Chapter 14

The tram route didn’t go anywhere near the address Fara provided for Pug, and Odo knew he was unlikely to find a skimmer willing to take him into that neighborhood.

So the Changeling decided to walk.

It was raining when Odo left the bar. Glancing out the window, Fara had described the precipitation he was about to encounter as thloppering.

He knew that the Ferengi language had 178 words for rain, each describing moisture of a certain type and severity. Although Odo wasn’t familiar with all of them, he decided that thloppering must fall somewhere in the middle of the pack in terms of intensity.

By the time he got to Pug’s neighborhood, however, he realized that his estimate had been low. Much, much too low. It was as if the sky had come down and wrapped itself around every unlucky soul who had the misfortune to be outside. The sheet of precipitation embraced Odo like the Great Link . . . except where the Great Link was warm and nurturing, the rain was cold and bleak and offered no sustenance.

There were no visible signs of illumination at Pug’s humble shack. Odo considered the possibilities. If Pug was home alone, sick or not, he’d probably have turned the lights on by now. If he had company, he’d also have turned the lights on by now. Of course, he could have hightailed it out of town, spooked by the questions Odo had asked at the bar. Or he could be sleeping.

The shape-shifter peeked through a window set in the door. Nothing moved inside. He rapped his knuckles on the door, then peeked in again. Still nothing.

He stared down at the ground, at the puddle forming around his feet and slowly trickling under the door.

Well, when on Ferenginar, do as the climate does . . .

. . . and suddenly the puddle was much larger. It oozed under the door, where most of it morphed back into Odo’s humanoid form, sans the excess moisture that had gathered on his body during his walk.

He looked around the room cautiously. The door led into a tiny kitchen, dark and silent but for the sound of heavy raindrops on the roof.

“Hello?” he called out. “Pug, are you here?”

No response.

“Lights,” he said out loud, and the room’s voice-controlled illumination came up.

After that, it didn’t take long for him to locate Pug. The bartender was in the next room. On the floor. With a hole burned into his chest that looked quite similar to the one Odo had observed in Hilt.

The Changeling sighed.

He contacted Quirk.

“Two murders in one week,” observed the security consultant. “I typically don’t see two murders in a decade, Constable. If nothing else, you’re bad luck to the people of Ferenginar.”

“Trust me,” the shape-shifter said, “I’d be happy to distance myself from your planet, but I need to find the nagus’s brother first.”

Quirk knelt next to the body. After a quick examination, he looked up at Odo. “Want to tell me why you were visiting this unfortunate fellow?” he said, poking a forensic instrument into the singed hole.

“I was hoping to follow up on a conversation he and I had yesterday at one of Frin’s establishments. He’s the bartender there. He didn’t come to work today, so I came here.”

“Looks like his excuse to take a sick day was valid,” Quirk said, getting to his feet and studying the instrument. “He was shot last night. Who knew that you talked to the bartender?”

“Anyone who was there yesterday. One customer in particular seemed interested in the conversation. In fact, he followed me out of the tavern. I gave him the slip and was attempting to track him down, but I was interrupted in my pursuit.”

Quirk nodded silently as he put the instrument in its case and attached it to his belt.

“I learned today that the customer’s name was Bakke,” continued Odo. “Apparently he had a history with both Pug and Hilt.” The shape-shifter described Bakke, and Quirk jotted down a few notes. “Have you heard of him?” Odo questioned.

“Can’t say I have,” Quirk responded. “I’ll start looking into who this Bakke fellow might be connected to in the Great Material Continuum. Someone might have figured Pug was rocking their boat on the Great River.”

Odo stared at Pug’s body and frowned. He didn’t relish the thought that his interest in the deceased might have gotten him killed, particularly since he hadn’t provided any relevant information.

Which reminds me . . .

“Chief, have you come across anything called Sludge Liquid Investments in your research?” he asked.

Quirk shook his head. “I’m still going through Frin’s backlog of files, but nothing like that has come up. I did notice that Hilt was doing some very creative bookkeeping with the widows’ accounts, but nothing that seems too out of the ordinary. Do you think Sludge Liquid Investments is important?”

“Hilt seemed to think so. And it appears that Bakke did too.”

The two investigators left the shack together, stepping out into the continuing rain. Quirk headed toward his official Department of Security skimmer. “Need a lift somewhere?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” said Odo. “I think better when I’m walking.”

“Suit yourself,” Quirk said with a shrug. He opened the door to the skimmer, then paused before he entered. “By the way, Constable, how did you manage to get into Pug’s house without overriding any of the locks on the doors or windows?”

Odo’s faint smile was ghostlike in the glistening rain. “I’ve picked up a few skills over the years,” he said. Then he turned and disappeared into the dark and sodden night.