Page 67 of Mongrels United
Siran licked his lips. “I think…I believe that I may have treated you…disrespectfully.”
“Yes,” she said flatly.
He blew out his breath and sat back. “Damn it, Grady. I’m just trying to be a friend. I was concerned. I don’t want to lose you as my Chief of Staff because of some easily correctable situation. Nash Hyson is…his reputation stinks.”
“Depending on who you talk to,” Grady said coolly. “Among the wrong people, he’s a hero.”
“Ah…” Siran tilted his head, considering her. “Part of your strategy?”
“I can’t say more.” She still didn’t feel like forgiving him. Siran had made her question her own wisdom, a moment ago. She hadn’t enjoyed the sensations that doubt had generated.
Siran sighed. “You not saying more is going to be the answer to any questions I have about the man, isn’t it?”
“For now,” she said gently. “One day, I think soon, I’ll explain everything.”
And she really hoped that wasn’t a lie.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nash’s first interview of the day was with a woman who worked in the small bio engineering Institute, housed in the Port Corner complex of the Aventine. Raisa Daubney had been living with her parents in the Capitol District the year Hyram had disappeared, and on the second wall, just as Nash had been. But she was a handful of years older than him, and he didn’t remember her—not until he saw her flaming red hair.
Then he recalled a tall, thickset girl, a bully who had jeered at Nash as he went home, and once threatened to push him off the side of the spatula they had been sharing, while it lifted them up to their separate slice apartments.
Raisa Daubney did not seem to remember Nash at all. Not even his name generated a flicker of recognition. She clearly liked what she saw, though, for despite the archaic white coat that scientists of every stripe had worn as a type of uniform since time immemorial, Daubney grew flirtatious. She touched her hair. Smiled a lot. Laughed when she didn’t understand his questions.
“Why in the name of theEndurancewould I care what happened when I was sixteen?” she said, sounding genuinely puzzled. “I’ve left those days behind.”
Nash knew she meant she had left the Capitol behind and didn’t want to think about the Wall district. It embarrassed her that she had grown up there.
There were lots of times in the past when Nash would have used that as leverage to get what he wanted out of the conversation. But threatening to mention her true background to people he knew, or the good people manning the front desks of this very Institute would only clam the woman up tight.
So he pushed the temptation aside and held in his temper, and said, instead. “Youwereliving on the Second Wall, back then. What do you remember about a man, Hyram Stroud, two levels up from your apartment, and three over. He disappeared at that time.”
“Hyram Stroud?” Daubney repeated, a tiny furrow between her arched brows. “I don’t remember anyone with that…” Her mouth dropped open. “The two creepy crawlers on the fifth level?That’swho you’re talking about?”
Nash held his teeth together until he thought he could speak civilly. “Is that what they called them?” He hadn’t heard that one before. Perverts. Weirdos. Even dirty old men. “One of them vanished overnight and was never seen again. Do you remember that?”
Daubney snapped up straight, and pulled her coat in around her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I think you should leave.”
Nash stayed right by her workbench. “You do remember, then. It’s the other man I’m looking into.” He would not tell this woman he was trying to learn about his father. Her limited sympathy would evaporate, when she remembered who he was.
Daubney shook her head. “I don’t remember. I don’t have to, anyway. Who did you say you were, again?”
“I’m doing some contract work for Bridge Security. The Civil division.” It wasn’t exactly a lie but, oddly, he felt uncomfortable stretching the truth even that much. It was a strange and novel sensation. He’d won more than one hand because he had no tell, because not providing the truth to anyone was a way of life for him, not a bluff to win the pot. “The other man, the one who didn’t disappear. What can you remember of him? Do you remember who he spoke to? Who he was friends with?”
“I don’t remember him at all, or his weird little kid. Dumb shit wouldn’t speak toanyone. Most of us didn’t know if hecouldtalk…”
Nash fought to keep his breathing even, to not flinch or show any sort of tic.
Daubney’s eyes widened. “Damn…that wasyou, wasn’t it? I can see it now. Same eyes.”
So much for not having a tell.
Daubney’s smile grew warming, and she let her gaze run up his body once more. “Well, you grew up, didn’t you?” Then she put it together, and her smile faded. “Why are you asking about your fathers? Don’t you know this stuff?”
“I was a kid,” Nash said patiently. The temptation to say “I was a dumb shit kid,” was powerful, but he resisted. “I don’t remember anything about my parents that wasn’t to do with my own interests. My father died a few weeks ago—”
“Sorry.” Daubney’s tone was perfunctory.
