The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (17 page)

      
It took two days for Dimitrios and Matilda to get to Innisfree II. She had wanted to question him further about potential Santiagos, but he had his own priorities and preferred to go into Deepsleep, which would eventually extend his life by two days provided he beat the odds and lived to an old age. And as he explained, "If I didn't plan to live my full span of years, I wouldn't be in this business to begin with."

      
To which she thought,
the hell you wouldn't
—but had enough tact to keep her mouth shut, and after reading the opening chapters of an exceptionally unthrilling thriller she climbed into her own Deepsleep pod, awakening when the ship went into orbit around Innisfree II.

      
"Get up," said Dimitrios, who was already awake and alert.

      
"I'm starving!" said Matilda.

      
"Of course you are. You haven't eaten in two days. We'll eat when we land."

      
She climbed out of the pod, amazed at how stiff her joints could become in just two days.

      
"Any messages for me?" she asked.

      
"Yeah. The ballet doesn't need a prima ballerina, stripping is outlawed on Innisfree, but if you can dance the Flamenco, whatever that is, there's a joint that can give you four days' work." He paused. "Four days is plenty. If Jacobs is here, I'll find him in less time than that."

      
"Okay, I'll take it."

      
"Don't tell
me
," said Dimitrios. "Send a message to
them
."

      
"I will," she said. "Give me a minute to wake up."

      
"All right," he said. "I've booked two rooms for us at a hotel in the center of what seems to pass for the planet's only city."

      
"Fine. I hope they have a restaurant."

      
"I hope Hootowl Jacobs is staying there."

      
"You act like it's a personal vendetta," said Matilda. "Have you ever met him?"

      
"No. He deserves to die; that's all I need to know."

      
"How many women has he killed?"

      
"Too many."

      
"You know," she said, "I could represent myself as a wealthy widow, or an heiress . . ."

      
"Forget it. There's a price on his head. We don't need to set him up."

      
"I thought it might draw him out."

      
"If he can find a wealthy widow on Innesfree before I find him, then it's time for me to retire."

      
"Do you even know what he looks like?" asked Matilda.

      
"Computer, show me Hootowl Jacobs," ordered Dimitrios.

      
Instantly a life-sized holographic image appeared. It was a man with bulging blue eyes, a widow's peak of brown hair, an aquiline nose, medium height, medium weight, dressed expensively.

      
"That's him," said Dimitrios.

      
"He's certainly distinctive," she said.

      
"If you mean easy to spot, yes, he is."

      
"I gather he's inherited a number of fortunes," said Matilda. "What the hell is a man with that kind of money doing on a little backwater world like Innesfree II?"

      
He shrugged. "Who cares? It's enough that he's here—
if
he is."

      
"If I were you,
I'd
care. He might have hired a small army."

      
"What for? He's never killed anyone but middle-aged women."

      
"Aren't you even curious?"

      
He shook his head. "Not a bit."

      
Santiago would be curious,
she thought.
And cautious. He'd want to know what business Hootowl Jacobs had on this world. You're so intent on killing him that you're not even interested in what makes him tick, and yet that knowledge could be the advantage you need. I know, I know, all he kills are his wives, but you still should look for any edge you can get. This is life and death, after all.

      
She began to appreciate the problem of finding Santiago. He was one tiny needle in the haystack of the Inner Frontier, and he probably had no idea of who and what he was to become. Just finding him could take a few lifetimes; convincing him to fulfill his destiny could take almost as long.

      
She was still considering her problems when the ship touched down. Shortly thereafter they passed through Customs—they had to purchase one-month visas for fifty credits apiece—and Dimitrios rented an aircar, which skimmed a foot above the ground and got them from the spaceport to the city in a matter of a few minutes.

      
"Here we are," said Dimitrios, deactivating the aircar. "The Shaka Zulu Hotel."

      
"Who or what was Shaka Zulu?" asked Matilda.

      
"Who knows? Probably some politician or poet." He paused. "Let's check it out before we unload our luggage."

      
The doors faded into nothingness as they approached the entrance, and a moment later a small, rotund purple alien was escorting them to their rooms. He stopped when he reached the end of the corridor. For a moment Matilda thought he had forgotten where to take them, but then Dimitrios flipped him a coin, which he caught in his mouth, and he toddled away.

      
"I'd have asked him if Jacobs was here, but I don't think he speaks Terran," said the bounty hunter.

      
"Why not ask at the front desk?"

      
"Clerks don't keep their jobs long if they reveal their guest lists to bounty hunters." He smiled. "Some of them don't live long, either."

      
She turned to the doors. "Which is mine?"

      
"Whichever you want. Just let it read your handprint and retina once, and it'll be programmed for you for the next four days."

      
"I don't know which one I want until I see them both."

      
"They're identical."

      
"Okay, this one is fine then," said Matilda, letting the security system scan her readings. The door dilated a moment later and she passed through it. "Not bad," she said. "Larger than I expected."

      
"Space isn't at a premium on Innesfree," remarked Dimitrios.

      
She walked back out into the corridor. "It'll do. Now I have to pop over to El Gran Senor and see about a job."

      
"I'll come with you," he said.

      
"Why don't you just stay here and relax? I'll be back in a few minutes."

      
"I didn't come here to rest."

      
They walked back to the front of the hotel, where Dimitrios brought their luggage in from the aircar and tossed another coin into another blue alien's mouth after telling him their room numbers.

      
"I hope he understood," she said as the walked out onto the street.

      
"They wouldn't let an alien hang around the lobby and collect tips if he couldn't."

      
They walked two blocks north to El Gran Senor. It was closed for the afternoon, but a doorman let them in. The interior was starkly decorated, with a bar in one corner, a number of tables with uncomfortable-looking chairs, and a small stage. A second, even smaller stage, held a single stool, obviously for the guitarist.

      
"Good afternoon," said a balding, pudgy man with a reddish face. "My name's Manolete. You must be my new dancer."

      
"Matilda," she said, extending her hand.

      
"Got a last name?" he asked as he took her hand and shook it.

      
"Not lately," said Matilda with a smile.

      
"No problem. Just need something for our records."

      
"Pay me in cash and use any last name you like."

      
"Done." He turned to Dimitrios. "
You're
sure as hell no dancer," he said, starting at the bounty hunter's weaponry.

      
"Just looking for a friend," said Dimitrios.

      
"Well, I'm as friendly as they come," said Manolete. "What can I do for you?"

      
"You're not the friend I'm looking for," said Dimitrios. "I hear that Hootowl Jacobs is on Innesfree."

      
"Could be," said Manolete. "What do you want with him?"

      
"I'm his attorney, here to deliver an inheritance."

      
"I hear tell he's had his share of them."

      
      
Dimitrios nodded. "Poor fellow
does
seem unlucky," he agreed.

      
"Not as bad as his luck is now, Dimitrios of the Three Burners," said Manolete with a grin. "I've heard about you. They say you're one of the best."

      
"So is he on Innesfree?"

      
"He is."

      
Dimitrios stared coldly at Manolete. "You wouldn't be so silly as to warn him?"

      
"Me?" laughed Manolete. "Hell, no! I want you to take him out right here in El Gran Senor! We can use the publicity. Maybe I'll even catch it on my holo cameras." He outlined the entertainment with his hands. "Last show each night. For an extra 200 credits, watch the fabled Dimitrios of the Three Burners take out that notorious ladykiller Hootowl Jacobs! Now, why the hell would I warn him away?"

      
Dimitrios was silent for a long moment. Finally he spoke: "Draw up a contract."

      
"A contract?" repeated Manolete. "What for?"

      
"
If
Hootowl Jacobs shows up here, and
if
I kill him, and
if
you capture it on your holo cameras, and
if
you start charging customers to watch it, then I want 50% of the gross to go to these two charities." He wrote the names down on a counter, then looked up. "Is it a deal?"

      
Manolete sighed. "Okay, I'll have a contract ready tonight."

      
"If I should ever find out that you were cheating my charities," said Dimitrios, "I would be seriously displeased with you. Do we understand each other?"

      
Manolete nodded, and Dimitrios turned and walked back out into the street. The club owner turned to Matilda.

      
"Nice company you keep."

      
"We get along."

      
"I hope Jacobs kills
him
!" said Manolete passionately. "Hootowl would never charge me half just for showing holos of it." He paused. "Where does he get off, charging me for showing holos of what happens in my own club?"

      
"It hasn't happened yet."

      
"It will."

      
"Probably," agreed Matilda. "Killing's
his
job. Mine is dancing. Where's my costume?"

      
"In your dressing room," said Manolete, getting to his feet. "Come on, I'll show you." He escorted her backstage. "We haven't got time to teach you a number. I hope you can improvise."

      
"I usually do."

      
"We've got a Borillian playing the guitar," continued Manolete.

      
"A Borillian?" she repeated. "Why?"

      
"It's a 14-string guitar, and he's got seven fingers on each hand. You won't believe the music he can make."

      
"As long as it's Flamenco, we won't have a problem."

      
"Here we are," he said as they reached a small dressing room. "Usually we have two or three women backing up the lead male, but that asshole went and got himself shot last week."

      
"And the other women?"

      
He shrugged. "You know how women are."

      
"No," said Matilda. "How are we?"

      
"Easy come, easy go."

      
"Right," she said. "We're so flighty we don't hold still long enough to get shot like your male dancers."

      
He glared at her, but made no reply. She looked around the room, checked out the costumes to make sure they'd fit her, examined the vanity, and finally nodded. "All right, I've seen it. When do you need me?"

      
"We're pretty informal here. Show up after you've digested your dinner. You'll do three shows, maybe four." He paused. "Don't you want to try on the shoes?"

      
"I'll wear my own."

      
"They won't match."

      
"But they'll fit."

      
"You know," said Manolete, "you're as disagreeable as
he
is."

      
"I'm not here to be agreeable," said Matilda. "You wanted a dancer. You've got one."

      
"As long as you're hired, I'd better tell you the rules."

      
"There's only one rule," said Matilda. "No one enters my dressing room when I'm in it."

      
"There's no drinking, no drugging, no—"

      
"You'll get your money's worth," she said, walking to the exit. "I'll see you later."

      
Before he could say a word, she'd shut the door in his face and headed out to the street. Once she was outside she looked around for Dimitrios, couldn't spot him, and walked back to the hotel. She checked the bar before going to her room, and saw him sitting there, the only customer in the place in midafternoon, a tall cold drink on the table in front of him.