Camouflage

airport. It got into a cab and told the man to take him to the clock.
    It was a simple plan of action. Find a young American desperate enough to temporarily “lose” his wallet and passport and ticket out, in exchange for a lot of money. The kid wouldn’t find out until later that there was a little more than that involved.
    “The clock” is an early-twentieth-century tower in the center of town, the main landmark. The changeling paid off the cab and walked down Beach Road toward the harbor. It knew there were some seedy-looking bars about halfway to Aggie Grey’s, but it had never been inside one. “Rae Archer” wouldn’t have done that. Newt Martin definitely would.
    Bad Billy’s looked promising. Smelled right even from the sidewalk, spilled beer and stale cigarette smoke. Loud rap music from twenty years ago. The changeling sidled in through a mass of people standing in the door, for the air,and went to the bar. There were only two other customers there, the rest of the clientele either shooting pool or sitting in clusters of folding chairs around small tables full of drinks, talking loudly in two languages. Its keen hearing picked up a third, a French couple away in a corner, whispering about the scene around them.
    One of the English conversations was about the strange goings-on at Aggie’s today. One of the Samoans had a friend in the police, and he said that he said it was an industrial espionage deal that had gone bad.
    Right, somebody said—shotguns and old Jackie Chan superspies. It was just a publicity gag for the movie.
    Wanting to draw attention, the changeling ordered a double martini. It had to explain what that meant, and wound up with a half-liter glass of cheap gin and ice with a quarter lime floating on top. (Having been a barmaid itself, it knew the smell of cheap gin. This stuff came in big plastic recycled soft-drink bottles from a distillery outside of town.)
    The flavor was interesting, reminiscent of the underwater taste of bilge and oil spill.
    An aromatic Samoan prostitute came over next to him. “What ya drinkin’?” She was still young but getting puffy.
    Put an egg in your shoe and beat it, the changeling thought. Chase yourself, get lost—working up through the decades—bug off, fuck off, haul ass, twist a braid, give air. Instead it said, “Martini. Want one?”
    “What I have to do for it?”
    “You’re not what I need.”
    She haunched up on the stool, short skirt casually revealing no underwear.
    “I know some guys . . .”
    “Not that.” The changeling got the barmaid’s attention; pointed a finger at its drink and then at the space in front of the girl. “You know where the drug action is?”
    “Oh, man.” She looked around. “Cops everywhere tonight. That thing at Aggie’s.”
    The barmaid brought the drink and the changeling made a show of riffling through the thick wad of bills to find a twenty. “I’ve been out of town. You see it?”
    “No, man, it was noon. I hadn’t got up yet.” She stared at the wallet until the mark put it away. “I could bring you anything you want. You shouldn’t be on the street, man, cops’re pickin’ up any palagi they don’t know.” White man.
    “Hold it here a minute.” The changeling went back to the men’s room, a single noisome stall, and sat in the dim light, changing slightly. It went back to the bar with the same features, but dark skin and black hair.
    “Now that’s somethin’.” She rubbed its cheek with her fingertip and looked at it. “How long it last?”
    “A day or two. So what happened at Aggie Grey’s, do you think?”
    “Say it looked like a stuntman thing. Some gunshots and then this guy crashes through a window, bounces off the whatcha-callit over the door—”
    “Awning?”
    “Yeah. Then runs like a bat outa hell across the street and the park and jumps in the harbor. Looks like he got his arm blown off, blood everywhere, but it don’t slow him down, like special effects.”
    “The movie people say anything about it?”
    “They say it’s not them, but you know, bullshit.”
    “Yeah. Drink up and let’s go.”
    “Where?”
    “Dope. Dealers.” The changeling drank off half the martini in one gulp. The girl tried, and went into a coughing fit. The barmaid brought some water and gave the changeling a sharp look.
    “Maybe that’s enough,” it said when the girl quieteddown and was breathing more or less normally. “Don’t know what they make this stuff out of,