Cobalt by Nathan Aldyne

selling to strangers, people who didn’t know his drugs were no good. That may have been why he was murdered—”
    There were gasps in several corners of the shop. Clarisse turned and smiled to everyone. “He wasn’t a close friend,” she assured them.
    â€œSomebody got hold of his bad MDA, or his bad coke, or his bad meth, and tried to get their money back, and so on and so forth. You found him, Daniel said?”
    â€œYes,” said Clarisse, and gave change for a ceramic clown nervously bought by an elderly woman in a puce blouse and matching synthetic pants.
    â€œIt must have been a terrible experience,” said the White Prince languidly. “I heard that you threw him over your shoulder and carried him to the courthouse. His hands were scraping the asphalt. I heard that at five A.M., it looked just like The Creature from the Black Lagoon , and the meat rack scattered when they saw you coming.”
    â€œIt wasn’t quite like that,” said Clarisse delicately. “Did Noah know Jeff King?”
    â€œThey knew each other, but they didn’t get along. Trouble in the past, I think.”
    â€œWhat kind of trouble?”
    â€œAsk Noah, I don’t know. I never ask questions about the past,” said the White Prince, tracing a recently manicured fingernail across his lower lip.

Chapter Thirteen

    W HEN VALENTINE WAS still setting up the register that Monday afternoon, he noted in the mirror that Terry O’Sullivan had sidled onto a stool just behind him. The time for polite discouragement had passed. Terry had come to Provincetown with the intention of staying only a week—from Saturday noon to Saturday noon. But when, after a week of being hounded, Valentine at last agreed to go with him to the Garden of Evil party, Terry had taken a room at the Boatslip for another two days. And now Valentine was dismayed to find Terry was exceeding even that extension.
    Valentine did not speak. He had once thought Terry O’Sullivan handsome: a compact well-defined body, dark features, short curly black hair and a full black mustache. But his polite pushiness during the week that they had lived in Noah’s compound and the absurdity of Terry’s assumption, on their first date no less, of some sort of relationship existing between them had effectively dissipated that attractiveness in Valentine’s mind.
    â€œDaniel, could I have my usual?” said Terry.
    â€œWhat’s your usual?” said Valentine.
    â€œYou know,” Terry replied, puzzled, “club soda and lime.”
    When it was set before him, Terry made no motion to pay. “That’s seventy-five cents,” said Valentine shortly.
    Embarrassed, Terry laid down the money. Valentine made change and then walked to the other end of the bar. He opened a New Yorker that was lying on the beer cooler and began to leaf through it.
    â€œDaniel,” Terry called, “come down here and talk to me.”
    Valentine slowly closed the magazine, and said pointedly, “I thought you were supposed to go back to Boston this morning?”
    â€œI was,” said Terry nervously. “I’ve got stacks of work on my desk, and they’re starting to call me. They can’t do without me,” he added with feeble pride. “But I don’t care. I’ve taken off two more days. I couldn’t leave Provincetown until you and I had gotten the chance to really talk. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Daniel, but I had to think it out first. But this is a perfect time now.” He glanced around; the only other person in the Throne and Scepter was the waiter sitting in the open doorway. He pretended not to listen to the conversation.
    Valentine waited.
    â€œReally talk , I mean,” Terry said in a low grave voice.
    â€œAll right,” said Valentine grimly. “But I’m going to warn you. You may get answers you’re not going to like.”
    There was a