Free Ex-Kop by Warren Hammond

corner table. I spotted Hoshi, Ian's finger-cracking accomplice, who toasted me from across the room, his date sitting in a mock electric chair at the head of the table.
    “Ian told me about you,” said Liz as the drinks arrived in goblets.
    I raised an eyebrow.
    “He said you used to be a cop.”
    I nodded.
    She picked up one of the rack's four iron cuffs and slipped her hand through it like a bracelet. “He said you were close to Chief Chang.”
    “That's right.” From the goblet, I took a sip of brandy and was irked by the metallic taste from this cheap Henry-the-Eighth shit.
    She pulled her hand free from the shackle, rattling the chain it was attached to. “Is it true that you used to be the chief's enforcer?”
    I answered with a question of my own. “Why does Ian want to talk to me?”
    “He didn't say. He just said that I should keep you company until he gets here.”
    “How long have you known him?”
    “A long time,” she said with a playful smile. “I heard you once beat a man to death.”
    It was more than once.
Again, I changed the subject. “Who's that guy?”
    Liz followed my eyes to an offworlder sitting with a young cleavage-popping local. They were seated at an operating room table with a holographic autopsy-scarred corpse on top.
    “That's Horst. Why do you ask?”
    “He's been staring at you.”
    “How do you know he's not staring at
you
?”
    It wasn't so much what she said that made me smile. It was more the way she looked with that big girly grin, totally at odds with her naughty librarian getup. “Who is he?” I repeated.
    “Just a businessman who likes to hang out in clubs like these.”
    The offworlder's body was so perfect that he looked plastic, like he was some mannequin come to life. He was definitely watching me now, our eyes meeting uncomfortably. He held up his goblet in a long-distance toast. I toasted back, taking another sip of brandy that tasted like it came from a can. I set my goblet down on the rack, wondering if they'd used real blood to stain its surface.
    The offworlder came walking over with his powder white skin and his inky black hair. He was wearing pressed black pants with a billowy white shirt and a black cape that left him looking two fangs from a vampire. He gave the back of Liz's hand a little peck and slipped into the chair next to hers. He held his hand out for a shake, and I brandished my shaking splinted right.
    “My,” he said as he took his hand back, “looks like you had a bit of an accident.”
    “Something like that,” I responded.
    “I'm Horst Jeffers,” he said with a barely noticeable offworld accent.
    “Juno Mozambe.”
    “It's nice to meet you, Mr. Mozambe. I hope I'm not intruding. I just saw you and Liz talking, and I thought I'd introduce myself. So tell me, what is it that you do, Mr. Mozambe?”
    “I'm between gigs.” An uncomfortable silence followed as he waited for me to elaborate. I didn't. Instead, I turned the question back on him. “How about you?”
    “I'm a businessman,” he responded, matching my ambiguity with some ambiguity of his own.
    “What kind of business?”
    “I'm in tourism.”
    He was still being vague, but I let it drop.
    He turned to Liz and eyed her up and down. “You've really outdone yourself, sweetie. I just love this getup.”
    She accepted the complement with a coy smile.
    Sweetie? I thought she was Ian's sweetie. I asked, “How do you and Liz know each other?”
    “We run in the same circles, she and I. Over the years, we've gotten to know each other. Quite well, I might add.” He put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. Liz pecked his cheek in response.
    I remembered what Josephs had told me about her: a woman like that's not exclusive.
    I took a sip of my brandy and must've made a face because he said, “Tastes awful, doesn't it?”
    “Like shit.”
    “Don't you love this place?”
    I took a look around the room. “Not bad, I guess.”
    “No, not Roby's,” he said. “I mean