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                I spent

enough time with Uma to reduce my testosterone to normal levels. I took another

cab across town the next day, all the while with my brain working overtime. I

was still intent on finding out who this killer was. I should have figured that

Charise's story was too easily obtained and overly precise. My only thought was

still focused on her husband. It was a good thing Bolshoi had decided against

killing Blackmantle's cousin. With any luck, his feline head was clear enough

for me to question him. Maybe he would have some idea who might want to frame

him.  

                The

loving couple (gag!) were sitting in the kitchen portion of my abode. It's not

what you think, my house. It's a series of rooms carved out of the old Guardian

Industries warehouse. I've called it home for a long time. I don't need no

fancy house with pretty gardens and shimmering pools and such. That kind of

living opens ya up to thieves and all kinds of other problems. I prefer

subtlety.

   OK, I'm kidding.

                My kitchen

was built for my size, which means it's big. Bolshoi looked puny inside it, and

Archimedes wasn't much more at home in it either.  Still, I had pots and pans of all sizes. I

occasionally had the lady over who couldn't handle a ten kilo iron skillet.

                They

had fixed themselves a breakfast. Since one was a Carn and the other was

technically an Omni, there was a fair amount of meat on the table. Bolshoi went

to apologize and grab something less offending. He stopped when I grabbed a

handful of what passed for bacon on this rock and shoved it in my mouth. It

wasn't my fault everyone thought I was an Herb. Greenery is pleasant enough, but

unlike my primitive counterpart, I have different dietary needs. I got used to

protein a long, long time ago.

                "Well,

you furry little love birds, did you have a nice night? If it makes you feel

any better, I got me some nice ass too."

                Bolshoi

turned red. He didn't seem like the type to get embarrassed, but hey, I didn't

care. What I wasn't too keen on was having his new "friend" staying over at my

place. I had rules and morals when it came to Carns, and this was against both

of them.

                My

partner started to protest, but his new boyfriend cut him off. "Yes, I did.

Would you like me to tell you all about it?"

                Bolshoi

looked like he was ready to kill him.

                "No

thanks. One butt fuck is much like another. It only gets interesting when the

body under ya isn't ready and willing. Somewhere out there is someone who's

going to find out what that's like, assuming I can ever track him down."

                "I take

it your friend had no news?"

                "News?

Uma ain't good for anything much besides pounding my meat. She seems to know

your fruity friend here. Said she was going to miss him."

                Archimedes

made a face. "I know her, if she is

an appropriate gender. She's one tough bitch, that much is true. But everything

that comes out of her mouth is a lie, and everything that goes in it is a dick!"

                "Oh my,

my, my!" I tsked in my best falsetto before dropping my voice to a threatening

tone.  "Listen little Carn-boy, you go talking

like that and I'll arrange a date for ya with ole Uma. She may not have good

looks, but she can fuck better than any of the whors d'oeurves down on

Lackluster Avenue."

                Archimedes

snarled. "I wouldn't stick myself between her legs if she was the last female

on the planet!"

                I was

ready to rumble, but decided that it would be a waste of time. "Look lover boy,

if she was the last female on the planet, you wouldn't even be in line to get

your dick wet!"  I turned to my partner.

"So little one, what's it like having this one poking around your ass? Or are

you two mixing it up?"

                Bolshoi

surprised me by smiling. "We mix it up. No point in allowing things to get

stale. But enough of our sex lives. What do you plan on doing about your

murderer?"

                It was

a good question. I had no answer for it. If the fellow sitting across the table

wasn't him, then I needed to go back to square one. It would have helped if

there were police files to purloin. As it was, I had nothing concrete to go on.

Even the newspapers had little in the way of information, outside of

sensationalistic stories concerned with the degree to which the bodies had been

molested and mutilated. Some accounts made me think I myself was the perp. But

then, I often made certain the bodies of my vics were never found. It wasn't

like they would be missed anyway. In a few of those cases, I think their own

mothers danced a jig after they vanished.

                But

hurting dames was another thing, especially young ones. Hey, it's one thing if

they messed up real bad, but even then I normally left it to the cops. A few of

them had their own brand of justice too, which wasn't much prettier than mine.

Still, I liked to think I was better than beating up a dame. Well, then again, not

if they liked it...

                That

annoying Vulp was just staring me down. "I don't know, you nosy little fur ball.

I thought I had it wrapped up, but my gut told me it was too easy. So the

question is, why did Blackmantle frame his cousin? It means either he knows who

the real murderer is, or else he doesn't and took a chance. The latter is a

pretty risky move you ask me. That means he must know and is protecting him,

all the while leaking false info to Charise knowing she would eventually blab

it to the rags. I wonder if he the sense to figure me into the equation?"

                Arc

spoke up. "If he did frame me, I have no idea why. We've always gotten along

just fine over the years. There hasn't been a hit I haven't taken that he has

asked me to do. I shoot, he pays, and the world goes on turning. You have to

admit, while I'm no good guy, I've taken out more criminals than the police chief

himself!"

                "That

isn't saying much. The chief bought his job. If I wanted it, I could outbid him

for it. The only sane person who would want it is someone who has his sights

fixed on controlling both the good guys and the bad guys. I am neither and want

nothing to do with either. I do what I feel like on both sides of the fence.

Luckily for everyone I'm usually on the good side."

                "Which

brings us back to what you intend to do." Bolshoi was persistent. It was

annoying as hell, and I loved him for it.

                "I

guess I need to find myself a dead body. If the police aren't looking into it,

then they must be sending the bodies straight to the Outlands. It shouldn't be

too hard to find one. The cryo-stasis lasts about three weeks before the system

shuts down." Cryo was an old fashioned device that kept bodies preserved so

that they didn't stink up the city until they got to be buried. Every casket

was equipped with the system and a battery. What it meant to me was, whatever

was left of the body could be examined just like it was fresh off the morgue

table

Bolshoi glanced from me to his new

sex toy. "Are you expecting me to go with you? Things just started getting

interesting here."

I bet they were. He and his little

fuck toy were probably going through lube like an old piston engine went

through oil. I never used the stuff. I liked friction, even if the person whose

ass I was reaming didn't. That was usually the point.

"Naw. However, until I get back, I

want you to look through the old papers ad correlate the details. I did it once

already, but maybe you can find something I missed. I ain't paying ya to get

your brains fucked out. If I was doing that, you'd be on the bed and I'd have

to hire another partner. Get my drift?"

"Newspapers! Right!"

                I

grabbed a cab and took it to one of the Spokes. These were the lines that ran

out of the city and into the Outlands. They all ran the same distance before

reaching a turn around. Small towns grew up at these points. Past them, you

traveled by animal or by foot. The burying grounds were quite a distance past

Cambria, the Spoke town I was headed for.

                Getting

there was boring as hell. Thankfully, I paid the extra coin for the prime class

car and got everything that came with it. Since I was the sole occupant, that

fact alone meant I could drink as much alcohol as I wanted. The fools who

operated this line were going to lose out on this trip. I could drink more than

an Outlander's horse after a three day hike. By the time the train rode into

the station, three quart bottles of the best distilled spirits lay empty on the

floor along with one keg of the finest beer.

                I made

my way to an old associate of mine, Vargo the trader. I've had occasions in the

past to ride out into the deepest wastes. Most of your modern vehicles are

designed for pussy-assed comfort, not rough terrain. For that reason none of

them ever make it out this far. I've got one that could cut it, but it hasn't

worked in years. So out here, you used animals. There are a few choices, but

not so many for me. I was a lot of weight to drag around. That meant my distant

kin; horses.

                Vargo

always had a herd on hand. A few settlements dotted the very edges of Outlands.

These were generally prospectors and miners, though there were a few trying their

hand at terra forming. Ya see, this planet, as the legend goes, was once

thriving. Something happened and it all vanished. Leastwise, that's what the

Brotherhood says. Then came GOD and started life anew. I had no idea who this

GOD fellow was, but he could have tried a little harder in making this place

hospitable.

                I

obtained my mount plus a couple of saddle bags with food and water. I didn't

intend to be gone long, but ya never know out here. Following the path used by

the corpse bearers was easy enough. It ran out as far as the eye could see

before petering out, for even out here where folks weren't civilized, the smell

of rotten flesh was considered offensive. Funny thing was, little else was.

                Vargo

and his lackey watched me ride off towards the Barren Plains. "Hey boss, who be

that fellar?"

                "He's

an old friend of mine Goscar. Don't see him much anymore. Can't say for certain

what he's doing this time. Not my position to ask."

                The

other scratched his head. "Odd sort of fellar. And why did he want a mare in

heat? A good solid stallion would haul his fat ass better than some untried

filly."

                Vargo

just grinned. "Oh, when she gets back, she'll be tried and true, believe you

me. And he paid extra, don't ya know."

                It

wasn't overly hot out here, but it was damn dry. Deserts aren't about the heat.

They're all about the aridity. Once a body was buried out here, they dried to a

husk, something the Brotherhood called a mummy. A husk wasn't worth anything to

me. I needed the body to be fresh and pliable; otherwise I'd glean nothing from

its wounds.

                The

corpse bearers lived on in the inhospitable plain around a small oasis. It had

an ancient, sizable building for the temporary housing of the caskets before

the bodies were removed and the caskets returned for future use. Some of these

units had been circulating for a few centuries. The dead rarely complained

about their surroundings. The dead rarely complained; period.

                I tied

the horse up outside and pushed through the old steel door. It was starkly bare

inside, with dirty white walls and stained concrete floors. No one was around

so I pushed through the second set of doors. This room was warehouse sized.

There were stacks and stacks of caskets, some still running and plenty that

were not. I began examining the operative ones, but without a scanner I'd never

find out who was in which one. As I was walking down the aisle checking them

out, I heard a cough behind me. Instinctively, I pulled my gun and whirled to

face the source of the noise.

                "Whoa

dude! Don't ya know that guns kill people!"

                I was

staring down at one of the Forsaken. He was uglier than Uma while being a third

her size. It was hard to tell his ancestry, but it had some of the features of

the porcine lines. The warty face and curving tusks spoke of some feral genes

running in his veins. Suddenly indifferent, I nonchalantly set the gun on a

casket and spoke it.

                "Gun!

Kill this bastard for sneaking up on me!" Nothing happened of course. I picked

the gun and slid it into its holster. "There. Your argument is invalid."

                He was

stunned for a moment before he broke out in rough laughter. "You're pretty

slick for city folk. And damn big too. Ya got a name and a purpose for being out

here where even the devil won't come?"

                "Name's

Veracity. I'm looking for a casket or two from the city bearing one of the

following names." I handed him my list.

                "Hmmm.

All females. What's the matter, ain't getting it on with the live ones? I could

believe it. You got to have the biggest cock around!"

                I had

my gun out again, shoved under his nose. "Look you little freak, I can get myself

fresh meat whenever I want. The names on that list are all murder victims."

                He was

examining the barrel of my gun with great interest.  "Nice piece of work. And don't get so

offended. There ain't no living females out here so the only choice me and the

boys have is thawing out a stiff and having a go at it before we sinks it into

the ground. Haven't heard a complaint yet."

                I put

the gun away. "You're a sick, mother-fucking freak, but I kinda like you. Now...about

the names on my list."

He pulled out a scanner and began

reading the tags on the caskets. He went through about thirty before a name

popped up that was on the list. "Here ya go big fella. Harmony Lattroy. Sounds

kina nice, doesn't it?" He activated the code on the casket, unsealing it and

beginning the thawing process. It took about three minutes before the lid could

be lifted. When it came up, both of us whistled.

I couldn't believe what I was

seeing.  It apparently wasn't the first

time this fella had however. "Damn! That's been happenin a lot lately. I ain't

figured it out either. I mean, back in my old man's day, live ones used to come

through, but never anything like this."

It was a stark clue, and my

suspicions were confirmed when we tracked down another of the victims. The same

thing. I saw enough. It gave me a hint as to who our perp was, though the

reasons behind it were still obfuscated. 

I hoped my partner was digging into the records like I asked him, as

opposed to digging into his new found friend. I needed that information more

than he needed tail right now.

I headed back to Cambria the same

day, not always a good idea. I wasn't too keen on sticking around here. I felt

bad for these fellas stuck out here doing a shit job no one wanted, but poking

a corpse wasn't my thing. I may have been active in doing it when a few gave up

the ghost, but that wasn't the same thing.

I made camp, fed and watered my

mount as well as myself, then stripped. The mare was jittery from all of the

hormones flooding her system. That meant that she was going to be eager to take

what I had to give. Funny thing was, this dappled mare was about as tough as

ole Uma. I've seen pics of the early horses here; thin legged little things

that weren't good for much other than being pets or trophies. Such beasts had

no purpose out here. This girl was thick legged, short and stocky, and rugged

like the country in which she was born. She had a shaggy coat of curly locks

that were perfect for snaking my fingers into. On top of that, the moment I as

undressed she sensed my intent and lifted her tail. She was winking at me,

enticing me into action.

There was something nice about

Mords. I think it was the fact that they didn't bother messing up sex with

chatter. I was just tall enough to slip in without straining. She already had a

dribble of fluid leaking out, which was fine with me. Foreplay could be a drag.

I grabbed one side of her haunches with one hand, while guided my cock in with

the other. Her hind quarters vibrated with expectation. It was times like this

when I considered moving out here in no-man's-land. The dames were big,

beautiful, willing and best of all, tough and stupid. Those boys back at the

casket depot could learn a few things from 'em.

She was warm, wet and tight. Of

course, a real stallion would plunge into her depths and tear her up without thinking

twice. Not me. I pushed in until her ass was pressed against my belly. Her

muscles were twitching with expectation. I ground against her as hard as I

could, penetrating as deeply as I could manage. 

I'd never reach as far as the real thing, but I could outlast a stallion

a hundred fold. Trust me, these girls might not be able to verbalize their

appreciation, but they certainly showed it.

We fucked for an hour. This young girl

came hard, not once, not twice, but three times before I blew a load in. I

nearly chuckled when her legs gave way. That was new!  She struggled to get herself back into a

standing position, in the process forcing me out. I gave her a moment to get

her bearings before I pushed back in. This time it elicited a whinny, for I decided

it was time to bugger her doughnut hole. 

I got the head of my cock in before she clamped down in surprise. I

didn't push it. She was still having contractions from her last orgasm, and

they were reflected in the muscles ringing her anus. It was a lovely feeling

and I was in no hurry to rush past it.

As she came off of her high, I

pushed in deeper into the recesses of her shit hole. She relaxed and accepted

her fate gratefully. I shoved hard until the base of my cock pushed her

elasticity to its limits. She grunted but held her ground. I was beginning to

think I might just have to buy this girl from Vargo, but I had no place

suitable in the city to keep her. Besides, some Carn would just consider her

supper, and completely miss out on her finer points.

I plugged her ass for another hour

before I blew my wad. Her wonderful anatomy had plenty of room to accept it.

When I pulled out, she lost her footing again and fell to the ground. I knew

how she felt, because damn, I was tired too. We curled together under the

starlit sky and fell asleep. Morning came too soon.

I parted ways with Vargo and the

mare, happily with the first and reluctantly with the latter, making my way to

the station. One of the few things regular on this stinking chunk of constipated

rock was the train. Nothing slowed it up or made it go faster. It arrived on

time and it left on time. If you weren't on it, tough titties for you. I sat

down in the specialty car again. I was so relaxed I skipped the booze and went

for the cigars. I eased back and smoked one until it was nothing more than a

stub, then closed my eyes for some much needed rest. Last night hadn't been

sufficient in the sleep category.   

                I woke

up just before the train hit The Hub. I was feeling pretty good right now, and

not even the antics of my new partner were likely to put me off. I only hoped

the horny little bastard had taken the time to look up what I had asked for. It

turns out he was good for something after all.

                "Hey,

you big hunk of attitude, welcome back! Guess what I found out!"

                I hated

to burst his bubble, but I blurted out my findings. "That not a single one of

those reported rape/murders actually happened."

                His

looked twisted from excitement to curiosity. "Yeah, though there's more than

that. Every one of those names was a fake. I even went down to the police

station on Burberry Street. I told them I was a reporter looking into these

murders. They took me aside and showed me their case files."

                "There

aren't any case files!" I bellowed.

                "That's

right. They told me that it would be nice if one of the papers began reporting

the facts. They've went to every address listed in the articles, and at no

point did they find a single body or a drop of blood. They say it looked like a

murder happened, but that it didn't. They have no idea who's perpetrating this

prank, if it is a prank, but they're tired of it. They just haven't bothered

making a statement because everyone would then accuse them of covering it up.

Only, there's nothing to cover up."    

                "You're

damn right there's not. I found two of the caskets marked with the names of the

victims listed in the paper. Do you know what I found inside?"

                Archimedes

walked in. "Nothing and no one I bet. That's an old trick from the smugglers.

Create a false identity, pack the casket with goods and ship it to the

Outlands. Once there, they'd unpack it and stash the stuff somewhere for future

use. It was great for exotic foods since they could be kept fresh for weeks"

                 I wanted to tell him to shut up, but his intel

was accurate. "And the bodies of the un-departed. I recall a few tales of

people going missing only to reappear elsewhere alive. The only way they could

have escaped the dragnet put out for them was to be hidden inside a casket.

It's risky business, but it works. But why ship an empty casket?"

                The

Carn looked at me with renewed respect. "You do keep up on things, don't you?

My father was a smuggler for a while. He needed to get out of the city once to

foil an assassination attempt and used that very method. But shipping it empty

doesn't any sense unless it was simply to throw someone nosy enough to

investigate off the trail." 

                "It's

clever, I'll say that, but seems like a lot of trouble. But back to the case.

If no one was killed, than why was such a charade put into place? I think we

should go to the site of the last reported murder and see if it offers any

clues." Bolshoi was on that suggestion like a shot.

                "That's

a great idea," he drawled sarcastically. "The worse that could happen is that

we fall flat on our faces. What could you possibly hope to find at a fake

murder scene?"

                I

pulled out my oversized pocket watch out of its hidden recess and stared at it.

I didn't say a word until he came over and stared at it too. "What is this

thing that draws your attention so?"

                "It's a

moron magnet! See how well it works!"

                He

threw a disgusted look at me before busting out in a grin. "Fine. We'll do it

your way. But I think you're wasting our time."

                "Hey,

if ya don't want to come, say so. I want to see if this was fabricated or

staged. If it was staged, they might have left a clue to their identity."

                He and

I piled into a cab, leaving his friend (and my unwelcome house guest) behind. I

gave the driver the address. He looked in his rearview with a grin.

"Sightseer's huh? Papers says the place is a butcher's shop. Blood everywhere.

I hope y'all got tough stomachs. I'll wait fer ya, but you'll pay extra if I

have to clean up after ya."

                The

"crime scene" was in a back alley, behind a defunct book seller and a small

munitions' works. Sure enough, the walls and ground were splattered in red.

After a week I would have expected it to be darker and, well, less showy. I

stuck my finger into it and stuck it under my nose, then to my tongue. "Shit!

It's paint. Not your everyday paint-a-room paint, but stage paint. That stuff

is a bitch to get outta your clothes, even if it never really dries."

Bolshoi did the same test I did. "Indeed

it is. Why would someone bother making it look like there was a crime when

there really wasn't?"

It was a good question. The

newspapers where likely selling rags by the gross. When money was involved, the

truth often suffered.  But this was

pretty blatant in its obvious intent for deception. Fake people getting killed

by a fake killer and who spilled fake blood. 

It made no sense on the face of it. If Blackmantle was behind it, it

seemed like a weird way of getting his cousin bumped off. He might have just as

easily done it himself, or dropped the information as to his whereabouts to

another crime family. This was a pretty elaborate a ruse for a simple hit.

True, if I did do it, it might save him some cash, but there was no guarantee I

would do it. What was he up to? I was beginning to think that I was going to

need to talk with him one on one. That meant kidnapping him. It wasn't as much

fun as killing him would be, but it had its own rewards.