Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 2, May 2013 by et al. Mike Resnick Read Free Book Online Page B

cinders.
     
     
     

Brad R. Torgersen was a Campbell, Nebula and Hugo nominee in 2012, has become a mainstay at Analog , and is currently putting the finishing touches on his first novel.
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    THE FLAMINGO GIRL
    by Brad R. Torgersen
     
    Elvira was seven feet of naked avian loveliness. The tiny feathers sprouting from her skin formed a luxurious layer of bright-pink, velvet-soft plumage, and her unblinking eyes stared at the ceiling with an expression of surprise. The bed upon which her body lay was a confused mess of satin blankets and pillows, with not a hint of whom else might have been with her, or why that person had resorted to murder.
    “Señor Soto,” said a voice behind me. I turned, and beheld another seven-foot beauty, this one parrot-green. Her wings flexed and ruffled with agitation, and her sapphire-blue eyebrows hunched over a fear-filled gaze. Looking up into her face—we unmodified humans are generally shorter than Specials—I asked her what I could do for her.
    “The other women are very nervous, Señor,” she said. “They are wanting to know what has happened. Madam Arquette asked me to ask you what to tell them.”
    “And you are?” I said.
    “Josefina,” said the green bird-woman.
    “You may tell them that Elvira is dead, and that housekeeping is free to enter and clean the Flamingo Suite as soon as the city’s public mortician has removed the body.”
    “There isn’t going to be an investigation?”
    “That’s for the police to decide. They’ll be here shortly. I imagine that they’ll want to question a few people, so make sure none of the customers leave before that happens.”
    In truth, the cops wouldn’t give a damn about another dead Special. It was unlikely they’d interrogate anyone at all. The Aerie was a busy waypoint on Hollywood Boulevard, in a city that spared little budget for true law enforcement. I and three other guards were what laughably passed for security at the Aerie—our presence being a formality so that Madam Arquette could claim to be honoring her adult merchant commission with the Greater Los Angeles Commerce Bureau.
    “The Madam will not be pleased,” said Josefina.
    “Then perhaps the Madam should have listened to me when I warned her about cutting her private security expenses again. All the reputable adult businesses on the Boulevard hire triple our number.”
    Josefina’s wings rustled violently.
    “Look,” I said to her, “I’m sorry I can’t do more. I really am.”
    I attempted to move past Josefina. She thrust out a wing that blocked my way.
    “But you used to be a policeman,” she said with quivering indignation. “You were hired because of your experience. If you can’t help us now, what good are you?”
    I stepped back, looked at the anger in her eyes, and felt the full weight of my fifty years settle on my shoulders. I had asked myself that same question ten times a day since coming to the Aerie. Once upon a time, I’d been an okay cop in the Long Beach supermetro. But when Carlita had left me, and taken the kids, and sold the house…whatever ties had been keeping me in Long Beach seemed to evaporate. I’d retired early, and immediately sought the job with the least amount of real responsibility I could find, as far away from Carlita as possible.
    I just looked at Josefina, a sympathetic frown on my face. “The police will be here soon, and they will handle this. It’s out of my purview.”
    Eventually her wing withdrew, and small tears began to stain the lime-colored down around Josefina’s eyes.
    “Look,” I said, “if you really want to find out who did this, give the cops something to go on. I know the Madam has in-house rules about customer confidentiality, but this time I think there needs to be an exception. City corporate policy says they can’t make her release her records, and knowing the Madam, I doubt she’d sacrifice her reputation on the strip for a single dead girl—”
    “I will get the