of action suggested." La Plante nodded sagely. "Former employees can be so, ah, vindictive, can't they?"
Sure, especially when you try to plant them in the harbor with their feet bound in a block of cement. No Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
one would have figured Kid Stealth would blow off his own legs to escape that little death trap, but he did and survived. When your time comes, the timekeeper will be wearing shiny new legs and will move faster than even you remember.
"You heard our offer. You get the Fujiwara shipment schedules for the next six months in return for the girl. We'll burn you a chip. We can do the exchange tonight."
La Plante's nonchalant expression remained rooted on his face. "You have a decker good enough to get into Fujiwara that quickly? We're talking layers of protection—psychotropic 1C, defensive and offensive knowbots, expert constructs, you name it. Enough ice to give anyone a case of terminal frostbite."
I smiled confidently. "This decker is so hot the only way to stop her is to dunk her in liquid nitrogen and hit her with a hammer. We'll get the schedule for you."
He hid his excitement at the offer well. "How do I know the data will be good?"
I sat up straight. "You have Dr. Raven's word on it."
Where Ronnie Killstar would have answered with some inane barb, La Plante just nodded. "Very well."
He leaned over and whispered something in the redhead's ear. As she reached over and picked up my mug, he spoke. "You've not tried your beer. I assure you it has not been tampered with."
She sipped and returned the mug to its place on the armrest. As she licked her lips I felt an urge to procreate, then counted to ten—no, fifteen—to regain control. "Sorry," I said, and smiled, "but after the Weed, drinking in here just wouldn't be the same. You understand." For her benefit I added, "Maybe another time . . ."
The door opened again. La Plante's chauffeur hovered by the door with my gun in hand. "Tonight, Mr.
Kies, at warehouse building 18b, on the docks. We will give you the southern and western approaches. I would prefer this to be an intimate gathering."
"My feelings exactly. You bring a dozen of your grunges and I'll consider it even." I succeeded in getting myself perched on the edge of the seat. "And leave Ronnie at home . .."
La Plante waved my last remark off with a silvery flourish of his right hand. "Do not concern yourself with him. He has been assigned new duty. He'll be feeding fish for the foreseeable future."
The Chauffeur handed me the pistol, then swung the door shut. I smiled at him and his plastic mask of servitude cracked. "Someday, Wolf, it will come down to you and me. I'll make it quick. I want you to know that."
I met his mirror-eyed stare with my number two nasty glare. "Good, I like that. If a fight goes on too long, the blood stains set and then you can never get them out. . ."
His plastic mask back in place, he turned and walked away. Though every olfactory nerve ending in my nose protested mightily, I reentered the Weed. My beer still waited on the table, but Ronnie Killstar and the Wonton boys had vanished. I waited and sniffed, but I couldn't smell the mulch drippings that passed for Ronnie's cologne. Given how that stuff smells and sells, the Weed here could bottle its mop sloppings and make a fortune. I shook my head. Never happen — they'd actually have to mop this place.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Instead of returning to my table, I walked over to the jacktables. I pulled the bug from inside my jacket and tossed it on the black woman's deck. "Did you get it all?"
Valerie Valkyrie, Raven's newest aide, gave me a smile that made me forget La Plante's taste-tester.
"Everything, including your pulse rate and blood pressure when she sucked on your beer."
I felt the burn of a blush sweeping across my face, and it grew hotter as it pulled a giggle from her
Sure, especially when you try to plant them in the harbor with their feet bound in a block of cement. No Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
one would have figured Kid Stealth would blow off his own legs to escape that little death trap, but he did and survived. When your time comes, the timekeeper will be wearing shiny new legs and will move faster than even you remember.
"You heard our offer. You get the Fujiwara shipment schedules for the next six months in return for the girl. We'll burn you a chip. We can do the exchange tonight."
La Plante's nonchalant expression remained rooted on his face. "You have a decker good enough to get into Fujiwara that quickly? We're talking layers of protection—psychotropic 1C, defensive and offensive knowbots, expert constructs, you name it. Enough ice to give anyone a case of terminal frostbite."
I smiled confidently. "This decker is so hot the only way to stop her is to dunk her in liquid nitrogen and hit her with a hammer. We'll get the schedule for you."
He hid his excitement at the offer well. "How do I know the data will be good?"
I sat up straight. "You have Dr. Raven's word on it."
Where Ronnie Killstar would have answered with some inane barb, La Plante just nodded. "Very well."
He leaned over and whispered something in the redhead's ear. As she reached over and picked up my mug, he spoke. "You've not tried your beer. I assure you it has not been tampered with."
She sipped and returned the mug to its place on the armrest. As she licked her lips I felt an urge to procreate, then counted to ten—no, fifteen—to regain control. "Sorry," I said, and smiled, "but after the Weed, drinking in here just wouldn't be the same. You understand." For her benefit I added, "Maybe another time . . ."
The door opened again. La Plante's chauffeur hovered by the door with my gun in hand. "Tonight, Mr.
Kies, at warehouse building 18b, on the docks. We will give you the southern and western approaches. I would prefer this to be an intimate gathering."
"My feelings exactly. You bring a dozen of your grunges and I'll consider it even." I succeeded in getting myself perched on the edge of the seat. "And leave Ronnie at home . .."
La Plante waved my last remark off with a silvery flourish of his right hand. "Do not concern yourself with him. He has been assigned new duty. He'll be feeding fish for the foreseeable future."
The Chauffeur handed me the pistol, then swung the door shut. I smiled at him and his plastic mask of servitude cracked. "Someday, Wolf, it will come down to you and me. I'll make it quick. I want you to know that."
I met his mirror-eyed stare with my number two nasty glare. "Good, I like that. If a fight goes on too long, the blood stains set and then you can never get them out. . ."
His plastic mask back in place, he turned and walked away. Though every olfactory nerve ending in my nose protested mightily, I reentered the Weed. My beer still waited on the table, but Ronnie Killstar and the Wonton boys had vanished. I waited and sniffed, but I couldn't smell the mulch drippings that passed for Ronnie's cologne. Given how that stuff smells and sells, the Weed here could bottle its mop sloppings and make a fortune. I shook my head. Never happen — they'd actually have to mop this place.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Instead of returning to my table, I walked over to the jacktables. I pulled the bug from inside my jacket and tossed it on the black woman's deck. "Did you get it all?"
Valerie Valkyrie, Raven's newest aide, gave me a smile that made me forget La Plante's taste-tester.
"Everything, including your pulse rate and blood pressure when she sucked on your beer."
I felt the burn of a blush sweeping across my face, and it grew hotter as it pulled a giggle from her
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