Micro Industry's Arc

Chapter 4 of 14

Silas passed the chief inspector's test, but the forged complaint still had a flaw. The unsigned noise complaint sat in the clerk's files. Any curious clerk could pull it, ask who filed it, and find no name behind it. One tug and his cover would unravel. He had to close that thread before someone else pulled it. He went back to the boarding house, coffee sloshing over his notepad, and found Amos Kettridge in the lobby. The blind clerk sat by the window, tapping his cane on the floor. His tattooed forearm rested on his knee like a filing drawer. Nearby, an old woman knitted in her chair, watching everything without seeming to. Silas had met her before. Marko celly never left that lobby, and nothing happened in this house without her ears catching it. "The complaint," Silas said low. "The one you filed for me. It's not signed. A clerk pulls it, sees no name, and the whole thing falls apart." Amos smiled. "You want it sealed." He tapped his arm twice. "For a dollar, I can attach a name. A real dock worker who's already dead six months. No one alive to deny it. The file closes clean." Silas set a dollar on the table. "Do it." Marko's needles clicked once and stopped. "A dead man's name on a live man's lie," she said, not looking up. "That's tidy work, Amos. But dead men keep records too." Silas turned to her. "Meaning?" "Meaning your dock worker filed a real complaint before he died," Marko said. "Different handwriting. Different ink. Put his name on Amos's paper, and the two won't match. A sharp clerk lays them side by side and sees the forgery plain." Silas's stomach dropped. He almost knocked his coffee again. She was right. He looked at Amos. "Is that true?" Amos went quiet. "I file. I don't compare hands. She has me there." Silas thought fast. "Then don't add a name. Pull the complaint. Destroy it. No paper, no thread." Amos shook his head. "Once filed, I can lose a page. But losing it leaves a gap in the log. A gap draws eyes." Marko's needles started again. "Or," she said, "you sign it yourself, Amos. Clerks file anonymous tips under their own hand all the time. Your name on it means nothing was hidden. The trail ends at a man who forgets nothing and answers to no one." Silas breathed out. It was clean. Amos considered, then nodded slow. He drew a pen from his vest and signed the paper by touch, letters steady down the line. "It's mine now," Amos said. "No loose end." Silas pocketed his notepad, relief loosening his chest. The complaint was sealed. His cover would hold. He stepped toward the door. Marko spoke to his back. "Willa Wroth came asking this morning too. About that same paper. She's still waiting for her answer, Inspector. And she won't take a signature."