Lunch at Subbo’s Restaurant, considered that month to be New Chicago’s most stylish dining spot, was being paid for by the Government. That fact was the only thing about the meeting that Gould Papier did not find distasteful. To Papier’s left sat his boss, an obese senior deputy of Transportation named Glenn Wig, who was known to be quite indiscreet in public with his flatulence—both physical and verbal. Wig was ordering another bottle of the house red wine.
The other man at the table was a stranger, a Security officer introduced to him as Inspector Mick Kerbaugh, a slender man who seemed to Papier to represent the opposite of Wig’s characteristics but in an equally detestable way. Kerbaugh bore a stylish left-temple ponytail (did no one dare wear one on the right side?), and the rest of his head, apparently shaven just that morning, formed a large angular dome. There were two pronounced flat surfaces, looking like armor plating, that made up the left and right sides of his forehead. Kerbaugh wore that popular, overbearing cologne that Papier likened to a physical assault, and his white cotton tunic ended fashionably at the knee.
Papier himself felt more at home with his yellow-gray hair combed back, and all of his tunics brushed the ankles modestly and ran to the darker colors. This was a way of dressing considered among New Chicago’s older professionals to be satisfyingly unchic.
The Transport information officer had developed over the years a functional way of listening to his rotund boss’s blatherings: Papier tended to daydream until certain important phrases were used, or until Glenn Wig employed a particular tone of voice that mustered his attention. And just then Papier found his sensibilities being roused from a daydream.
Wig was saying: “…and so then I says just this morning to the minister of Security, ‘Hey, as a matter of fact I just got off the phone with my information officer an’ he’s had direct contact with this Anton Takk, seen him and smelled him in person—hah, I mean, he’s a Northlander, right?—and what’s more, my beloved Gould Papier knows the western sectors like he knows his own pud.’ So Gould, did I serve you well on this one or what?”
“Well, I’m not sure, Mr. Wig. Just how did this conversation resolve itself?”
Wig leaned into the table toward Papier as if to deliver the punchline of a particularly bawdy joke. His second and third and fourth chins folded into one another like a compressed accordion. He downed the last of his wine and set the glass to the side just as the waiter was opening the new bottle.
“Are we being a little slow today, Papier?” asked the Transport deputy. He paused for a tiny belch, the fumes from which wafted toward his employee’s nostrils. “We need a Transport official—someone of appreciable distinction and authority—to accompany Mr. Kerbaugh in his pursuit of this ne’er-do-well, Anton Takk. Not only is he a runner, but now comes to light that he’s a murderer too.”
Papier began to fidget, and Wig continued, “I believe you will find it a welcome relief from the rigors of your office duties. Think, Mr. Papier, what an opportunity to strike a highly visible blow for good and order—laying waste this reprobate!”
“Actually…” Kerbaugh interrupted and let the silence hold court for a moment. From the single word, Papier recognized the hard-core Southlander twang, much thicker than would be found among most New Chicagoans. “Our orders are not to lay waste anyone for the moment,” the Security man continued. “Primarily, we want to follow him closely and analyze how and why he makes every move. If an individual gives him aid, that individual must be incapacitated to prevent recurrences. If Government regulations are too lax, they must be improved. We have already found out, for instance, that Transport documents are being forged much too easily. Once we know who all of Mr. Takk’s friends are, well…”
Wig fell back and his brow wrinkled defensively. “You couldn’t think that some Northland log-buster scratched out those Transport forms with a quill!”
“Of course not,” said Kerbaugh. “But the fact remains that a forger available to Takk has that capability, and we must change our systems and stay five steps ahead of the reprobates. I have already begun making inquiries into the location of the illicit press.”
“But what if I don’t want this assignment?” asked Papier.
“If that were so,” responded Wig, “I wouldn’t be so unpatriotic as to say so. You and Mr. Kerbaugh are leaving town this evening. Please don’t worry about your current duties, my boy. Tim Kittleworth is moving into your office right now—temporarily, of course.”
Glenn Wig then broke wind loudly, and all conversation in Subbo’s Restaurant died. His two companions flipped open their menus simultaneously, and Papier wondered if he could manage to eat anything at all, whether or not it was paid for by the Government.