Monkey on a Chain by Harlen Campbell

felt the same. Maybe he actually did remember the meeting, but I doubted that he remembered it with fondness.
    I parked in the long-term lot at the airport, as far away from the rest of the cars as possible. There was only one vehicle nearby, a late-model Cadillac Brougham. I left the automatic under the front seat and we walked in.
    When you suspect a man might have a reason to want you dead, an airport is a good place to meet him. There are plenty of people around, none of whom have the slightest interest in your business. And if you’re meeting by the gates, both you and he have to clear the metal detectors. No guns allowed, in other words.
    Only ticketed passengers are allowed in the gate area, so I bought two tickets to Las Vegas, just because they were cheap, and led April down the concourse. It took a few minutes to find the right lounge. Walker was waiting at the bar. It was like the last sixteen years had disappeared.
    He nodded when he saw me enter, then gave me a hard look when he realized I wasn’t alone. I ignored him and led April to a table away from the crowd around the television. Once we were seated, he carried his drink over and joined us.
    Johnny Walker was a black man, about my height, only twenty pounds or so lighter. In fact, he was almost too thin. But he’d always been that way. His suit was well tailored. He carried himself with a slight stoop. His hair was about half an inch long and going gray. It framed his narrow face like a halo.
    “Long time no see,” I told him.
    He grimaced and said, “What’s happening, Rainbow.”
    “You know the answer to that.”
    He looked April over carefully, then said, “I thought this was a business meeting.”
    “There’s business and then there’s business. She’s business.” I introduced them, told him who she was.
    “Ol’ Toker must have been pretty busy after I left,” Walker said. “Looks like he did pretty good work, too.”
    April gave him a faint smile.
    I told him she was adopted, one of the boat people from Hong Kong.
    “I still don’t like it. How much does she know?”
    “Some of it.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t like this at all,” he told me.
    “There’s no way to keep her out of it. Toker’s dead.”
    “So I heard.”
    “And there’s this.” I gestured vaguely at the bar, the airport. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
    He gave me a long, measuring look, then pulled his chair forward and leaned over the table. He spoke quietly. “Some questions first. Are you active in my town? You been checking up on me, maybe for old times’ sake?”
    I shook my head.
    “Roy, then. What about Roy?”
    “I haven’t seen him in years. I don’t know what he’s up to. I’m not even sure how to find him. All I have is a fifteen-year-old phone number.”
    “You found me. You could find him.”
    “You’ve got family,” I said. “You were kind of stuck here. Roy is different. You know that. What’s all this about?”
    He took a deep breath and lowered his voice again. He spoke directly to me, as though he wanted to exclude April. She sensed it and looked around the bar, pretending to ignore us, but I could tell she was listening.
    “I protect myself,” Walker said. “I keep my eyes and ears open, and I’ve got trip wires out, little signals that will let me know if someone is getting interested. Lately, a couple of them have gone off. There was a credit check when I didn’t apply for credit. The outfit that ran it doesn’t seem to exist. Someone has been investigating my properties, to see what I own and where it is. I don’t like it. I get nervous. And now you show up, like some kind of honky ghost, talking about dead men. I don’t like it at all.”
    “Something is happening,” I said. “More bad news out of the Republic. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think it was finished when Toker got wasted.” I told him how Toker died and what I’d found in April’s bedroom.
    He cursed.
    “There’s