CHAPTER TWO

The day started like an old car, the light spluttering and flickering before staying on. This was how every morning began, but sometimes it felt worse. Today the light fell like a hangover. In the morning light before the people emerged, Miller's Rest looked like an overgrown cemetery, the dull grey shapes of the buildings lurking as if they didn't want to be there, like teenagers at weddings. The way the light fell that morning seemed strangely flat, like a three day old glass of water, all the flavour and life drained away.
On this grey and dismal morning, Remiel was already up. His city apartment had been totally transformed, the grime, coffee cups and dirty clothes had been swept away, as had most of the decoration. The walls were now a functional dark grey, although this wasn't through being painted, this was just through having all the grime cleared off. The furniture had been largely removed except for the computer desk and the bed. The computer desk looked like it had never seen more use, paper, disks, scribbled notes and items of stationery were neatly arranged on it, but neatly arranged in a functional way, not as a display. The computer itself looked exhausted. In some indeterminable way, the grey casing of the artificial brain had begun to slouch, the once cheery voice now sounded good-natured but worn out, to the extent that Remiel was considering buying a second computer, just to stop the first one getting so tired. The bed looked as if it had never seen less use, although this wasn't entirely true; Remiel did get around seven hours sleep a night, but instead of reading in bed to get to sleep, or having a lie in when he awoke in the mornings, he now fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and leapt out of bed in the mornings to get on with the work. Despite the loss of his friend, Remiel had physically rarely felt better, he had given up drink, and ate sparingly and healthily, his gut had shrunk dramatically and he was shedding weight as if the fat was physically melting off him. The giving up of drink made the most dramatic change. The chemical addiction had ebbed away, leaving him with a vitality he had forgotten he possessed, and had only rediscovered by accident and panic when the farm was blown up. The apartment had ceased to be a place he lived in, it was now just the place in which he did the majority of his research. Some people would see this as being an unhealthy obsession, but few would say that he was better off living out of the end of a bottle, as was often the case before now. The computer was connected to Web-Net, a network service that linked computers in the surrounding 10 towns, and indeed beyond; with information and passwords grudgingly divulged by Sergeant Clark, he had managed to get access to the police department records, including a rather grainy version of the security video of Cornelius's last moments. The poor quality of the video prevented him from learning anything more about Cornelius's demise, the assailants were still anonymous, even to whether they were aphid or caterpillar, but it was a constant reminder of his pain, and kept him going when times were hard.

Sergeant Clark had become somewhat of a partner in crime in the last few weeks. Out of sympathy for what had happened, as well as a genuine motivation to solve the case and a dislike of seeing work left undone, she had carried out a lot of important work on the case, keeping the file open and the investigation underway whenever there was talk of closing it. This had nearly got her sacked at least once, when she had checked out a lead in an industrial estate when she should have been on patrol in a completely different part of the city. Remiel himself did most of the slog, wandering around in the areas near Cocker's Way, trying to find anyone who had heard of or seen Gali, but so far no-one would talk. Remiel was not at all surprised by this; Gali was obviously powerful enough to deal with most people who squealed about him, and all the evidence he could find suggested that Gali had begun a process of covering his tracks after the attack on Cornelius. This was not necessarily directly connected to Cornelius, as an organised crime crackdown had begun in earnest at this point anyway, and most gangs were lying a little lower than usual. Remiel also trawled the archives in the surrounding area for mentions of Gali, or other individuals who fitted in with his description, with limited success. During this time, his friends were very supportive, although there was a definite sense that a gap was appearing between them, try as anyone might to stop it. The band had split up, as one of their singers was dead, and the other just wasn't singing any more. Daz and Wilson were trying to form another band, and had gone into business, running a Nectar mine17, and seemed constantly distraught at Remiel's refusals to start singing again. Luther seemed to have detached himself totally from his friends, and had, according to some rumours, moved out of Miller's Rest totally, to the extent that try as he might he could not get the faintest clue as to where he was. In a way this wasn't surprising, Luther witnessed the beginning of the attack upon Cornelius, in fact Cornelius had saved his life. It was obvious and inevitable that Luther felt some misplaced guilt. Still, Remiel mused, he had seemed very reluctant to help out by supplying any details of what happened when questioned about background information to the killing. It wasn't really suspicious, but it did make Remiel feel that maybe something wasn't quite right.

Miguel and Sanchez had been wonderful. As soon as they were out of the hospital, they had been round to the flat, with good, well thought out ideas about catching Gali, and anyone else involved in Cornelius's death. Remiel had told them that it was OK, that they didn't have to do all this, but there was no stopping them. In their industry, they had canvassed four out of the five major aphid estates in Miller's Rest, and were halfway through the fifth. Alicia had stayed for a few weeks, and then returned to Topsfield, knowing that her presence was both elating and killing Remiel. Alicia knew, and had known for a long time, about how Remiel felt about her, and although she loved him as a friend, she could never feel for him what he felt for her, and this was what made her go to Topsfield in the first place. The job was of course part of it, but a larger part was the hurt that she knew her presence caused to Remiel. She had promised, however, to keep in touch, and had written twice in the three weeks that she had been back, mainly things about Cornelius, memories of the past, but enough genuine conversation, and ease of writing that Remiel felt confident keeping up a more active friendship with her than he had before.

Today, Remiel's "Mission" was to cruise areas where Gali had been sighted, or where evidence suggested he could be. Remiel wasn't entirely sure what he would do with Gali once he found him, but he knew he had to find him. Find him, and then either hand him over to the police, or… The alternative was unpleasant but Remiel didn't know whether he would be able to give up the chance of revenge, adverse as he was to violence. The choice was as it has almost always been, justice or revenge, and knowing this was his choice didn't make it any easier. Removing thoughts of vengeance from his mind, Remiel prepared himself to go out. Firstly, he had a thorough shower, and a shave, next he put boxer shorts and a dark green T-shirt on, followed by two armpit gun holsters, which he placed a medium calibre Tazer and a large barrelled projectile pistol inside. The projectile pistol or P.P. was a new development, which was one of the first skilled attempts by caterpillars to make use of sulphur, ammonium nitrate and carbon as a method of propulsion. The Projectile Pistol fired a range of shells, solid projectile, hollow point, ricochet and incendiary. In certain situations, this was a more deadly gun that the Tazer could ever be. Remiel next pulled on the black kilt he had worn when finding out information from Banderas, placed a large handful of smoke capsules in the right-hand side pocket, and stuck a sheathed knife inside the waistband. The loose combat boots on his feet, complete with the shabby green army surplus coat and the dark green Balaclava set the image of a down-and-out off perfectly.

Into one pocket of the coat, Remiel shoved a half bottle of Leafburner, or what appeared to be Leafburner, it was actually a careful combination of chemicals which would form a thick and impenetrable cloud when exposed to oxygen. This had taken a lot of effort to make, and so Remiel was saving it for if he really needed it. Into the other pocket, Remiel placed a pair of infra red goggles, which would allow him to see through the smoke, and a pair of handcuffs, just in case he did find Gali and decided to bring him in. The image nearly complete, Remiel dragged out his last bottle of Leafburner, which he kept around just to remind himself of the state he had been in, and rubbed some around his neck, to give the smell of an alcoholic tramp. Remiel had rarely admitted it, even to himself, but before the events with Cornelius, he had been severely and violently alcoholic. Most days had been started with a drink, continued with a few more, and no day had been complete without staring at the bottom of an empty bottle, and cursing the world for making the bottle too small. Since Cornelius's death, however, he had not touched a drop, and it was going to stay that way. The only hard thing was having to put the stuff on his skin, and having to keep control enough to avoid taking a slug from the bottle. Remiel knew himself well enough to know that if he started drinking he was unlikely to stop. Remiel stood up, shaking such thoughts out of his head. He was not going to start drinking again, he was never going to start drinking again. Remiel looked at his appearance in the mirror, and was pleasantly surprised to see a mess staring back at him. The caterpillar in the mirror was wearing cheap scuffed combat boots, and a dirty, heavy army surplus coat over a tattered tunic and a dirty looking kilt. A large bottle of something lethal stuck out of one pocket, and the other one bulged as if it contained the remnants of last nights Leaf supper. The figure shuffled drunkenly, and slouched, disguising the extent of its height. This was not a figure that anyone could ever, ever suspect of being anything but a down-and-out, who would sell his teeth for another bottle of Leafburner, Golden Rain, Whiplash, even methylated spirits, anything to take the pain of reality away18.

Perfect, Remiel thought, with a grunt of satisfaction, and walked briskly to the door, hesitated halfway there, and began to drunkenly shuffle instead, to make his appearance more realistic.

The problem Remiel was coming up against was simple, and one that private detectives have always come up against, probably will always come up against. The world is a big place. Locating Gali had seemed fairly simple to Remiel upon hearing that he was operating somewhere along Cocker's Way. What Remiel had forgotten in his excitement at having a lead was that Cocker's Way was big. Very big. There were two main entrances to Miller's Rest. The Candlewick Gate, a grand entrance, feeding in most of the traffic from Candlewick and Topsfield. This level of traffic was considerable, as they were two of Miller's Rest's biggest trading partners, and workers commuted massively between the cities. The other major entrance was Claypool's Bar, a slightly smaller but still considerable route running to the city of Wirral Bridge, a major tourist destination for caterpillars on account of its great architectural beauty and easygoing atmosphere. Cocker's Way was the only road that linked them, stretched the length of the city, and was anything up to eight lanes wide at points. Trying to find Gali on there by dint of blind searching would be like trying to find a particular piece of hay in a haystack. Remiel had therefore resorted to exploratory searches based on background research into the nature of the area. These searches, which he referred to as "Missions" provided a great deal of data about what kind of area he was searching, and whether it would be worth Gali's while working it.

The plan today was to appear to be a down-and-out, so the area could be effectively cased without arousing suspicion. If Gali was operating in this area, then Remiel would not get him straight away, but would bait him, turning the ruthless swine's victory into bitter defeat. Today's area was the Michelin estate, around ten minutes walk from the southern end of Cocker's Way, and an area that would be rich pickings for one such as Gali. The estate was slightly off the direct route between Lark Grove, the main financial street in Miller's Rest, and Churchill Grove, a reasonably rich area of middle class suburbia, not as lavish as Yamaha Hills, but definitely several cuts above the average Miller's Rest area. The Michelin estate's main street, Michelin Road, was just right for an operator like Gali, as it was busy enough to provide enough victims to be profitable, but not so busy as to allow no time to mug one punter before the next one comes around the corner. Just right for Gali, he could have two or three gangs working this stretch, Remiel thought, but he could have had the same number working Oak Park or Swithin's Walk, and those were as quiet as 6am the morning after a night's heavy partying. Still, Remiel thought, as he lurched, shuffled and cursed his way down the streets to his reconnaissance position, this time, it may be right, and if not, then he'd try somewhere else.

Remiel got into his position, wandering up and down Michelin Road, checking the alleys whilst going through the act of attempting to find somewhere to sleep. The figure of a shuffling tramp was not an unusual one, here or anywhere else in Miller's Rest, or in any other area nearby. The rulers of Miller's Rest, Candlewick, Topsfield, and Rab's Hollow were all strict capitalists. A caterpillar or aphid with enough money could buy anything in these towns, and would live like a king. On the other hand, one with no money would have a simple enough choice: starve to death or go elsewhere. As the transport costs between Miller's Rest and more enlightened cities like Wirral Bridge or the Banderas stronghold, Longmere, were at the best high and at the worst extortionate, most people with little or no money were trapped. The city therefore had a high amount of tramps, vagrants, beggars and all other unnoticed elements of an enlightened capitalism. Not that the cities recognised the existence of the underclass. The city promised to ensure that all of its official population would be well cared for, unfortunately for the tramps on the streets, the official population meant those who could vote, and those who could vote were those in employment. As a result of this, the figure of another desperate individual wandering the streets was anything but rare. Remiel was therefore able to scout the streets virtually unseen, or at least unconsidered, by the well-off passers by.

After nine hours scouting the street, including two rush hours and a lunch-time surge of passers-by, Remiel was ready to give up and head back home, when a pair of caterpillars strolling unconcernedly behind a businessman caught his eye. Remiel didn't think he'd seen them before, didn't know their faces, but knew their look, knew their stroll. Their forced nonchalance, and slightly exaggerated posture of relaxed easiness, combined with the look that they exchanged, and the hard, heavy bulges in their jacket pockets alerted Remiel, and he watched them in the same way that a lion would watch a fat wounded gazelle. If this paid off, then all this would not have been in vain, and Remiel would somehow feel that he had avenged at least part of Cornelius's death. Remiel followed from a distance, checking rubbish bins, or discarded bottles whenever he felt that the pair might be getting suspicious. Eventually the duo made their move, approaching their businessman quarry, and assuming their positions. One of them sneaked in front of him, like a normal commuter, merely overtaking on his busy way home, and the other hailed the sharply suited gentleman and inquired as to the time. As he was looking at his watch, the first assailant caught him with a blow to the back of the head. The businessman's pockets were quickly searched, and all objects of value, including his jacket and shoes, were removed, after he had been dragged into an alley. The muggers made off into the network of alleyways at high speed. Remiel paused briefly enough to check that the victim was not too badly hurt, before running after the two muggers, his left hand, his shooting hand, on the handle of the Projectile Gun.

There wasn't really much to follow, at first. Whilst Remiel kept the two muggers in sight at all times, their movements, although fast, didn't seem to take them to anywhere important, for instance a hideout or a safe house. Remiel was in fact thinking that maybe he had taken the wrong lead, these could just be normal street thugs, nothing to do with Gali or his gang. Finally, five streets away from where they had started, the two muggers were whistled by an aphid in a dark jacket, to whom they handed the Businessman's wallet, shoes and jacket, as well as two rings and a tie-pin. Remiel looked to see who their fence was, then recoiled back in shock. The man to whom they were handing their spoils was one of Gali's gang, Remiel recognised him from the video. This confirmed to Remiel that he had indeed found Gali, and that now was the time to trap him. Remiel's trap was cunning as it would use himself as bait, and would not rule out either arresting or killing the aphid gangster. Remiel slunk off, returning home by the quickest route possible, still undecided about the fate of the man that had caused such a profound change in him.

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Copyright 1999 Ian Rennie, for Remiel Productions.