Silverfox 11
#11 of Silverfox
Silverfox 11
McKinnon's jaw tightened. "Okay," he said. "I'm pulling in a forensics team." He tapped his earplug.
"With respect, sir," Silverfox said quickly, "as long as there's a chance Baker might come here, or if he might send someone here --"
"...Yes," McKinnon said, reluctantly. He frowned, straightened up, and looked away.
"No sense in rushing things," she said. "If you can get a forensics team in here without the neighbors seeing, great, but --"
"I'll see what we can do," he said. He considered, and shifted his gaze as someone picked up the phone. "Stacy? Hi. Yes... we want a forensic photographer in here. Film camera. And he's got to sneak in without the neighbors spotting... Get back to me when you can."
"Good call," Silverfox agreed. She knelt down and looked at the skulls carefully. "Mind if I take pictures for the girls back home?" she asked. "Wow, that didn't come out right."
He grinned. "Not at all. Remember you can't use digital images as evidence in court."
"That's okay. They can be used to further an investigation. Your guy is coming with a film camera." She took a ruler out of her pocket, and propped it against one of the skulls. Carefully, she took pictures with her cell phone. "Want copies? Okay if I send this to your business email?"
"Hmm? Sure," he said.
"I think the one on the left is a Brandon Biotech Felix," she said. "The one on the right is probably a NorBio Fidelus."
"Not a Reynard?" he asked.
"The Reynard has an extra molar," she said. She pulled the corner of her mouth back. "Shee?" she slurred.
McKinnon counted silently. "I see. And the hole in the Felix's head. Low caliber pistol?"
"I'm betting on .410 QSPR. Of course, they're almost impossible to distinguish," she said. She looked more closely at the skull. "That's why he wouldn't settle for a moderated shotgun and subsonic ammo," she said. "Son of a bitch wants a killing weapon a chimera won't hear."
"Right." McKinnon shook his head. "All right, this changes things a bit. Darren Baker's been promoted from bail-jumping smuggler to murder suspect."
"How long did you guys know about his apartment up here?" Silverfox asked.
McKinnon looked uncomfortable, and she knew she had hit pay dirt. "A few months," he admitted.
"Months," Silverfox said. "If you had searched this apartment --"
"Yes, yes, and if he were tied to a crime in Canada," McKinnon interrupted her, frowning. "And if we knew Baker was in danger of getting out on bail --"
"That wasn't up to me," Silverfox said.
"No, it wasn't," McKinnon agreed reluctantly.
"Sorry," Silverfox said. "It's just that -- I mean, wow. We were so close."
"Yeah," McKinnon agreed. "That's why I hate this inter-agency stuff. No offense. But someone always drops a ball they didn't even know was in play."
Silverfox nodded. Well, Foxforce had sat on pictures of the underside of _Flying Saucer_ for about a week, just because they had no way of telling ICON how they had gotten those pictures. That might have been the problem -- what if the RCMP was reluctant to explain how they knew about Baker's second apartment?
"Right," Silverfox agreed. "I'm sorry none of us were able to read the judge's mind. Assuming he has one."
McKinnon chuckled politely, the way you do when someone makes a joke you don't like but you want to get in her pants. Silverfox made a mental note to say nice things about a judge.
The canid skull had the jawbone attached; the felid did not. Silverfox wondered why. Was the feline's mandible damaged? Was it in someone else's trophy case?
"Was anything like this found in his place in Seattle?" McKinnon asked.
Silverfox laughed and shook her head. "Nope. Aside from the QSPR shells, his place was clean." She pointed at the skulls. "Something like that -- Baker wouldn't be out on bail." She reconsidered. "Not unless the skulls were traced to individuals who weren't legally human."
"Forgive me," he said, "but how does that work in the States? Up here, they grant legal humanity to chimerae based on model."
"It's state by state, and individual by individual," Silverfox explained. "In Massachusetts, you spend a few hours talking to a psychologist. He asks questions that supposedly can distinguish between advanced mimicry and genuine intelligence."
"Do they?" McKinnon asked, curiously.
"I passed, so I guess not," Silverfox said. McKinnon laughed once, to be polite. "I'm not supposed to talk about the questions. I had to sign an NDA. They don't want people coaching potential people."
"I see," McKinnon said amiably, obviously curious but not willing to push.
Silverfox sent the email. Oh, crap -- she forgot to add a note. Silverfox duplicated the mailing list and keyed in a quick explanation so Technofox wouldn't wonder why she was getting pictures of skulls. That was a stupid mistake, and an obvious one. She must be more rattled than she thought.
"I'm guessing he kept this stuff up here because he didn't think this place could be connected to him," McKinnon said.
"And he might avoid moving this stuff across the border," Silverfox said. "Getting it smuggled is probably expensive, carrying it in his luggage is risky."
"I'd like to see someone try to explain that to a customs officer," McKinnon said, pointing at the canid skull. "The cranium's so big there's no mistaking that for an animal. And even if you did, you'd mistake it for a wolf and you'd impound it pending identification of the species."
"So that implies that he's not in Vancouver to visit the _Benjamin Franklin,_" Silverfox said. "Whatever illegal stuff he's up to, he's doing it in Canada."
"Probably yes," McKinnon agreed. He hesitated. "Looks like hunting to me. We get a lot of runaways, heading north. If some vanished..."
"And the same argument ... " She looked around. She got up, went to the kitchen, and started opening cabinets and drawers until she found what she was looking for: a few boxes of .410 QSPR. Next to that were some other ammo boxes -- .45 ACP, 9mm, 10 gauge and 12 gauge. .30 caliber rifle.
Nothing terribly unusual, except for the QSPR. Those boxes probably cost thousands of dollars. It was tempting to lift a few for Shadowfox.
"There's another weapons charge," McKinnon said.
"And some of that's pistol ammunition," Silverfox said. "Is that illegal?"
"Hunting's legal and you can use those in a rifle," McKinnon said.
Silverfox nodded. The plastic boxes formed sort of a stack, three deep, two wide, four high... she frowned and reached in with a gloved hand. She thought better of it and took a picture first before moving a couple of them aside.
Nope. Hidden behind the boxes of QSPR shells were more boxes of QSPR shells. She looked at the mugs. It looked like he had six cheap, identical mugs. Six mugs was a weird number. She moved one.
Ah, there it was. Four mugs arranged to look like six, and inside there was a wad of Canadian bills. She shook her head.
"How much do you think is there?" she asked, handing McKinnon the roll. There was a twenty on the outside. If Canadians were like Americans, that was the biggest denomination people took without thinking about it. You ran into a lot of twenties, not so many fifties, and Silverfox had never held a hundred.
McKinnon hefted the roll. "If these are all twenties, maybe two thousand." He held it for a moment, as though thinking what a nice addition that would make to a cop's salary. Silverfox couldn't blame him.
"I think you're right about him hunting chimerae. Pelts, trophies... There's a lot of wilderness in Canada," she said. "How do figure out where it's happening? Satellite pictures?" she wondered.
McKinnon shook his head. "How could you tell it from any other camp or hunting lodge?" he asked gently.
"Right," Silverfox agreed, glumly. It was a stupid idea.
"So where were those pelts you found going to?" McKinnon asked. "That was a rhetorical question. There's a pipeline, we've found the middle, but we really want both ends."
"Most of those pelts were animals," Silverfox said. "But in among them were mixed some ... special hunting trophies." She gritted her teeth. "Son of a bitch. They were probably being sent to the hunters." If that landing hadn't gone wrong, she thought, if David's op hadn't been derailed, they'd know who had ...
Well, that made one thing obvious.
"We have to make sure none of the other people who were arrested get out on bail," Silverfox said.
"They probably won't. They were involved in an armed battle with you and a cop," McKinnon pointed out. "Baker wasn't charged in connection with that. He just owned the battlefield -- there wasn't anything that connected him to the smugglers unambiguously, and even if there were, it's not absolutely clear that he knew about the chimera pelts. He was being held on a weapons charge, for owning QSPR ammo."
"Baker's nervous," Silverfox said, suddenly. "If he didn't run the next day, he wouldn't be a fugitive now. I doubt we'd even get a warrant to search his house. I mean, based on what? That he owned a pier?"
"Really? That's good to know," McKinnon said. "It's a shame that works in his favor now."
"I want to send these damn pictures to the judge," Silverfox said. "I want the son of a bitch to know who he cut loose."
"That might not be advisable," McKinnon said mildly.
She bit her lip, and nodded reluctantly.
"Let's try not to leave any sign we were here," McKinnon said. "I'll look in the bathroom."
Silverfox went to the bed and sniffed the pillow. She was rewarded with a sinus filled with smells, conflicting shampoos and sweat and dandruff and bits of hair. She smiled.
"There's more than one guy using this apartment," she called out. "Can't be sure how many."
"Yes," McKinnon said from the bathroom. His voice was pitched high, unnecessarily loud; he didn't know chimerae well. "Two different makes of electric razors, a third guy who likes twin - edge cartridge, and a fourth guy with a bag of single - edge disposables." He came out. "Or maybe the disposables are so everyone can grab a couple if they're travelling. I bought some bags in bulk a few years ago and I'm still working through them."
"I'll take your word for it. I don't know much about shaving, I'm afraid," Silverfox replied. "That's a human thing. I've been told that humans don't generally share razors."
McKinnon laughed. "That's true. We'll want to run the hair through the lab to confirm it, but it's a bit odd for someone to have more than one razor. Shaving's one of those things I've always pictured having to explain to a befuddled alien. 'Every morning, we rub sharp metal on our faces.' 'I see...'"
Silverfox grinned and lifted the pillow. There was a Cyalume light stick under it, she guessed for use if the power went out or someone couldn't find a light switch. Who had lots of unused light sticks laying about? Ravers and campers. She rustled through the nightstand, and found a tiny, familiar hinged gizmo stamped out of metal. She picked it up by the edges, careful not to smear any fingerprints, her own fingers awkward because of the gloves. "Wow," Silverfox said. "A P-38."
"The pistol or the fighter plane?" McKinnon asked, probably imagining a model.
"The can opener," Silverfox explained. She looked at the device fondly. It was a wonderfully minimalist device, as though the Shakers worked in sheet metal and made can openers. It was a remarkably useful little tool; tiny enough to fit on a keychain, it could also serve as a screwdriver or a box cutter. Shadowfox had one that she carried if she couldn't bring her Gerber knife. As a field expedient weapon, the nasty little curved blade was a step up from fighting with car keys, and it wasn't much more suspicious.
It was interesting that anything named "P-38" was kind of cool. If someone would make a P-38 toothbrush, it would be a great toothbrush.
"These people are campers," Silverfox said firmly. "I'll bet we're going to find Shoe Goo, 2000 Newton paracord and heat-shrink electrical tubing."
"I saw the Shoe Goo in a drawer. But why heat shrink electrical tubing?" McKinnon asked politely.
"To make ends for bootlaces," Silverfox explained. "Imagine spending a week with broken laces."
Her ears twisted to face the door; she pointed as a woman came in. She was carrying a bag of groceries. She closed the door behind herself.
"Officer Tibbitz," McKinnon said. "This is ICON's Silverfox. Silverfox, this is Tibbitz of the Vancouver Police."
"Pleased to meet you," Tibbitz said, putting down her bag and extracting an expensive-looking camera.
"Okay," McKinnon said, tapping at his laptop. "Can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear," Technofox said. Silverfox had the volume on Shadowfox's netbook cranked low to avoid feedback. "Where's Shadowfox?" asked the little vixen.
"Matinee," Silverfox explained. Technofox nodded.
"I was going to ask her about this income item from the other day," Technofox said. "Something about cutting clothes?"
"Ah, no," Silverfox said, relaxing. "She probably said something like her cut from her costume auction."
"Oh, gotcha," Technofox nodded. "Why would someone buy a used costume?" she asked, speculatively.
"I've been giving the matter some thought," Silverfox lied. She considered. "One: place it in a shrine or museum to the object of their obsession. Two: Persuade their girlfriend or hooker to wear it for them. Three: Use it as a fetish item for their self-gratification. Four: Dress their mannequin or Real Doll in it. Five: Wear it under their clothes at all times. Six: Sell it at a profit on eBay. Roll again for the new owner."
"You need to re-order the table," Technofox said. "Make the sixth item in the list the first, so you can add a perversion modifier."
"I don't know," Silverfox said. "I think perversion is too complicated to be represented in a single number. It's not like Intelligence or Wisdom."
"You may be right," the little vixen agreed.
"When is Firefox showing up?" Silverfox asked. She wasn't sure if she had enough banter to keep going.
"She's at the airport," Technofox explained. "There's an FBI alert." She addressed McKinnon. "Mountie, she apologized for being unavailable."
"It was short notice," McKinnon said. "And an FBI alert's something you can't walk away from. This meeting's about information, not decisions, and I'm sure you'll be able to cover for Firefox."
If they had a longer working relationship Silverfox doubted he'd be quite so delicate about the situation, but this sort of pussyfooting was common early on.
McKinnon was sitting across from Silverfox on the little round table in their hotel room. "I'm sending the dates Baker crossed the border," he said. "They seem to match up with the ones from US Customs."
"Twelve days last June," Technofox said. "In on June third and out on the fourteenth."
"Twelve days," McKinnon agreed. He frowned. "Saturday to Wednesday. That's sort of a funny period, isn't it? It doesn't really fit into a work week."
"It makes you wonder if it were an open ended stay," Technofox speculated.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," McKinnon agreed.
"Like he's going home after he bags his chimera," Silverfox said.
"Possibly," McKinnon said.
"He bought his train ticket on the web on the thirteenth," Technofox said. She shook her head.
"Open ended stay," McKinnon said, nodding.
"Do you have anything on his movements within Canada?" Technofox asked.
"Not a lot. He crosses the border into Vancouver on the third, withdraws five hundred in Canadian currency, and then on the evening of the thirteenth checks into the ... Coastside Hotel."
They were looking at Baker's credit card charges. A hotel didn't charge you for a stay until the stay was completed; it wasn't like a train ticket, where you were charged when you bought it.
McKinnon shook his head. "I'll need a judge to find out if he had a reservation at the hotel."
"Think there will be a problem getting that?" Silverfox asked.
McKinnon laughed. "With two chimera skulls in his apartment? No."
"Good. So he checks into a hotel," Silverfox said with a frown. "Why, when he has an apartment?"
"I've got a theory about that. Coastside is a luxury hotel," McKinnon said. "Jacuzzi in his room, the works. Look at that restaurant bill. One hundred twenty on dinner."
"Like a guy who's been in a sleeping bag for a week," Silverfox said, nodding. She looked at the netbook. "His apartment here's a little sparse," she explained.
McKinnon smiled and nodded. "I think we're on the same wavelength."
"Oh, yeah," Silverfox said smiling, a twinkle in her eye.
Technofox sighed and pulled them back to reality. "But in all that time, he didn't use his card?"
"Afraid not," he said, glumly. "And before you ask, he had his cell phone turned off."
Technofox touched a few buttons. "Even though his plan offered free roaming," she said.
"We'll go over that again," McKinnon said, resigned. "He must have done something -- bought a ticket, called for a reservation... I'm hoping he called for the hotel from somewhere we can trace."
"What about the town the pilot said he was taking him?" Silverfox asked.
"Nothing there, I'll bet," McKinnon said. "Lion's Bay is north from here,
Silverfox didn't say anything, but she doubted it. McKinnon would find that Baker had made a large cash withdrawal on arriving in Canada, and then vanished from the electronic network until he reappeared at the border.
"Is it worth staking out his apartment?" Technofox asked.
"Yes," McKinnon said. "He wants those trophies back."
"Of course," Silverfox agreed.
Technofox blinked dubiously. Well, that was the way her mind worked -- her most treasured possessions were virtual, backed up on a hard drive in an inside pocket in her jacket.
"Well, speaking of steak, it's about time we had lunch," Silverfox said. "Tech, do you think Firefox would have a cow if I took our RCMP liaison to a steak house?"
"I won't hear of it," McKinnon said firmly. "You're our guest."
Silverfox was about to object when Technofox interrupted. "You're under cover," she said. "Argent isn't going to buy a couple of pricey steaks."
Silverfox saw she was caught, so she forced an amiable grin. "Okay. Next time you're in Boston, I'll pay."
"I'll hold you to that," McKinnon said.
Suddenly, Silverfox imagined seeing McKinnon in Boston, and she didn't like the image. It was a curious sensation. She didn't dislike McKinnon, and she had every intention of sleeping with him ... but somehow, instead of seeing herself with McKinnon, she imagined telling Jerry she wouldn't be seeing him that night. She felt a moment of doubt and unhappiness at that.
Oh, wait a minute -- maybe McKinnon would be up for a five-way. No, that was setting her sights too low. They wanted at least as many guys as girls. Wow.
"Where would you like to go?" McKinnon asked.
"Somewhere I can get a good steak," Silverfox said patiently.
Chimerae were typically clones, raised mostly in virtual reality to very similar, if not identical, specifications. Nevertheless, their likes and dislikes could vary dramatically. Papers had been written on the phenomenon, doctorates bestowed.
Despite that, canid and felid chimerae tended to agree on one point: "fine eating" and "steak house" were synonyms. Not for them the rich and varied cuisine of humanity; all the spices of India and the delicate interplay of great artists made manifest on a dinner plate were as nothing against the simple delights offered by a dead cow placed over a fire. The fire was optional. Perhaps it was a legacy from their common ancestors.
The restaurant was tastefully decorated in Faux Australian. It felt warm and comfortable, and brought thoughts of her Korth pistol.
"I'd like the G'Day Mate Strip, rare," McKinnon said. "With a Shrimps-on-the-Barbie skewer of ... shrimp," he finished redundantly.
"And the vegetable?" asked the waiter. Silverfox was pleased with him, perhaps because he didn't remind her remotely of 25-cm-of-love.
"The Dinkum Corn on the Cobber," McKinnon decided.
"I'll have the Baby Outback Rib Rack," Silverfox said. "With coleslaw, which strangely seems to have no associated regionalism."
McKinnon looked up. "Can I buy the toy that comes with the Joey Meal separately?"
"Certainly, sir," the waiter said. "It's an extra two fifty."
"Terrific. Split a platter of fries?" McKinnon asked.
"Sure," Silverfox nodded.
"And to drink?" asked the waiter.
"Lemonade," Silverfox said.
"Make it a pitcher," McKinnon said.
"Bonzer," said the waiter, handing them a toy koala from the pouch on his kangaroo costume before he hopped off.
"You know," Silverfox said once she was sure the waiter was out of earshot, "I sometimes wonder if the stress of my job is worth the rewards. And then, I just imagine myself as a costumed waiter in a family restaurant, and all my unhappiness melts away. Do you collect koalas?"
"No, that's for my son," McKinnon explained. Then, quickly, "I'm divorced."
"That's too bad," Silverfox said, sympathetically. "By which I mean it's better than being a widower, I'd imagine." She took a bite. "How old is your son?"
"Six next month."
Silverfox nodded and made a note to herself -- she should get a present if she were still in town. "Just in first grade, then?" She had a vague sense that was right.
"Yes. His name's Mike. After my father." He grinned for a moment, ruefully. "My wife's remarried." He gritted his teeth. "Calls him 'Dad.'"
"It's not easy, is it?" she asked.
"No, it isn't," he said. "Is that something you can understand?"
"I can't really be sure," she said. "There's people who are important to me, so important I'd rather die than see them hurt. That I can understand. But is it different from the way you feel about kids? I don't suppose I can feel that way. There's no reason for me to."
"I wonder," McKinnon said. "I don't see why you would lose that capacity."
"Lose the capacity to love children?" Silverfox asked.
"Well, you're mostly made up of mammal DNA, right?" he asked.
"A little bit of pit viper around the nose, but basically, yeah." Silverfox finished her bread.
"And the capacity to love your children is probably built into us, very early on, at a low level," McKinnon said. "Would you willingly get between a mother fox and her cubs? That strikes me as dangerous. Do you know any chimerae who work with children?"
Silverfox remembered Morgan from Atlanta. "I'm thinking of one I met. He's sort of a butler / bodyguard. The family has a daughter and he loves her to death."
"Sexually?" he asked.
"No offense, but if he heard you ask that he'd probably deck you," Silverfox said.
"Naturally," McKinnon agreed easily. "He probably thinks of her as a daughter, or kid sister."
"...Yeah," Silverfox agreed reluctantly. Did Morgan know that she had slept with Victoria? How would he feel about that? Well, he probably assumed it -- Victoria had been in Blue Diamond with them.
Silverfox had made Victoria a promise in Blue Diamond -- to get Victoria drunk and screw her unconscious. She had been half-joking even when she said it, but now she wondered how much of that promise had been because they were in Blue Diamond, where sex was assumed.
She wondered if Victoria would be up for a five-way, or if she was trying to get away from all that. She liked the thought of a five-way with Victoria... of course, bringing her into the party she was planning would just make the imbalance worse.
And now that she thought of it, adding more men to the mix might not be the best idea. The five-way had worked, at least in part, because everyone in the group knew one another well and were all comfortable with one another.
What would happen if the guys weren't? Would it get competitive, with the guys keeping count? Would they need to clean up between sessions? Would condoms help keep it tidy? Did she want it tidy?
She remembered Jerry and Hardtack kissing while they were with her. Jerry was probably curious but uncomfortable with it. What if he kissed a guy who wasn't curious? That wouldn't be much fun for Jerry. She could imagine that getting really unpleasant really fast. It would be really unfair if he had a bad experience. No, they'd have to get guys who had been together.
Then they'd have to be bi. Or maybe not. She didn't think Jerry and Hardtack would have a problem with a six-way, after they were introduced to one another. Maybe that was the way to pull guys into an orgy? Start off by pairing them and adding a girl to make it a gang bang instead?
She thought back to Blue Diamond -- she, Firefox, Tawny and another girl had taken on four football players together. That had been... well, it was something she could throw herself into. But there, the men had probably done that before.
And how did they feel once Blue Diamond was in the papers? They had seemed like decent sorts, they had actually been nice to them even though they were bought and paid for. She sort of wished she could let them know. Maybe she and Firefox could send them a letter telling them there were no hard feelings. How to phrase that? "Dear Bull, Arnold, Carl, and Sylvester: we're okay with the gang-bang. Love and kisses, Firefox and Shadowfox."
Heck, she'd be okay with another. She thought of Jerry and Hardtack and realized she'd like to do that again. Maybe Jerry had some friends? Maybe he had three? Wouldn't it be something if she could get four guys used to screwing her in front of one another, if not one another, and then get the other girls --
And what the hell was her date saying?
She felt a moment of panic. How could she explain? "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that -- I was fantasizing about group sex with someone else." God. That would be a faux pas.
" -- think it's Encounter, Identify, Approach, Subjugate, Kill, Dissect, and Consume," he said, counting on his fingers.
Okay, for some reason he was talking about the different stages of predatory behavior. She had no idea how the conversation had gone there but she figured she could pick up on it. It wasn't like he was talking about the fucking Zohar Emulator. So she put on an interested look and nodded.
"I think that's right," she said.
"And depending on where you get the animal to stop," he said, "you have a different type of service animal. If your dog Encounters and Identifies, it's a pointer. If it Approaches, it's a retriever. If it Subjugates, it's a livestock control dog, like a border collie. If it Kills, it's a falcon."
Oh, she remembered this point. "So you basically train animals by using behaviors that are already there, but tweaked. A border collie acts exactly like a wolf, up to the point where a wolf kills."
He beamed, and she realized she had picked up on this correctly. Good.
"So given that I'm an artificially produced animal," she said, "there's a good chance that they deliberately amplified behaviors that are considered desirable."
His face froze. "I wasn't really going to --" he began.
"It's okay," she assured him. "I'm not offended."
"I wasn't thinking that," he said.
"It's okay if you were," she said. She hesitated. "Look, you're a nice guy, and you're being respectful of me." She fell silent as their waiter put down a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses with ice and straws, and a platter of fries and bits of mutton in a hot matrix of cheese. She took a fry. Oh, amazing.
"But the thing is that you're looking at it like I'm a human Asian or Black or something," she said. "And I'm not." She pointed with her fry. "You guys are one species. Various long-dead shitheads pretended there were real differences between people whose ancestors left Africa ten thousand years ago and people whose ancestors left Africa last week. Human society's still screwed up by that. And that's understandable. But me --" she pointed the fry at herself -- "there's real differences between chimerae and humans. Some of those differences are engineered. Some just happened."
"It's hard to remember that, talking to you," he said. "And I'm not sure how meaningful those differences are."
"Neither am I," Silverfox admitted cheerfully. "I know this girl who's a total repressed little computer geek. She's a chimera, so that means that sometime back before she was born, someone said, 'And we want unit #2 to be this total repressed little computer geek' and a salesman made a note to use template three hundred or however they define total repressed little computer geek." She ate her fry.
Before he could get a word in, she continued. "Now, this sort of gives me a choice," she said. "I can either be all 'Oh, woe, The Man has forced her to be a total repressed little computer geek,' or I can say, 'Despite being a total repressed little computer geek who can't shoot worth a damn, she's one of the coolest girls I know and I'm proud to be her friend.'" She shrugged. "You see? It's not like there aren't plenty of total repressed little computer geeks out there. What if she were one of them?"
"That's an interesting way of looking at it," he said.
"If you're a clever ape, I'm an industrial product," she said with a shrug.
"That might be true, but is that right?" he asked.
"Doesn't really matter," she said. "Because if I weren't an industrial product, I wouldn't even exist." She grinned. "Look around you. How many chimerae do you see?"
"One," he said.
"And Canada's a nice place to live, if you're a chimera," she said. "Really, the whole country's like Massachusetts. My hat's off to you."
"Thank you," he said.
"And aren't most Canadian chimerae immigrants from the US?" she asked.
"Mostly," McKinnon agreed, guardedly, as though he was afraid of going there. "Runaway slaves, chimerae who want to be federal citizens, people like that."
"Exactly. It's a good place for a chimera to live. But on the other hand, how many Canadian chimerae are there?" she shrugged. "Even with a smaller economy and population, you don't have that many domestic chimerae. Boston's got a lot of chimerae from all over the States, because Massachusetts has laws a lot like Canada's. But there's a down side to that. It takes away the incentive to create chimerae. I wouldn't exist, except ICON wanted me to. And ICON wants me to, because they can make money off me." She shrugged. "That's the difference between you and me. You have parents, we have a mortgage."
"So it's sort of like ... if human babies couldn't be born without corporate sponsorship."
"Right. You clever apes worked out how to build machine intelligences and how to mix genetic cocktails that can produce half-human critters with brains at least as advanced as yours, if not more so, present company excepted. So if you're going to create intelligent life, are you going to do it to fill a need, or are you going to do it for the hell of it?" She shrugged.
"Speaking for myself," he said slowly, "I resent it when people try to manipulate me for their benefit."
"Me too," she said agreeably. "And that's sort of what chimerae have to live with." She tried to come up with an example.
"Suppose a woman's raped and has a baby," McKinnon said.
For an instant, Silverfox froze. Did he know about Blue Diamond? No, obviously not, he said 'has a baby.'
"What should the kid think?" McKinnon asked. "That rape's okay because it resulted in him? That he's evil because he is the result of something evil? Or does he say that bad things can have good results?" McKinnon shrugged. "Of course, for you it's worse because it's not just a one-off crime; it's an ongoing thing. The human race doesn't rely entirely on rape to reproduce."
The waiter caught the last sentence as he brought their meals. He hesitated, understandably wondering what the hell was going on. Silverfox felt more sympathy for him. Not only did he dress up like a marsupial, but he had to be satisfied with weird snatches of conversation. Silverfox imagined that he'd have an interesting anecdote for the break room today.
"And that's probably a good thing," Silverfox said, to make it sound weirder.
Her ribs smelled heavenly. The meat had not sloughed off into the sauce, making a sort of slurry. Instead, the meat was still attached to the bone. It slid off neatly when pulled with a fork, leaving a pleasingly denuded bone behind.
Silverfox looked at the bone. She wanted to take it home to gnaw on, but she didn't know McKinnon well enough to do that in front of him. She wished he was Jerry.
What should she talk about next? She didn't want to talk about the case, but she didn't want to talk about the ethics of producing chimerae either, because that sort of inevitably led to the conclusion that she shouldn't exist.
"So Baker didn't rent a car or anything," she said.
"Nope," McKinnon shook his head. "And he didn't use his cell phone to call anyone. The whole thing was done the old fashioned way. Appointment, made days in advance. They probably picked him up in a car. Heck, maybe he took a train or a bus to some other city and met them there."
"Yeah," Silverfox said. "And he's probably doing that again, right now."
"He won't find it easy to get a hotel room," McKinnon said. "Not unless he brought fake ID."
"He's got to cross the border," Silverfox said.
McKinnon snorted. "The US / Canadian border is not the Barbarossa Line. You must know that."
"I didn't want to point that out in front of a Mountie," Silverfox explained. She considered. "I know someone who crossed the Barbarossa Line. It took him forty hours to go five kilometers."
"On foot?" McKinnon asked.
"More like crawling."
"Ouch," McKinnon winced, sympathetically. "ICON operative?"
"Can't say," Silverfox said. He had been.
"Well, on the bright side," McKinnon said, "Baker's now officially a fugitive. He's only got around two hundred fifty in cash on him, unless he had more cash cached somewhere."
"ATM maximum withdrawal?" Silverfox asked.
"Right. At least the bank wasn't open."
"Funny," Silverfox mused. "He knew, the moment he was out, that he'd be --" she cut herself off. "Sorry, I'm getting an email," she explained. It was Medium Priority -- Open Immediately. "I have to read it now."
It was a flash from Technofox. "They found his car," Silverfox said. "It's parked in Lynden, Washington."
"Darn," McKinnon said, disgusted. "That means he's walked right past us." At that moment, his phone beeped. He took it out, flipped it open, and grinned briefly. "Tell your friend she scooped the RCMP by twelve seconds."
"It might have been delayed in the server," Silverfox said.
"I think we need to look at his car," McKinnon said. "It's across the border. Do you want anything from the hotel?"
"Yes," Silverfox said, looking ruefully at her half-finished ribs. She wished they could sit and finish, but that was impossible. "I've got both sets of ID with me, but I'd like to get my hiking boots. Lynden's farm country and these shoes aren't waterproof."
The car jostled its way south. Lynden was barely east of a line connecting Seattle and Vancouver, right on the US side of the border.
Silverfox had her eyes closed in bliss as she gnawed gently on a denuded bone, every closing of her teeth releasing a small burst of pork flavor. Why was it that pork tasted so distinct from beef or chicken? You'd think that once evolution had hit upon the formula for meat, that it would stick with it; but no, it had diverged deliciously in different directions, rewarding the discerning carnivore with a multitude of different species-based delights. For a moment, Silverfox thought longingly of all the animals out there which she had never eaten, wondered what squab or duiker or sloths brought to the table.
"We're about ready to cross," McKinnon said. "Get your ID ready."
"Umph," Silverfox acknowledged, moving the bone into her cheek. She set the reprogrammable tag in her left hand to Silverfox's ICR number. She had discussed the matter with Technofox, and they had agreed that they would rather the bad guys figure out Silverfox was in Canada than that Argent was with a Mountie.
They were parallel with the US customs booth. McKinnon held out his badge. The customs inspector looked down at them.
"Business trip, Sergeant?" he asked.
"Business, yes," McKinnon replied.
The inspector nodded and pressed a couple of buttons. "Thank you, sir. Good hunting."
"Thank you," McKinnon said. The light in front of the car turned green and the barrier lifted.
"He didn't ask for my ID," Silverfox said.
"For road and rail traffic, they don't check everyone's ID, not always," McKinnon said. "They only do that every so often, depending on the alert level. And a woman traveling with a Mountie on business is probably a good risk."
"Like you said, the border's porous," Silverfox agreed. Her heart sunk. "Crap. Why do we have to have the world's longest peaceful border? If only we had gone to war a few more times, with smugglers, terrorists and death heading north and south in a steady stream like ants on spilled cola. I'll have to see if Technofox has some ideas on how to correct that."
McKinnon chuckled worriedly.
They came to a stop at the intersection of Prairie and the delightfully-named Double Ditch Road. They were in farm country, with more barns than houses visible. The car was a late model Ford; McKinnon showed his credentials to a state trooper, a cute little blonde who looked at Silverfox.
"Private security, ICON, Operative Silverfox," she said. "I don't have papers with me but you can scan my chip."
"She's working with me," McKinnon explained.
The trooper considered getting the RFID reader from her car and shrugged mentally. "That won't be necessary. Thank you, Sergeant," the trooper said. She pointed over at the car. "We found it here this morning. You can see where the tire was marked with chalk. Until noon, we thought it was a derelict. We spent a couple of hours looking for the driver, assuming he had vehicle trouble and got lost."
"Lost? Within sight of houses?" Silverfox asked dubiously.
"It happens. Incredible, isn't it?" said the trooper. And it was just stupid enough to be true.
"So the hood was up?" McKinnon asked.
"That's right, Sergeant. And his hazard lights were on," the trooper replied.
"How long has it been here?"
"Since late yesterday evening. We've got a witness who saw the car on his way home. Maybe eight, eight thirty. Can't be more precise than that."
"No transponder, of course," McKinnon said, resigned.
"No transponder," the trooper agreed glumly.
"So he leaves the jail at seventeen hundred," Silverfox said. "Two hour drive up here, if he obeyed the traffic laws."
"And I have the feeling he did," McKinnon agreed. "He wouldn't risk getting pulled over."
"That gives him maybe an hour or so to go home, gather his stuff, get cash ... I'll bet he was in a rush," Silverfox said.
"Hey," said one of the evidence boys in the car. "I found a tag." He held out a pair of forceps, gripping a piece of cardboard, with UPC and price tag on it.
"Mind if I see that?" Silverfox asked. She took it by the forceps, looked at the UPC code and the store mark on the price tag and sent it to ICON's database. The response was immediate. "It's a black Nylon sport duffle bag, twenty centimeters wide and one hundred thirty centimeters long. Wow, that's long. Now selling for the low, low price of $32.95 at SportsOne -- one place for all your sports needs. Marked down from $39.95 two days ago." The price tag read $32.95. "So he must have bought this yesterday."
"Cool," said the cop with a grin.
"Huh," Silverfox said. "So he's got $250 in cash, he's in a rush, and he takes the time to spend around thirty five bucks in the store to get a duffle bag. Sounds like the sort of purchase he'd want to avoid if he could. He really wanted this duffle."
"Two-fifty plus whatever cash he had around his home," McKinnon corrected.
"That's a big duffle bag. Long. I wonder if his shotgun was confiscated," Silverfox said. "Probably, because he fired it at me and it's evidence. But maybe he had another shotgun in his home? Or other long arms?"
"Wouldn't he already have a gun case or something to carry them with?" the trooper asked.
"Probably," Silverfox agreed, "but anyone can spot a gun case. If he's bringing weapons north, he'll want something inconspicuous. So he can be a guy with a duffle."
"Seattle Police had to do an inventory on his place," McKinnon said. "They can search it again and tell us what's missing."
Silverfox nodded and sent a request to Technofox. Chances were that was already in progress, but it was worth making sure.
"Seems to me they'd impound every gun in the place," the trooper said. "This guy was originally up on a weapons charge, right?"
"I would want to," McKinnon said "But sometimes you can't just impound the entire contents of someone's house. It looks like harassment."
"That worked out great, didn't it?" Silverfox asked. "We've got body parts in his Vancouver apartment and he's out on fucking bail. But you know, at least it's not like we had it in for him." She shook her head in disgust.
"Yeah, well," McKinnon said guardedly. And he was right, she had to admit. No sense running over the might - have - beens for the fiftieth time. "So to me, it looks like he got out on bail, went home, packed some stuff and withdrew some cash. He buys a duffle bag. He doesn't spend much time. Then he drives out here and walks north." McKinnon shook his head. "He wouldn't have a problem making it over the border. Half an hour, maybe an hour on the outside."
They spent about two hours there, trying and failing to find a track -- he had probably walked on the shoulder of the road. They took notes and Silverfox asked Tech if she wanted her to hang around. Technofox replied in the negative -- she obviously didn't think they would find more than the state troopers who would dissect the car down to the molecular level.
McKinnon frowned and started his car, peeling out and pointing North in a way that spoke eloquently of his frustration.
"So he's across the border about twenty-one hundred hours last night," Silverfox said. "How far is he from public transport?"
McKinnon grimaced. "There's a bus line. He could be in Vancouver by midnight. And we didn't stake out his apartment until five thirty."
Silverfox thought for a long moment. "He had five hours, but I don't think he knew that. If he had, he would have grabbed his QSPR rounds, the cash, and those skulls."
"The QSPR and cash, yeah," McKinnon agreed. "They're expensive. But maybe not the skulls."
"They're trophies, and that's what trophy means," Silverfox said. "Excuse me," she said. "I'm getting a call." She tapped her ear plug.
"Hello, Silverfox?" Technofox said.
"Hi, Tech," Silverfox replied. "I'm with McKinnon and we're in his car."
"Okay, good," Technofox said. "First, and I'll ask you where McKinnon can't hear, did you attack another dog today, in the early afternoon?"
"No," Silverfox replied honestly. "That couldn't have been me. I was with McKinnon." McKinnon blinked, probably wondering what he was providing an alibi for.
"Well, okay," Technofox said suspiciously.
"Your search agent's getting paranoid about me," Silverfox said.
"Perhaps." Technofox said icily. "I'll let that slide for now. Does he have a conference phone setup?"
Silverfox looked over. "It's Technofox," she said. "Can we take a conference call?"
"I've got a networked computer," McKinnon said. "It's under the dash. It's got a phone."
"Great," Silverfox said. Silverfox pulled it out on its tray and after a few minutes was logged in. Technofox appeared on the screen.
"News from Inspector Nishinobu," Technofox said. "Sergeant McKinnon, we think Baker is armed."
"I knew it," Silverfox said as McKinnon released an angry snarl. "What's missing from Baker's place?"
"Underwear, foul weather gear, fifty .410 shotgun shells, mixed shot and solid, and two shotguns. A Remington Model 1100 Sporting .410 and a Winchester 9410," Technofox said.
"The Remington's a semi-automatic," Silverfox said. "Four round magazine. Mostly used in skeet shooting. The Winchester's a lever action with a capacity of nine rounds, plus one in the pipe."
"Oh, Christ," McKinnon moaned, punching the dashboard in frustration. "Why both?"
"You can't use QSPR in a gas or recoil operated semi-automatic," Silverfox said. "That's my guess. Tech, we were just talking about how McKinnon didn't go to his place in Vancouver," Silverfox said.
Technofox nodded. "Tell me that you wouldn't stop to grab two thousand in bills. So that means he didn't stop off at his place in Vancouver, and that means he knew we knew about it."
"Right," McKinnon agreed.
"How would he? I mean, he set up that apartment so he had a refuge, and the moment he needs one he decides not to use it?" Technofox shrugged.
"Beats me," Silverfox said. She frowned.
"Let's say he has an information source somewhere -- FBI, RCMP, Seattle Police, or ICON," Technofox said.
"...Right," McKinnon said reluctantly.
"Of those, ICON did not know about the apartment," Technofox said flatly. "If ICON knew, I knew, and I would have brought this up with you. Our hold on Baker was legally suspect, because we only had him on the weapons charge. Even though we had no idea there were skulls in his apartment, I would have wanted the apartment searched."
"Okay," McKinnon said.
"If the Seattle Police knew, Nishinobu knew, and he would have brought this up for the same reason."
He was probably afraid he was about to be accused of something -- Silverfox had to nip that in the bud.
"It couldn't possibly be you personally," Silverfox said, "because he'd know that the apartment wasn't being staked out for five hours."
"Logical," McKinnon said, relaxing.
"So it would have to be someone who knew the apartment was there," Technofox said, "and who knew the police knew, but didn't know that it wasn't being staked out."
McKinnon frowned. "I'm not sure if I follow."
Technofox's face was replaced by a simple Venn diagram of two overlapping circles. McKinnon glanced at it briefly. "Got it," he said.
"Her brain actually works that way," Silverfox explained. "She scares me."
"So where does that leave us?" Technofox said.
"Everyone in the RCMP who knew that Baker had an apartment in Vancouver would also have access to the status of the case," McKinnon said firmly. "If you look at the dossier, there's a link stating that there's an active stakeout. Your theoretical RCMP traitor could check on that easily enough. The fact he didn't and Baker thereby lost thousands of dollars implies strongly that the RCMP traitor does not actually exist."
"Logical... but anyone in your organization can see the active stakeouts? Isn't that a security risk?" Technofox asked.
"Yes, and no," McKinnon said. "Suppose someone else in the department was investigating this address for some other unrelated case? We really don't want two sets of undercover officers bumping into one another without some warning. Do you know Inspector Nishinobu?"
"Not well. Why?" Technofox asked.
McKinnon was quiet for a moment before continuing. "Okay, I'm uncomfortable suggesting this because I don't know the man. And maybe I shouldn't say this at all. But right now, I'm guessing that judge's career is in real trouble."
"I hope so," Silverfox snorted.
"Could be," Technofox agreed. "Releasing a man on bail the day before we find skulls in his place? And then he takes guns and sneaks into Canada? The Washington State justice system has probably had more embarrassing moments, but offhand I can't think of one."
"Does Nishinobu get along with this judge?" McKinnon asked.
Silverfox could feel her hackles go up.
"You're suggesting Nishinobu set him up?" Technofox asked.
"I'm playing with a theory," McKinnon said immediately. "Like I said, that's a terrible accusation to make."
"There's no way to prove it," Technofox said. "But... it works. Let's suppose Zocchi knew about Baker's Vancouver apartment."
"Who's Zocchi?" McKinnon asked.
"Peter Zocchi was the pilot Baker hired to fly him into Canada," Technofox said. "He admits to being an accessory to Baker as a smuggler, but denies knowing anything about murder."
McKinnon snorted. "Is that credible?"
"Barring new evidence, I think so," Technofox said guardedly. "Zocchi's politically active -- he's a registered Libertarian. You can make a libertarian case that smuggling is ethical, but not murder."
McKinnon laughed. "And it's not like people who break laws tend to break more laws."
"I'm not a mind reader," Technofox said. "You asked if it is credible that a smuggler might draw the line at murder. Yes, I'm inclined to agree that someone might be dumb enough to get involved with a smuggling ring without thinking it through."
"Yes, of course. Sorry," McKinnon said.
"Anyway," Technofox said, "I wasn't at the apartment. Did it have anything obviously illegal out?"
"Possibly, yes," McKinnon said. "There was a mounted cougar head on the wall. I mean _puma concolor_, not a felid chimera."
"International trade of cougars is banned by treaty," Technofox said. "Do you have a lot of cougars in Canada?"
"Vancouver Island has more cougar attacks on humans per capita than any other place in the world," McKinnon said with perverse pride. "And it is legal to hunt them up here."
"I'll remember that if I want to be eaten by a cougar," Silverfox said.
"I think I see where you're going," McKinnon said. "I can't imagine a pizza delivery boy or a casual guest coming into that apartment, noticing a cougar trophy and calling the police. The chimera skulls were hidden in a roll-top desk."
"A locked roll-top desk," Silverfox said. "And the QSPR shells were in a cupboard. I'll bet there's nothing illegal in plain sight."
"So your point's well taken," McKinnon said. "It would be possible for someone to visit the apartment and not see the chimera skulls. And that means that, say, Zocchi could have been there without realizing murder was involved."
"Okay," Technofox said. "Let's pretend Zocchi knows about the apartment. Baker knows Zocchi's going to crack any minute. So the instant Baker gets free, he runs. And he doesn't go to the apartment because he assumes the police already have it staked out."
"Except," McKinnon said, "Nishinobu wants the case against Baker to be weak, so he doesn't tell Canada." He hesitated. "As I said, I don't know Nishinobu. This is pure speculation. But it does seem to hold together."
"Unfortunately," Technofox agreed.
"Can we stop for a moment?" Silverfox asked.
McKinnon looked at her briefly. "Sure, why?"
"Because I need to kick some random civilian's ass and pretend it's Nishinobu," Silverfox explained politely, "and it would be rude of me to do it in Canada."
"I could be wrong," McKinnon reminded her.
"That's why I want to do it to a random civilian," Silverfox said. "Nishinobu might not deserve it."
"Actually, that's good thinking," Technofox said. "I mean, for you."
McKinnon pursed his lips. "I'm beginning to suspect you really did push a car off a building," he said.
"She did what?" Technofox asked.
"I don't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about, and who told you?" Silverfox asked.
Canadian Customs waved them across the border after seeing McKinnon's identification. They didn't even ask for Silverfox's name. That was probably because she was with a Mountie, but Silverfox suspected that with a little luck, Hannibal could march his entire army, including elephants, across the US / Canada border without being stopped. Silverfox had seen cattle pastures that were harder to sneak into. At least dairy farmers put up fences. Crimeny.
McKinnon waited until the Customs Non Inspector was well behind them. "I'm sorry," McKinnon said. "I just assumed you had told your friends about pushing a car off a building. It seems that would be a trip highlight."
"I wasn't alone. And we didn't push a car off a building," Silverfox said. "We pushed a car off the third level of a parking garage. You're taking an insanely dangerous and drunken experiment and making it sound like I did something stupid on my own for the fun of it."
"You're right," McKinnon agreed. "After you explained about the carrier landings it all made perfect sense."
"Context is everything," Silverfox agreed.
Sometimes riding in a car could be a painful, boring experience, but sometimes just sitting with the right person and chatting about inconsequential things could turn a tedious drive into a road trip, with all the indefinable pleasure that involved.
"So what would you like to do now?" McKinnon asked. Silverfox smiled. He was giving her an easy out, just in case she didn't want to stay with him.
"If we're finished for the day, I was thinking we could pick up some take-out and go to your place," she said. "I'm not in the mood to go out for dinner and a movie."
McKinnon smiled and nodded. "All right," he said. "Are you hungry for anything in particular?"
"Chicken out of a bucket would be fine," she said.
So they pulled up to a window and drove away with several cardboard and Styrofoam tubs. Silverfox wondered how many chickens she ate in a year.
McKinnon's place was a single-bedroom apartment, with the sort of china you expected from a guy who did most of his eating out of waxed cardboard boxes. Silverfox made a mental note to bring Shadowfox over with actual groceries, and let her work her magic. She took off her coat and hung it on a hook near the door. Under that she was wearing a white T-shirt, tucked into the belt of her black EMT pants.
They set up on a couple of TV trays, and sat on his couch. It faced a nice, if old, TV screen hooked up to a home entertainment center.
"I see you've got a copy of _C.O.P.Bot 3_," she said. "How does that play on your XStation?"
McKinnon laughed. "My son picked it out for me," he said. "I don't have the time to go through the main campaign, but it's a lot of fun to use the flamethrower on pickpockets."
"Doesn't that impact your character's reputation?" Silverfox asked.
"Not as much as you might think, really. Except one time where the pickpocket caught fire, and then ran into a procession of nuns, and set all of them on fire, and then they started running around into other people. Who knew nuns were so flammable?" he asked, rhetorically.
"I did," Silverfox said.
He looked at her wordlessly.
"I saw the video online," she said. "Google 'COPBot 3 Nun Inferno.'"
"Thank God." He shook his head sadly. "It was a nice demonstration of a self-sustaining chain reaction. Over seven hundred and forty peaceful civilians died in the conflagration."
"Why don't they just stop, drop, and roll?" Silverfox asked, shaking her head sadly.
"If only they did. But no. It almost doubled my civilian casualty count, and you get penalized for that."
"Ouch. Did you restart the game?" Silverfox asked.
"No. The thing was that in addition to the civilians, I also randomly ignited a bunch of rapists, muggers, pickpockets, and street mimes. So it almost balanced out." He started gnawing on an ear of corn. "Mind you, the public outcry took days of game time to work off."
"Interesting. That implies using WMDs is not a valid strategy in deterring crime," Silverfox said. "If you kill everyone in the city, the criminals you kill won't make up for the civilian losses. Which seems like a realistic outcome."
"Right," McKinnon said. "We crunched some numbers. You have to kill at least one felonious criminal for every seven civilians or it doesn't work out. You have to be careful. Napkin?"
"Thank you. So in that, at least, it is a reasonable simulation of urban law enforcement," she said, ripping up a chicken breast and dabbing the shredded ends in gravy.
"Yes, exactly. I like the map packs. There's a tool that's able to derive the city layout from satellite photos, but the insides of the buildings get generated on the fly. So if you go into the same building twice and the floor looks the same, then you know the building's important to the plot, because they bothered to lay it out." He grinned.
"Not necessarily," Silverfox cautioned. "They sell advertising. You can get your store set up in the right address and made part of the free downloadable content. Why someone would pay to have their business establishment used as a battlefield is beyond me."
"Yeah, but it happened to me once. There's a building in downtown Vancouver I know. There's no drugstore in it, but there is one in the game, so I filled the place with proximity mines."
"Naturally," Silverfox said with a nod.
"Then when I tracked a gang member back there and the entire gang jumped me in a programmed encounter, the mines went off."
"Wow," Silverfox chortled. "I'll bet that was worth it. That's using your home court advantage." Silverfox downed a breast and a leg. McKinnon was working on the mashed potatoes when she moved over closer to him. She licked a bit of gravy from to corner of his mouth, and he kissed her. He put down his spork.
She snuggled against him and put her arms around him; he did the same and pulled her into his lap. She knelt there, facing him for a moment before she closed her eyes and kissed him. Lightly at first, and then open-mouthed.
She liked to taste the inside of a lover's mouth; she like the difference between the chisel-like incisors of humans versus the pointed, more conical teeth of felids and canids. He had just eaten chicken and she could taste it. Janet was a vegan -- she always asked Silverfox to brush her teeth and floss before French kissing her.
His hands were on her back, pulling her closer to him. He turned on the sofa and stretched out; she rode him down.
He kissed her, lightly at first, and then more passionately. She licked his ear and sniffed with her eyes closed.
"I'm feeling a little overdressed," she said.
"Me too," he said. He glanced at the bedroom door. "I just had this jacket cleaned and pressed -- I really should hang it up. Excuse me?"
She followed him into his bedroom. He took a hanger out of his closet and pulled off his jacket.
"Arooga! Arooga!" she called out, waving her fist in the air. "Shake that thang, baby!"
He chuckled, but there was something shyly flattered in his laugh. He hung his jacket as Silverfox started unlacing her boots.
"Is it hard to find boots like that?" he asked.
"Digitgrade? Oh, yes," she said. "Web order. And around twice what you'd pay for similar boots. I know because I've shopped with friends. But I gotta say, six hundred bucks does get you nice boots."
"Ouch. Maybe that's how chimera production factories make back their investment. By over-charging you for boots, pants, and gloves."
Pants, Silverfox thought. He knew she had been to Victoria, because he knew about the little incident with the car and parking garage. Was he alluding to the pants Jerry had bought her? Jerry had probably bought the pants with a card. If the charge sent to his bank had specified "Alterations: Tail slit" then McKinnon might connect Jerry to her.
On the other hand, it was pretty obvious her pants were special.
"Could be," she said. "I had a wardrobe emergency last time I was in Canada. I was in Victoria and I ruined my pants. Had to have a new pair tailored with a tail flap."
"Why did you go to Victoria?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Just to have a little time off. I like the West Coast. And to see Butchart Gardens. Well, smell it. That was pretty amazing."
"You know," he said, "The _Flying Saucer_ was docked in Victoria when you were there."
"Really?" Silverfox asked. "I guess they were active in the area." She dropped her second boot to the floor and took off her big fluffy socks. She curled and uncurled her toes, feeling the fabric of the cheap thin carpet against her pads.
He paused, just a moment, as though wondering if he should believe her. "They still are -- they're docked in Vancouver."
"We know that. Shadowfox is trying to wrangle an invitation aboard."
"Are you planning on sneaking on yourself?" he asked.
"Nope -- I don't have my gear." She stepped forward and took off his tie, hanging it with the others. Wow, he had a lot of ties, cheap ties, all different colors and patterns. Presents, or were they used by undercover cops to recognize one another?
Wordlessly, she opened his shirt and leaned up against him, pushing her breasts into his exposed chest. She kissed him twice, adding a little tongue the second time.
She could tell he wanted to see more of her, so she opened her belt and dropped her pants, stepping out of them. Her shirt was long, and she took it off quickly.
Her underwear had been a little uncomfortable through the day, but his expression made it worth it. She was wearing something she had borrowed from Shadowfox, black camisole and panties. They were close enough in size to share underwear; Shadowfox was a bit bigger in the bust but she typically wore a size down to make it look like she was about to spill out, so it evened out.
She stood still while he looked at her; his eyes lingering on her cleavage, which was what the camisole was designed for. Her panties were a thin wisp, without enough fabric to blow her nose.
He ran his hands down her sides; she shivered and rested her hand against his chest to encourage him. Was he thinking about how she had been sitting next to him, all day, dressed like that?
She undid his belt, slipped a hand down into his pants, rested her touch against what she found there. She kissed him, harder, as she felt him respond to her.
He held her off for a moment, and Silverfox looked up at him inquiringly.
"Am I being too rough?" she asked.
"Oh, no," he said quickly. "It's more that ..." he hesitated. "It's just that you're so beautiful. So far out of my league."
She smiled. "We're just going to have some fun," she replied, and was about to say more. _We're just going to have some fun, you're our guest, I'm here to take care of you..._ she felt her throat tighten. Why did that reflex have to come up?
He laughed. "Maybe I am a little nervous," he admitted. He ran his hand down her hair, stroking her. "I like looking at you."
"I like looking at you," she said. God, that sounded lame. Well, actions spoke louder than words, so she kept her hand on his penis.
She wanted to say more, to tell him that she genuinely liked him, and that she would enjoy this as much as he did. But something fought against that, made her not want to say it.
Someone goes to a chimera whorehouse, and you'd think they wouldn't need to be coaxed into having sex. But some of the clients, they needed you to ask for it, they needed to think you wanted it too. Why were they so easy to fool? Probably because they wanted to believe so much they were pre-fooled.
So she didn't say anything. Instead, she took his shirt off. When she turned away to put it in his laundry hamper, he took off his shoes and socks. She was grateful for that. At Blue Diamond, you had to kneel and lick to show respect.
He carried his gun on his belt, so he hung up his holster and quickly took off his pants and underpants.
"I'm afraid my underwear isn't nearly as nice as yours," he said apologetically.
"I borrowed these from Shadowfox," Silverfox explained.
"I'll have to see if I can get a male stripper roommate," he said. "If there are any male strippers who wear the same sized underwear."
She smiled and started to undo her camisole. He put his hand on hers. "Could you leave that on for a bit?" he asked.
"Sure," she said. "Do you want to take off my panties?"
"Hmm," he said thoughtfully. He pretended to consider the ramifications, and finally, slowly, nodded. "Yes, I think so. If I can figure them out..."
"They're just elastic," she said.
"Okay," he said. He went down on his knees and pulled them down, past her knees, and paused to kiss her lightly between the legs. She gasped; she hadn't expected that. He put his arm around her, under her tail, and pulled her roughly against his lips. She hadn't thought he'd be so aggressive; her legs were constrained; that and the shock of pleasure that ran through her when his lips brushed her clitoris made her feel weak and unsteady; she put a hand against him in case she stumbled.
Seeing that she liked it, he licked at her for a while. Then he pushed her panties down and picked her up. He got her on the second heave; people always underestimated her weight, but it wasn't far to the bed and she kicked her panties off her ankle as he lay her down on it.
The bit over her breasts could be pushed down; she did it to give him access. Her nipples were hard already and his teeth made her flinch. He kneaded at one breast while suckling at the other; Silverfox tried to control her breathing and failed to.
She sniffed the pillow. She scented detergent, a bit of him; he had washed his bedclothes recently, but had slept in it once.
She opened her legs, pushed him up higher, brought his face a bit higher than hers. Wordlessly, she moved his tip into her, and rested her hands on his shoulders.
He hesitated a moment, as though asking for permission. She nodded and he began to push into her. She tried to relax herself, to make it easier for him to slide in. Once he was in, she squeezed him, gently at first, and then hard to show she could. He gasped.
"You feel amazing," he said.
"You do too," she said.
She liked to hear that, that the animal side of it was good for him, that she felt as good on his cock as his cock felt inside her. She started to move her hips, and quickly, they found their rhythm.
She didn't speak in words; just gasps and sharp cries and soft growls, and she was gratified to hear almost the same from him. He tried to slow, to pace himself, but she discouraged that, refusing to slow the motion of her hips, forcing him to keep up the pace, to push deep into her.
"I don't know if I can last," he warned her.
"The night's young," she reminded him.
And that thought brought him over.
"This is going to be so cool," Silverfox said.
"I cannot believe you talked me into this," McKinnon said.
They were sitting in an ICON sensor van, disguised as a small U-Haul, about one hundred meters from the target. They were in a slight depression, with low scrub between them and the set. Infrared telephoto lenses and parabolic microphones focused and presented a composite image adjusted to look like real color on a large flatscreen. Silverfox nodded approvingly. She could see why Technofox liked sensor vans.
"This is serious work," Silverfox lied. "We don't want Fischer to link Shadowfox and me, and I want to make sure she's okay."
"And ... action," Fischer said, with an imperious chopping motion of his hand.
Silverfox tilted forward. It had been eight days since Baker ran. And it was the first day of shooting _Walls Make Good Neighbors: A Tale of Tetris_, and she couldn't resist the temptation to see what it looked like. Unfortunately, she had a day to blow on this. It wasn't like she expected Fischer to say, "Oh, did I mention I'm a Nazi spy?" but anything was possible.
Technofox claimed she wasn't disappointed that she and Firefox were stuck in Seattle, and Silverfox knew that was sour grapes. Foxes were good at sour grapes. She'd send them the data.
There were three cameras on tripods, arranged in a semi-circle. Their fields of view overlapped and the images they captured would be combined in a computer. This would allow Fischer to use software to give the illusion of a moving camera.
Shadowfox stood to the left, near a pile of bricks made of foam. She was in the best-lit part of the set; they were shooting day for night and they didn't want her to vanish. The bricks, Silverfox knew, were supposed to be parts of a broken wall, part of the red-brick fortifications built by the Celts of ancient British Columbia against the inhuman threat of the CGI Horde. Shadowfox wasn't sure what a chimera was doing in Celtic British Columbia, but she didn't want to point out that plot hole.
Shadowfox wore a tiny thong of black leather, and a blue blouse that had been ripped to tatters below her breasts. She knelt and took a fragment of the wall, a chunk made of four bricks stuck together to form an L-shape.
"Cut," Fischer said.
Shadowfox put the "bricks" down and looked over at him.
"Can you bend over instead so de camera can see your ass?" Fischer asked.
"Sure," Shadowfox said with a nod.
"Arse Gratia Artis," McKinnon said sagely. It took Silverfox a moment to get it. She giggled.
"Action," said Fischer.
Shadowfox bent over, and lifted her tail so it arched up. She bobbed down, and for a moment Silverfox could see Shadow's shirt hang away from her breasts. Shadowfox grabbed the same chunk she had picked up before, stood, and tossed them over to the hero of the film, in a smooth motion that made her boobs bounce like rubber balls in socks.
"Why aren't you pumping your fist and going 'Woo hoo!?'" Silverfox asked.
"Because I'm in a van with another woman?" McKinnon asked, reasonably enough.
"You're the classiest guy I know," she said with admiration.
Silverfox recognized the actor; George Standish, six feet of impeccably sculpted and oiled muscles and the face Michelangelo's _David_ should have had. He had been the funniest part of a last year's big comedy film; unfortunately for his career he had been playing Hunk McBeefslab, a role he had played with such impeccable credibility that half the movie going public was convinced there was but one word in his vocabulary, and that was "dawk."
Here he was thesping the part of Malcolm Mason, a mason. He was a rebel and a loner and he didn't play by the masons' rules, but when the chips were down and you needed a stone wall repaired, he was the best.
Standish caught the flung bricks, clumsily daubed on some oatmeal, and put it in its place in the broken wall.
This went on for a while. Standish dropped two of the bricks Shadowfox tossed over, but they kept shooting. They could crop that out. Finally, Shadowfox stopped. Everyone stared at her.
"I'm out of bricks," she said.
"Gut," Fischer said. "Ebony, take a break. Ve get some close-ups of George."
"Why is her blouse torn?" McKinnon asked. "Aside from the obvious."
"In an earlier scene she fights some bears," Silverfox explained.
"Bears," McKinnon said disbelievingly. "What kind of bear just rips your shirt off?"
"Horny ones, I guess," Silverfox said.
They spent the rest of the morning with Shadow and Standish in different costumes, filming the exciting wall-building action which was certain to endear the film to fans of the franchise. In the afternoon, they turned the cameras around for their new location, and started lensing fights between the heroes and various monsters which would be added in post-production. Standish fought with two trowels. It seemed a bit loose to Silverfox, and she felt a moment of regret that Cheshire hadn't gotten involved.
"I can't imagine doing that for a living," McKinnon said.
"Me either," Silverfox agreed.
"Does Shadowfox actually like it?" he asked.
"I'm not sure. I think she'd rather cook for an appreciative audience." Silverfox shook her head. "Do you get any sense Fischer's going to hit her up for a date?"
"No," McKinnon said. "He seems a bit impersonal."
"That's what I thought too." Silverfox frowned. "I don't know. When she was stripping, I was sure he was going to hit her up at the first opportunity."
"Well, this is a professional setting," McKinnon said. "Or maybe he decided against it, or maybe he's a little withdrawn in public..."
"Yes, could be," Silverfox said. "Maybe this is that German reserve I keep hearing about."
The twelve-hour work day was winding down. A battered old car drove up, and Avalanche stepped out, carrying a briefcase. Silverfox's eyes snapped to it.
"Look," McKinnon said. He had the same reflex.
Silverfox nodded. She recognized the model as well. It was a portable burglarproof safe, with a built-in transponder, biometrics, the works. The sort of briefcase that was only used to carry bricks of cash or bags of white powder.
Avalanche put it on a table. Some of the crew drifted over to it.
Fischer stepped over, and opened the case.
It was envelopes. There was a line of text on each one, but the resolution of the screen wasn't good enough to make it legible. She bet they were names.
Fischer started passing them out. He was obviously sorting through them, passing them out to individuals. Silverfox watched the first guy who got one: he opened the envelope, took out a wad of cash, counted it, and looked confused.
"I thought you were paying us by the day," he said. Obviously an honest man, Silverfox thought.
"I trust you," Fischer said with a grin. "Just don't get sick for the next two weeks."
This was obviously a welcome surprise to everyone. Money was counted, re-counted, and receipts signed and handed back.
"The hell?" Silverfox said, baffled.
"I've heard of crews being paid in cash, but usually because the producer's insolvent," McKinnon said. "But if he can pay them up front ... and you know that half those grips are going to drink their paycheck tonight and miss tomorrow."
"That's why Firefox has me on an allowance," Silverfox lied, nodding.
"Should we offer her a ride back?" McKinnon asked. "She must have a lot of cash."
"Union minimum for two weeks." Silverfox was thinking the same thing. "We better not," she said finally.
"You can tell her to get off her bus early," he said. "We can meet her."
"Yes, good idea," Silverfox agreed.
The van had a cab with two by two seating. Shadowfox took the back seat; McKinnon wanted to try the feel of the van.
"What's that smell?" Silverfox asked.
"I don't smell anything," McKinnon said.
"I think it's the glue on the wrapper," Shadowfox said, taking out the stack of bills she had been handed. She sniffed it. "Yes, that's it."
"Do all Canadian banks use wrapper glue like that?" Silverfox asked.
McKinnon shrugged. "Sorry, but I don't smell anything."
"I can't believe he did this," Shadowfox said, staring at her money.
"Drinks are on her," Silverfox said.
"Not tonight," Shadowfox said apologetically. "I've got to get prettied up for a date with Fischer." She looked a bit haggard. Well, she had a long day.
"Hey, good for you," Silverfox said. McKinnon pressed his lips together. He probably didn't approve of this. That was a problem; Silverfox wanted to set up the plan for the night, but she didn't want to rub Shadowfox's MO in McKinnon's face either.
They pulled into the hotel. "You want me to deposit that tomorrow?" Silverfox asked.
"Yeah, that would be best," Shadowfox said. She looked at McKinnon. "Mind if I leave the money here? I'd rather not keep it in the hotel."
"Sure, no problem," McKinnon said. "Want a receipt?"
Shadowfox laughed. "No, I trust you."
Silverfox looked at McKinnon. "Can you wait for me for a minute?" she asked. "I'll be right back."
"Sure," McKinnon agreed.
Silverfox and Shadow left the van. Shadow's tail was dragging; she looked like hell. "Want me to stay in the hotel tonight?" Silverfox asked.
"No," Shadowfox said, a little abruptly. "Keep your phone with you, though. Just in case."
"Right. You could use a coffee."
"That obvious?" Shadowfox laughed. "You're going with McKinnon, I guess?"
"Sure. I can take the money with me and deposit it tomorrow while you're filming."
"'Lensing.' He introduce you to his friends yet?"
"No," Silverfox said, a little bewildered. "We don't want people connecting the three of us."
Shadowfox nodded, a little sarcastically. "When this is over, I'll bet he comes up with another excuse. He doesn't want his friends knowing he's a fur fucker."
"Where did that come from?" Silverfox asked, frowning.
"Just a hunch."
"Well, thank you. I know you have plenty of advice to give about being sexually exploited."
Shadowfox glanced at her. Silverfox looked back.
"Can we drop it?" Shadowfox asked as she opened the door to their hotel room. "I've got forty-five. Screw the shower. I'm going to take a nap."
"Sure. And ugh," Silverfox said sympathetically. "Want to use the facilities?"
"Nah," the black vixen said. "I'll freshen up when I wake up. See you tomorrow."
Silverfox went to the bathroom. The phone in the room rang.
"Hello?" Shadowfox said. Her voice brightened, as the fox forced herself into a lilt. "Oh, hi, Karl..."
She finished the chat quickly, hung up, and a bit later Silverfox heard her flop onto the bed. Wow -- she was really shot.
She left the bathroom. Shadow was curled up on the bed, already asleep. The phone rang again, and Silverfox picked it up, hoping it wouldn't wake Shadow. She held it to her ear.
"Hello?" she whispered, hoping Fischer wouldn't realize she was ...
...Why didn't he use Shadow's cell phone?
Suddenly, she noticed how Shadowfox was sleeping; mouth half open, breathing anxiously, drooling. She had never seen...
Silverfox was holding the handset to her head.
Oh, shit.