A Fraudulent Death, Draft 02, CH 33 (Patreon)

Marlot wrote the name of the store the tiger entered, accompanied by the gorilla he’d been talking with the previous day. “Thanks for driving me,” he said, then yawned wide enough the zebra inched away. “Sorry, worked on Stalker 3.0 again. I was only going to fix one of the error codes, then it was almost midnight.”

She chuckled. “Did you jump a version? Last time you talked about it, there were no numbers attached. And you’re welcome. It’s not like I had a lot to do. The cub’s with his father and nothing much’s going on with work. You gave me a reason to get out of the house.”

“I was working on 2.0 while hunting down Nikal, but this required entirely new hardware, so it needed its own version. I think it’s stable now.” He yawned again. “At least it hadn’t crashed by the time you picked me up.” He put the pad away and opened the door.

“Will we get to see this new system? Harik has a lot of theories as to what you’re actually planning with it.”

Marlot chuckled. “You can tell him to calm his paranoia, Ukely. It’s just a more advanced stalker program, I’m hoping it’ll help me deal with this case I’m stuck handling.”

Vlein hadn’t even acted like Marlot’s demands that the fox assigned the productivity side to others was funny. He’d seriously pointed out that he didn’t have people to assign. He wasn’t the head of a department, just the one who saw an issue and did his best to have it dealt with. He agreed to cover Marlot’s expenses, so long as they were properly reported.

He zipped his jacket shut. It wasn’t frigid yet, but the temperature was dropping again. He looked around for anyone who might watch them. They were three blocks away from the store, and in this low-rated neighborhood, her car shouldn’t attract attention. Not that he planned on letting her stay.

He looked into the car. “You better head home.”

“I can stay and help,” she replied eagerly.

He shook his head. “Getting me here is plenty helpful. You’re a programmer, Ukely, not an investigator. I’m not putting you at risk.”

She looked at the store with a frown and opened her muzzle.

“I’m serious,” Marlot cut her off

“Alright. Call me with you need to get home and I’ll come pick you up.”

“I’m good with transit.”

“Really,” she said, hopefully, “it’s not a problem.”

“I know, and I am grateful.” He smiled. “But I can’t be sure they aren’t going to notice me while I figure out what’s going on here. They already sabotaged my car. I don’t want to put you at risk. If it’s any comfort, it’s going to be a few days before my car’s repaired, so you’ll get to drive me around some more.”

“If you change your mind, pad me.”

He closed the door and stepped away, waiting until she’d disappeared in the distance, and looking again for anyone suspicious. No one looked up as she passed. Shoulders hunched down, eyes on the people around them, not the cars.

He’d dressed casually, in his hunting clothes, instead of his suit, hoping to both blend in and have some protection in case he was attacked. He had no idea how they would escalate when they realized the vandalism of his car hadn’t chased him away. Unfortunately, the area was low enough he stood out, and exactly as what he looked like. A predator on the hunt.

He couldn’t do anything about that, so he headed toward the store, and the prey he passed gave him a wide berth.

He could tell there had been attempts at revitalizing the area. Some buildings had fresher paint, recent repairs, but not enough had been done, or there were other problems that kept people from coming and raising the value of the businesses. The stores Marlot passed were a mix of clothing, electronics, drinking places, housing supplies catering to specialized needs, and food preparation supplies.

He ordered a warm mug of spiced blood out of a window, asking for the receipt when it didn’t appear on his pad. He was going to hit Vlein with every expense he could manage and ensure they were proper. The fox would have to be the one to explain what he refused to pay for.

Marlot joined a handful of predators seated at outdoor tables despite the cool weather. The corner was opposite Karlix’s Housing Supplies and gave him a good view inside through the bay window. He was careful not to look at it directly, looking at the affordable prey, the same as every predator around him.

The female behind was the counter was an ibex, older, probably the Karlix of the name. The gorilla exited, heading to the car parked on the side road, and drove off. Inside, Grift’s movements became a problem as he was only occasionally visible through the bay window. His work seemed to consist only of refilling the shelves, but without being able to document the rest of the store, he doubted Vlein would be satisfied.

The ibex was comfortable ordering the tiger about, which spoke of a familiarity between them. Maybe Grift worked here every day?

He looked up the store on his pad, misdirecting his search through anonymizers in case someone was looking at the digital world. They’d made his car, which meant they had its tag, and through that his name. Depending on how illegal they were willing to go, they could have far more information.

The store didn’t have a site, which was more an indication of how small their reach was than anything else. They served the neighborhood and had no aspiration of anything larger. The Ibex was probably the daughter of the person who had first opened the store, maybe a granddaughter.

He looked for the security the store had. Nothing on the network, and by the bars on the door’s window and the pulled security gate at one end of the front, it was as low tech as imaginable. He wouldn’t be able to see inside unless he went in. The problem with that was that even if Grift didn’t recognize him by sight, he knew his scent.

A female stepped out of a store further along that block and something about her drew Marlot’s attention. She was a cougar in a far too expensive suit for the area. The store she’d exited was a grocery for herbivores by the vegetables on display. He couldn’t make out the name at this distance. She looked around. He’d think she was looking for someone to stalk, but her gaze didn’t slow on any of the prey on the street.

He realized he’d seen the gorilla do the same thing as he exited the supply store. And she was dressed similarly and had the type of body language Marlot could assign to an enforcer, or, in this case, a handler. She walked away, stepping into a car and driving off.

He drank slowly.

If he was right, this was the perfect opportunity to work out some level of equivalence. The person working in the grocery shouldn’t know him, and even if they’d been given his description, black wolves were common enough they wouldn’t immediately jump to the conclusion he was the one they needed to look for. It might be someone he’d met at the building’s mailroom, but what were the odds anyone there had paid attention to his scent?

With his glass empty, he decided he had nothing to lose by looking.

The store smelled stuffy, which surprised Marlot. Even the warehouses where vegetables were stored at the commune smelled fresh and airy. The air filtration system kept the mustiness from accumulating. In a place this small, it shouldn’t be hard to do. Instead, the place smelled like the doors hadn’t been opened for a week, with the same vegetables in it the entire time. By the look of what was on the displays, all limp and faded in colors, it might be what had happened.

Who ate these?

He looked around at the people in the store. Mostly prey in borderline rags, and they too seemed unsatisfied with the selection.

A ram stepped out of the back room, carrying a crate to one of the empty displays, and put turnips in it, or potatoes? At this distance, and with how discolored and deformed they were, he couldn’t be sure. He moved, watching her surreptitiously. Her movements were mechanical. When she looked up at a customer addressing her, there was no life in her eyes. The term of Walking Dead Vlein liked to use made sense with her. She was walking, working, but really, she was waiting for someone to eat her.

He exited.

He didn’t recognize her, but was sure she did the same thing Grift did. Which meant refilling shelves was the extent of his work. He seemed more alive than her, but maybe he hadn’t been at it as long.

He bought another spiced blood and sat at a table.

Why would someone work like this? Marlot understood not everyone could be fortunate enough to get the job that brought them to life, but to hold a job that brought you to death? That left you wanting nothing other than to die? Who would do that?

Someone who had no other choice.

Then, the question became, why would someone force them to do this? What did this person get out of this arrangement?

Marlot sat there, watching the supply store. Grift came and went as he placed items on shelves. When his drink was finished, he walked the length of the road, going into every store, but only found two others he was certain had one of the walking-deads working.

As the sun dipped over the tallest building, along with the temperature, a car parked before the supply store. Looking along the road, he saw one before the grocery, the two stores he’d identified, and a fifth car before a store he knew he’d visited, but couldn’t see the name from where he sat.

Marlot looked at his pad, the video recorder active, and recorded the female gray wolf stepped out of the car and enter the supply store. The two females spoke. And here, there was none of the casual comfort the ibex had with Grift.

The wolf took out a paper book, as well as a pen, and looked at something the ibex showed her, but Marlot couldn’t make out. The wolf made notes, then the ibex handed over money. Physical currency. That would make what had been shown the daily receipts? Was this a protection racket? Was Grift only posing as an employee?

Only, there was nothing threatening about the tiger. And the ram hadn’t looked able to raise her voice. And why work at all? It wasn’t like Grift was the one being paid right now.

Marlot had to hold himself still as the realization hit.

He wasn’t being paid.

The supply store was a two-person operation. But if one of them didn’t have an ID, as far as the revenue system was concerned, it was a one-person business that somehow reported the productivity of two. In this area, it might not be so much of a discrepancy for it to raise flags, but what was the impact for the owner? Even if the people providing Grift took a small cut, the increase could be the difference between the ibex keeping the store open and closing it.

He looked around, seeing the attempted rejuvenation in a different light. If it had succeeded, the whole area’s rating would have gone up. Possibly to a level making this arrangement unworkable.

“But how does he pay for his apartment?” Marlot mused, and his neighbor, a cheetah bundled against the cold, eyed him before moving one table away.

Did he pay for it? The ledger said he did, but as with the ibex, it had been a physical transaction, so no way to prove that he had. And, he realized, every tenant without an ID paid on the same day. He’d wondered how the building manager dealt with that volume of money.

What about food? Grift looked undernourished, but not dying. If he didn’t have an ID, that meant he couldn’t hunt anyone who wasn’t homeless, or possibly one of his neighbors, but there was a calm in the building that led Marlot to think no hunting happened there. Did his handler provide the food? They’d give him the minimum needed to survive because their profits had to depend on keeping costs as low as possible.

He watched the car drive away with the wolf and Grift, and reached the only conclusion possible; he’d just watched the revenue system being defrauded.

It shouldn’t surprise him. There was always someone looking to keep a larger cut of what they earned, or stole, but it still did. The system was as fair as it could be. By committing fraud, they transferred the cost to everyone else who was part of the system.

Vlein would be ecstatic with what Marlot had found, not that he had any idea what the fox would do about it.

His pad buzzed; the office. “Hela’han, I’ll be back in a while. You might as—”

“Can you come back now?” she asked, sounding worried.

“What’s wrong?” he looked for the closest transit stop and headed for it.

“A Miss Jareth is here to see you. She said she’s the daughter of—”

“Hardir Mixcoat.”

“Yes. She has a package for you, but she refuses to leave it. She said she would only hand it to you directly, and that you’d know why.”

He understood why she didn’t want to leave it. She didn’t know Hela’han, but hand it to him directly? A threat that if he didn’t show up, she’d leave with it; and considering what had happened to her mother, maybe this time he wouldn’t get the package?

“Tell her I’m on my way. Do whatever you have to so she won’t leave. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

Fuck transit, it wouldn’t be fast enough, and he could justify this as a case-related expense. He called a private car to come to pick him up, paying more to jump the waiting line.

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