ambush there. We’ll make sure we lose whatever eyes he has on us first, then go scope it out, let him know at the last minute.”
Eisfanger hands me a pair of chopsticks and pops open a lid. He looks a lot more nervous than Charlie does. “So he knows where we are? Right now?”
“Sure,” Charlie says. “We’re on his turf.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?”
“Worrying is counterproductive. I prefer to direct my energies toward maintaining a state of caution instead.”
I open the container Eisfanger hands me. Black bean chow mein, with the noodles nice and crispy. It smells heavenly.
“It might have a little chicken in it,” Eisfanger says. “I told them I wanted it vegetarian, but I don’t think they believed me.”
“I’ll pick it out,” I say. “And Damon, you should relax. The fact that he’s letting us control the meet is a good sign—it lessens the chance of being set up.”
Eisfanger nods, his mouth full of deep-fried something, but his eyes still hold some apprehension. “Maintain a state of caution,” he mumbles around his food. “Right. Good advice…”
FIVE
Shaking whoever’s tailing us is a good idea, but I decide to take it one step farther; after we’re done eating, we leave the DeSoto parked and give the guy at the front desk some cash to have our luggage delivered to another hotel, then slip out a fire door, down an alley, and walk a few blocks before hailing a cab.
“We’ll get the car later,” I say. “For now, better if he thinks he knows where we are.”
The new hotel, the Clarion, is even more run-down than the last one, but its security is just as good. Iron bars on the windows, too, though I’m not sure if that’s to keep prowlers out or the residents in. I don’t know if it’s possible for thropes or pires to kill themselves by jumping off a tall building, but living in surroundings like these could tempt one to try.
The Clarion clearly has more long-term residents than the Royal did, and quite a few of them are lems. A group of four playing cards around a table in the lobby stare at us curiously as we check in. I can hear music playing somewhere upstairs, something jazzy with a lot of sax in it. The clerk, a lem wearing a faded brown suit, his fingers thick and heavy with peeling gray duct tape, tells us that pets aren’t allowed and there’s no cooking of food in the rooms. He puts us on the fourth floor, and then tells us that the elevator is “currently disabled.” From the cracked and faded look of the sign taped to the doors, permanently seems a more accurate prognosis.
We haul our bags up to our respective rooms, which are smaller, dirtier, and more cheaply furnished than our previous ones. The bathroom is shared and at the end of the hall, but it seems in pretty good condition. Probably doesn’t get that much use.
We unpack and reconvene in my room. There’s only a single bed and one table with a chair; I take the chair, Eisfanger perches on the edge of the mattress, and Charlie stays on his feet. He tells us what he has in mind for the meet, and then we strategize.
When I feel we have a workable plan, I send Charlie back for the car. The Clarion has an underground lot, too, so we can stash it there without worrying about it being spotted from the street—but not right away. To add another level of security, Charlie’s going to meet us at a different spot, away from our base of operations, and we’ll proceed to the meet from there.
Eisfanger and I grab a cab. “Where to?” the driver grunts. He’s a lem wearing a slouch cap, which seems to be a universal constant for cabbies no matter what world you’re on.
“Someplace nice,” I say. “Scenic, but not too far from downtown. A restaurant.”
He thinks for a minute, then says, “You been to the Harbourview Tower? Helluva view, good restaurant. Little pricey.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say.
Harbourview Tower turns out to be the tall, Space-Needley thing I noticed on the
Eisfanger hands me a pair of chopsticks and pops open a lid. He looks a lot more nervous than Charlie does. “So he knows where we are? Right now?”
“Sure,” Charlie says. “We’re on his turf.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?”
“Worrying is counterproductive. I prefer to direct my energies toward maintaining a state of caution instead.”
I open the container Eisfanger hands me. Black bean chow mein, with the noodles nice and crispy. It smells heavenly.
“It might have a little chicken in it,” Eisfanger says. “I told them I wanted it vegetarian, but I don’t think they believed me.”
“I’ll pick it out,” I say. “And Damon, you should relax. The fact that he’s letting us control the meet is a good sign—it lessens the chance of being set up.”
Eisfanger nods, his mouth full of deep-fried something, but his eyes still hold some apprehension. “Maintain a state of caution,” he mumbles around his food. “Right. Good advice…”
FIVE
Shaking whoever’s tailing us is a good idea, but I decide to take it one step farther; after we’re done eating, we leave the DeSoto parked and give the guy at the front desk some cash to have our luggage delivered to another hotel, then slip out a fire door, down an alley, and walk a few blocks before hailing a cab.
“We’ll get the car later,” I say. “For now, better if he thinks he knows where we are.”
The new hotel, the Clarion, is even more run-down than the last one, but its security is just as good. Iron bars on the windows, too, though I’m not sure if that’s to keep prowlers out or the residents in. I don’t know if it’s possible for thropes or pires to kill themselves by jumping off a tall building, but living in surroundings like these could tempt one to try.
The Clarion clearly has more long-term residents than the Royal did, and quite a few of them are lems. A group of four playing cards around a table in the lobby stare at us curiously as we check in. I can hear music playing somewhere upstairs, something jazzy with a lot of sax in it. The clerk, a lem wearing a faded brown suit, his fingers thick and heavy with peeling gray duct tape, tells us that pets aren’t allowed and there’s no cooking of food in the rooms. He puts us on the fourth floor, and then tells us that the elevator is “currently disabled.” From the cracked and faded look of the sign taped to the doors, permanently seems a more accurate prognosis.
We haul our bags up to our respective rooms, which are smaller, dirtier, and more cheaply furnished than our previous ones. The bathroom is shared and at the end of the hall, but it seems in pretty good condition. Probably doesn’t get that much use.
We unpack and reconvene in my room. There’s only a single bed and one table with a chair; I take the chair, Eisfanger perches on the edge of the mattress, and Charlie stays on his feet. He tells us what he has in mind for the meet, and then we strategize.
When I feel we have a workable plan, I send Charlie back for the car. The Clarion has an underground lot, too, so we can stash it there without worrying about it being spotted from the street—but not right away. To add another level of security, Charlie’s going to meet us at a different spot, away from our base of operations, and we’ll proceed to the meet from there.
Eisfanger and I grab a cab. “Where to?” the driver grunts. He’s a lem wearing a slouch cap, which seems to be a universal constant for cabbies no matter what world you’re on.
“Someplace nice,” I say. “Scenic, but not too far from downtown. A restaurant.”
He thinks for a minute, then says, “You been to the Harbourview Tower? Helluva view, good restaurant. Little pricey.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say.
Harbourview Tower turns out to be the tall, Space-Needley thing I noticed on the
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