A Gathering of Widowmakers (The Widowmaker #4) by Mike Resnick Read Free Book Online Page B

You're the one who got me out here. If you don't like the way I operate, then stay the hell away from me. But there will be no more arguing and no more bitching. Do I make myself clear?"
    Kinoshita stared at him, searching futilely for a sign of the Jefferson Nighthawk he had accompanied from the spaceport. Finally he nodded his agreement.
    They crossed the street. It didn't feel any different at first. That changed a block into it, when they had to step around a dead man who lay bleeding on the pavement. There were no sidewalks, no slidewalks, just narrow streets filled with foreboding.
    Three blocks into the District Nighthawk stopped and stood perfectly still.
    "What's the—?" began Kinoshita.
    "Quiet." Then: "We're being followed."
    "What are we going to do about it?" asked Kinoshita nervously.
    "Nothing. At least I know where they are."
    "They?"
    "There are two of them. They're just checking to see if we're slumming. You don't have to be a criminal to enter the District. You can come looking for drugs or women or men or half a dozen other things—and if that's the case, it means you've got money in your pockets."
    "Pardon a foolish question, but how do they know we're not here to spend our money?"
    "They don't."
    "Then why shouldn't they shoot us down?"
    "Bad for business," answered Nighthawk. "Shoot enough civilians and no one will come here to spend their money any more."
    "Why should they care?"
    "Because if they drive business away, what the people who depend on that business will do to them will make a death sentence in a court of law seem infinitely preferable," said Nighthawk. He began walking again, more slowly this time, looking into the windows he passed, while Kinoshita fell into step and spent most of his time trying to spot the men who were trailing them.
    Suddenly the street turned in on itself, a cross between a figure eight and a moebius strip. Buildings met above them, creating narrow passageways on the street level. They could hear music from half a dozen dives, some of it so atonal and discordant that Kinoshita knew it must be coming from taverns that catered to aliens.
    "All right," announced Nighthawk a moment later. "We've come far enough. We should be pretty near the center."
    "All the buildings are dark, and the closest music's a block away," noted Kinoshita.
    "Use your nose."
    "My nose?" repeated Kinoshita. He inhaled deeply, and frowned. "I smell something . . . strange."
    "Someone's smoking mexalite." Nighthawk pointed to a grate at the edge of the street, very near where he was standing. "Three sticks of that stuff will fry your brain for a week." Slight smile. "That makes this as good a place to start as any."
    Start? thought Kinoshita. Are you planning to kill your way from here to the edge of the Distract?
    "It's got to be in the cellar of this building," said Nighthawk, walking to a door. Kinoshita half-expected a tiny panel to slide back and a voice to demand all kinds of identification, but Nighthawk simply stepped forward and the door dilated to let him pass through.
    Of course, thought Kinoshita. Why do they care who you are? After two centuries, the one thing they know you're not is a lawman or a bounty hunter.
    Kinoshita followed Nighthawk into a dimly-lit foyer, then to an airlift. They stepped onto a cushion of air and gently descended some fifteen feet below ground level, emerging in a large room illuminated only with indirect red and blue lighting. There were tables scattered around the room. A tripodal Hesporite was playing an instrument that was shaped to accommodate him and was made of an alien alloy, but it emitted a sound that was pure alto sax, smooth and sultry. There were some twenty men and women seated at the tables, and an equal number of aliens, composed of half a dozen different races. A few were drinking, a couple were simply concentrating on the Hesporite's music, most were smoking long thin glowing sticks of mexalite. Kinoshita didn't know what effect it had on