It was about eight-fifteen when we hit the highway north. Road signs appeared in our headlights like yellow ghosts. I was employed again-the same deal I gave Billings. I now had more intrigue than I wanted. Mr. Adrian was missing. Jan Van Reydner was missing. The lawyer Conrad Billings was dead. Alan Cotton was dead. He was not a 'cosmetics for the dead' salesman at all. He was a scientist working on Regenerics. Why would he turn up dead at the Morocco when he could afford a better hotel? Why would Authority try to cover up Mr. Cotton's true history? I knew how they could. Authority just had to threaten the right individuals, but why? Unless Cotton was more important in all of this than just another murder. What was he doing at the Morocco Hotel? Did he stumble on Adrian and Van Reydner as they were working on Billings? Who turned him into blood pudding? It was obviously an organized bit of work. The type of job that was done on his body led me to believe organized crime was involved, but why would Authority cover for them? Like them or not, Authority still represented the law-even if it was a somewhat rabid law. Then, a name came to me: Mr. King of King Industries: Former Senator William King, the King of the Dead as the media called him. The King made billions from his preservative treatments for the dead. Did he actually contemplate selling them life with Regenerics? Too many questions and not enough answers. I looked at Elmo. His face was strange and inhuman in the glow from the dashboard.
"Elmo, this is a stupid question, but: if there was a way for you to be alive again, would you try it? Even if there were risks."
Elmo looked at me incredulously. "I'd d-do anything to be alive again."
"I thought so." I lit a cigarette. I was certain that this would be the attitude of all dead people. If so: what if Regenerics worked? Any dead man with the slightest amount of pull would do everything in his power to obtain a new life. But, I couldn't forget Adrian. Regenerics would destroy him. So he would want Cotton dead. But he was missing? Did he step on someone else's toes? He obviously wanted me out of the picture. So he had his goons try to finish me off. But what happened to him while I was out in the Landfill waltzing with the monkey-twins?
"Pull over at the next filling station, Elmo," I said. In about thirty minutes we found one. I dropped a dime in the slot of the pay phone. A bit of verbal fencing with the butler, then…
"Hello, Mrs. Cotton. It's Wildclown, I don't want to upset you again, but could you answer one question for me?"
I heard a muffled affirmative.
"What was the name of the Authority inspector who claimed Alan's files?"
"Oh, let me see. Yes, a surly little fellow. Mr. Crane, no Cane. Inspector Cane."
I thanked her, hung up and got back in the car. "Cane," I said absentmindedly. "Cane."
"What's that, Boss?" Elmo looked over as we pulled out onto the highway.
"Nothing, Fatso. Let's get home. I could sleep for a week."
The bars in the broken centerline passed like images in a dream.