F. Wilson - Dydeetown World

Khambot all right. Or his clone.

Told the vid to relocate the leading edge of the datastream, then sat back in the chair and considered: mystery man Earl Khambot — low odds that was his real name — was really a song-and-dance man. Wasn't too sure how happy I was with that revelation.

"How you gonna find him, Siggy-san?" B.B. said.

Sometime during the past week he had stopped calling me Mr. Dreyer. Wasn't something I liked but wasn't about to make an issue of it, either. He had found a way to clean the green gook off his jump by letting Iggy lap it up with his big coarse tongue. Never dreamed an iguana would take to FlavoPunch. Maybe it was a nice break from the compartment's roaches.

"Could be I'll go into the commercial business."

Finding Khambot wasn't as easy as I'd thought. Took me days to snake my way through the various departments of the VersaPili division of the Leason Corporation until I got to someone who had the name of the company that had produced that particular commercial for them. Turned out to be one of these avant guard artsy groups that was dedicated to using live actors. From them I got the names of the five guys in the chorus — nobody there seemed to emember the name of the second guy from the right so I took all five names and began searching them out.

Got lucky with number three.

Earl Khambot turned out to be Deen Karmo. Lived alone in a small compartment in an old complex in Queens. A small building, holographed up to look like the top half of the old Chrysler Building. That alone told me it was old and seedy — the Chrysler had been the most popular of the very early envelopes — and the lobby confirmed the impression.

Waited till he left one morning, then let myself in. Easily. His security rig was rudimentary. And once inside I knew why. The guy didn't have anything worth taking. Made my place look like a palace.

Being a flesh-and-blood song-and-dance man these days obviously didn't pay well.

Made myself at home and waited for him to come back. Was resigned for a long haul but he surprised me by showing up in a couple of tenths.

Didn't even look up as he came in. He was humming a tune and dressed in the latest style just as he'd been when showed up at my office that one time. Still a real pretty-boy. The door had already slid completely shut behind him before he spotted me.

He dropped the package in his hand.

"What are you doing in here? I'm calling security!"

He reached for the panic button. Obviously he didn't recognize me.

"You shock me, Earl," I said quickly. "Throwing out your old friend without even a hello."

His finger stopped about a millimeter short of the button.

"My name's not — "

He gave me a closer look. Came the dawn:

"You — you're that, that, that — "

"Investigator."

"Right!" He smiled. "How have you been, Mr…? Forgive me, I forget your name."

"Really? How could you forget the name of the man you hired to find your daughter?"

The smile faltered and his hand still hovered over the panic button.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

"The name's Dreyer. Sig Dreyer. And what shall I call you?

'Mr. Khambot' or 'Mr. Karmo?' "

"Mr. Karmo will do fine."

"Good. Let's talk, shall we, Mr. Karmo? I'm not here to cause you any trouble. You paid me well for my time so I've got no quarrel with you. But I am curious."

Finally, he dragged his hand away from the button and took the only other seat in the tiny compartment.

"I don't think you'll be too happy with what I have to tell you, Mr. Dreyer."

"Why not?"

"Because there isn't much."

"Let me decide that. You can start by telling me if you have a daughter."

He laughed but it didn't seem to relax him. "Oh, no! Of course not! That was just part of the story!"

"But why any story at all?"

"I really don't know. I'm an actor. I was hired to act." He shrugged expressively. "So I acted."

"Who hired you?"

"I don't know. He was wearing a holosuit."

"Isn't that just bloaty!" I said, getting annoyed and showing it.

Karmo cringed. "Sorry."

"What was the image?"

"Joey Jose."

Wanted to throw something. Had high hopes since tracking Karmo down, now they were going up in smoke. He'd been hired by a guy hiding inside the holographic image of the Megalops' most popular entertainer. The number one holosuit on the rental circuit. Every holodashery had twenty Joey Joses in stock. No way of tracing the mystery man through that!

"What about the voice? Any accent?"

Karmo cringed again. "He was using a Joey voicer."

A holosuit and a voicesizer. Whoever he was, he was taking great pains to cover his tracks.

"And he just came up to you and handed you that gold piece and said 'Go get find somebody to search for your imaginary urchin daughter' and you picked me out to — "

"Oh, no. He was very specific. It had to be Sigmundo Dreyer and nobody else."

"But I'd been out of business for years! I'd only opened up a couple of days before you showed up!"

Another shrug. "What can I say? Maybe he'd been waiting for you to reopen. All I know is that he gave me two goldies, told me to use one to hire you and keep the other for myself. If I was successful in getting you to take the job, there were two more coins in it for me." He smiled briefly. "Needless to say, for that kind of fee, I put on my best performance."

He shrank back as I stood up.

"That you did, my friend. That you did."

Would have liked to give the jog a dose of Truth but had a feeling I'd learn nothing new. Somebody pretty glossy was behind this: Left no trail, and dangled a pay schedule that not only kept Karmo from roguing off with the goldies, but insured he'd give the performance his all.

"No harm done, I hope," Karmo said.

Clapped him on the shoulder and he almost came apart.

"Nope. No harm at all. Just want to know what's behind it all. And you're no dregging help."

Left a very relieved and very sweaty actor behind in his compartment.

"Eat your soyshi."

B.B. made a face. "Needs more cooking."

"No so. Supposed to be raw."

"Raw fishee?"

His repulsed expression was something to behold. All I could do to keep from laughing. He was pulling me out of the trough I'd slipped into since my talk with Karmo.

"Not real fish. Only looks that way. It's veg. Pseudotuna on vinegared rice. Watch." Finger-dipped one into the nearby soy-wasabi mix and popped it into my mouth. "Mmmm! Filamentous!"

B.B. grabbed his throat in a stranglehold and treated me to the sound of a melodramatic retch as he toppled off his chair.

The other customers in the dinnero were starting to stare.

"Get up before they kick you out of here!"

He returned to his seat. "H'bout soysteak?"

"Pardon?" I said, cupping my ear.

"How about a soysteak?" he said carefully.

"How about broadening your horizons? There's more to eating than soysteaks, cheesoids, and speed spuds."

"N'like this dreggy stuff."

"How would you know? You haven't tasted any. What kind of parent would I be if — "

"N'my parent!"

That stung more than I would have imagined. Don't even know why I'd referred to myself as his parent. Didn't want to be. Truly. But felt the jab anyway. The sting must have shown on my face, because he added: "Wendy parent to all Lost Boys."

Could have added that you're allowed more than one parent but that would have slipped me into a position I didn't particularly care for so I kept mum.

"Right. Forgot."

The black mood was settling on me again.

"You fren, Sig. Not parent."

"One way of looking at it, I guess. And friends don't make other friends eat soyshi, right?"