Reliquary

Suddenly the air was full of missiles: bottles, rocks, and dirt came pelting out of the darkness ahead of them, a rain of garbage. The officers ducked, pulling their shields up to protect their faces.

“Shit!” came a frantic cry. “Those bastards are throwing shit!”

“Is this necessary? I hate to talk about someone who isn’t around to defend himself.”

“That’s usually the best time.

D’Agosta looked at the strings in disbelief. “So this is art? Who looks at it?”

“It’s conceptual art,” Kirtsema explained impatiently. “Nobody looks at it. It’s not meant to be seen. It is sufficient that it exists

Deep within its oak fastness, Bill Smithback stepped up to the bar and ordered a Caol Ila without ice. Though he was for the most part uninterested in the club’s pedigree, he was very interested in its unique collection of specially imported scotch whisky. The single malt filled his mouth with the sensation of peat smoke and Loch nam Ban water.

A year earlier, after hearing about the promised promotion, he’d switched from Garcia y Vegas to Dunhills. Though the promotion had never materialized, D’Agosta hadn’t been able to convince himself to switch back.

ome. The Cloaca was so called because of its centuries-old accumulation of shit, toxic sludge, dead animals, and PCBs. A subway lumbered by above, shuddering and screeching. Beneath his feet the boat quivered, and the surface of the glistening thick water seemed to jiggle slightly, like gelatin that had begun to set.
“Okay, men,” he heard the Sergeant sa