much until it was done.
I was fully awake now from the sun, lightning quick and ready. He’d never noticed my more than normal need for the sun or how rarely I needed to eat. He didn’t notice the subtle changing texture of my skin. Apparently, Freeman didn’t notice a lot of things.
He should have been asking himself how in the world I could have possibly found out about D’na’s murder. The Nightwalkers didn’t normally share information with outsiders. What happened in Nightwalker territory stayed in Nightwalker territory. Freeman should have been able to avail himself of any of the indentured pleasure slaves there, to any degree, without it getting back to any other human ears.
Still, family is good for something.
“It’s not that she was a close friend or anything,” I said. “It’s just that a certain kind of recklessness in a customer isn’t just bad for business. It’s bad for everyone. A customer that did that, and didn’t even regret it...” I trailed off, trying to put it all into words. “We’re not even people to someone like that,” I finished finally. “Just whores.”
“You’re not even talking about a person,” Freeman said. “You’re talking about a grown hybrid, a freakin’ plant. Grown in a vat to do just what she did, every night. The Nightwalkers don’t care. Why should you? You’ll be campaigning for the damned T’risan swamp plants next.”
“There’s a way out, Freeman. I believe you to be a man of your word. Swear to me you’ll never visit another Nightwalker ship, and maybe we can both walk away from this. But I have to know it won’t happen again. If we start there, maybe we can talk about who is, and who isn’t human.”
“Fuck this,” Freeman got up and adjusted his hat. “If you’re not in the mood for any fun, Cates, I’ll come back later. Or maybe I won’t.” He turned to go back inside.
“I can’t just let you walk away, Freeman. I have to know you won’t do it again.”
“Cates,” he said, turning back to me. “I’m awful sweet on you, still, but don’t push me.” He was a big man, and his large hand was resting comfortably on the huge Joss VII flachette gun at his belt. “You’re a delicate little thing that gets bruises on her dark skin during a playful romp, but I’ll backhand that sweet face if you keep this up.”
“I can’t let you, ” I said as if he hadn’t spoken. “I can’t let you just walk away.” “Well,” he said. “I’ve faced raging Tiberian cougars in the flush of winter and fought off a Nightwalker strike action and jumped into a reentry land assault in the dead of space. I’ll be damned if I’m going to back down to a slutty little piece just because I’m tappin’ her sweet ass.”
He drew the Joss, smooth and fast.
I don’t know if he really meant to fire. I didn’t have the luxury to wait and see. Probably he didn’t think me a threat and just wanted to scare me, to show me again how quick and deadly he was. I never found out.
I was weaker during the night, and just as fragile as any human. But I was much, much stronger than I looked. I could have shot him, too. I had two guns, very well hidden. But I was faster than he was. A lot. I was light and lightning all in one quick burst. Before his neurons had fired I was most of the way across the balcony. Before he got his hand on the gun I was out of the line of fire. The open “V” between my thumb and fingers is ridged, nearly bony and I crushed his windpipe as his gun left the holster. I knocked the gun away just after it cleared, before it could line up, and the metal and fabricore shattered in fragments off the side of the building.
I gripped his neck and hurled him bodily off the balcony. He flew nearly 18 yards and landed in the dirt in front of the saloon, raising a pink dust cloud.
I looked down at the balcony floor, realizing I’d dug deep into the slate. I’d left a pattern of rough cracks in the slate, roughly the shape of my footprints. I’d needed to grip the stone with the ridges in my toes for leverage. I couldn’t have done it in shoes. I might be strong, but the laws of physics are immutable.
Freeman lay close to Sol in the street, and choked to death in the dust and swirl of cinnamon while I watched. Pink flecks of sand covered his beautiful dark clothes. Eventually, they covered his face and open eyes, too.
My eyes were wet, but if it was for Freeman, or D’na or myself I wasn’t sure. The scavengers were even faster with him, what with the expensive clothes and fancy gun rig. There were two more bodies in the street next to Sol and Freeman before that possession was settled. The clothes, money, gun and other possessions went fast, but I didn’t stick around to clock how long it took the local government to dispatch someone for clean up.
News went even faster, and I knew I’d have to pack soon. I was looked down upon, even out here, but I liked my profession. It suited me, and I was good at it. Very good. And Dusty River was the right kind of town for me to work in. I’d have a hard time finding one that suited me as well. Still, customers tended to avoid whores that can crush bones, no matter how smooth your approach.
Business was gone. Freeman was gone. Soon the Nightwalker ship would be leaving for other trade areas. Nothing would be left here for me. Freeman’s body was still lying in the pink dust, nearly naked, when I left the hotel.
You can tell a lot about what kind of town you’re in by how they treat a corpse in the street.