Read Online Sparks in Cosmic Dust by Robert Appleton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Appleton
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things like those to linger.
One-thirty arrived. Two o’clock. He’d guessed Varinia’s boss might protest over that large a sum, but they had signed a contract and shack-sheiks weren’t known for reneging on promises—their competition was too great, too well-informed. Maybe she’d had to wait for Delaney to return from a trip somewhere. What if his accountant had all the earnings figures and couldn’t be reached right away?
Or what if she’d run out on him?
Nah, she’ll be here.
At three-fifteen he leaped up and, convinced she must be in trouble, stormed over to her hotel.
The desk clerk flicked his ginger eyebrows up in recognition. He’d served Solomon four days ago when he’d handed him Varinia’s credit package, and they’d talked about the border terrorists’ shuttle bombing on the lower-tier launch pad. Crazy stuff, well over a thousand dead. Everyone had seen the fireworks.
“’Ello again,” the man said.
“Hello back. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Miss Wilcox, have you? She passed through here at all?”
“No, señor. I’ve been at the desk all afternoon, and the señorita hasn’t come in or out. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I don’t suppose she left a message last night? Or this morning? Password is blackjack. ”
“ Sí, señor. You don’t have to tell me. The señorita said I should help you with anything you need.”
Solomon’s pulse quickened, he inched his sweaty hand onto the desktop damp with detergent. “So where’s this message?”
“That was it. That I should help you with anything you require.”
“So there’s no actual message, as in a note in her post-box, or another package?”
The man double-checked her box—room number 39—then shook his head. “No, señor. Nothing today.”
Without acknowledging, Solomon took off for the staircase across the unmopped foyer. Litter had been swept against the walls, out of the way, but no one appeared to be shoveling it up. El Oso Negro wasn’t the dingiest dive he’d seen—there were several real suck-bait kip-holes on Kappa Max—but compared to Maggie’s palace, this seemed shockingly low-rent for a famous beauty like Varinia. Maybe that was the point—this was her hideout, the last place anyone would look for her.
He knocked at number 39. No reply. “Varinia, this is Solomon,” he shouted. “Varinia? Everything okay?”
Still no response. Getting angry, he stepped back against the emergency fire popper, one of those old extinguishers that sucked all nearby oxygen and flames into a vacuum sphere. He charged at the door, shoulder-first. It slammed open without breaking. It hadn’t been locked? One quick scan around the empty room pulled the plug on his heart.
Varinia had packed up and moved out.
But when? To where? Why hadn’t she left a message?
The word bitch clawed the tip of his tongue, but Solomon hesitated in spitting it out. He didn’t simply have strong feelings for her, he trusted her more than he’d trusted anyone in a long time. And this just didn’t smell right.
The only other place he could think of to try was the only one he dreaded returning to. But if the bastards at Delfin were behind this… shit, he was about to make powerful enemies. The kind that didn’t take kindly to…ringers like him.
“Hey, can you help me out?” Solomon asked one of the bouncers patrolling the high-priced block inside the Delfin. “I was in here last night—the premier cube—and I’ve lost my goddamn cufflinks. They’re very expensive silver studs. Can you help me out?”
The blond seven-footer stopped chewing, stared down at him. “You can’t be here ’less you ante up. Paying clients only. I tell you what, though—you go cool your heels at the front desk while I scan the prem.”
“Okay. Thanks. Appreciate it.”
The man grunted and waited for Solomon to leave the corridor. Soon as he was out of sight, Solomon returned the favor, his back to the wall, listening while
One-thirty arrived. Two o’clock. He’d guessed Varinia’s boss might protest over that large a sum, but they had signed a contract and shack-sheiks weren’t known for reneging on promises—their competition was too great, too well-informed. Maybe she’d had to wait for Delaney to return from a trip somewhere. What if his accountant had all the earnings figures and couldn’t be reached right away?
Or what if she’d run out on him?
Nah, she’ll be here.
At three-fifteen he leaped up and, convinced she must be in trouble, stormed over to her hotel.
The desk clerk flicked his ginger eyebrows up in recognition. He’d served Solomon four days ago when he’d handed him Varinia’s credit package, and they’d talked about the border terrorists’ shuttle bombing on the lower-tier launch pad. Crazy stuff, well over a thousand dead. Everyone had seen the fireworks.
“’Ello again,” the man said.
“Hello back. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Miss Wilcox, have you? She passed through here at all?”
“No, señor. I’ve been at the desk all afternoon, and the señorita hasn’t come in or out. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I don’t suppose she left a message last night? Or this morning? Password is blackjack. ”
“ Sí, señor. You don’t have to tell me. The señorita said I should help you with anything you need.”
Solomon’s pulse quickened, he inched his sweaty hand onto the desktop damp with detergent. “So where’s this message?”
“That was it. That I should help you with anything you require.”
“So there’s no actual message, as in a note in her post-box, or another package?”
The man double-checked her box—room number 39—then shook his head. “No, señor. Nothing today.”
Without acknowledging, Solomon took off for the staircase across the unmopped foyer. Litter had been swept against the walls, out of the way, but no one appeared to be shoveling it up. El Oso Negro wasn’t the dingiest dive he’d seen—there were several real suck-bait kip-holes on Kappa Max—but compared to Maggie’s palace, this seemed shockingly low-rent for a famous beauty like Varinia. Maybe that was the point—this was her hideout, the last place anyone would look for her.
He knocked at number 39. No reply. “Varinia, this is Solomon,” he shouted. “Varinia? Everything okay?”
Still no response. Getting angry, he stepped back against the emergency fire popper, one of those old extinguishers that sucked all nearby oxygen and flames into a vacuum sphere. He charged at the door, shoulder-first. It slammed open without breaking. It hadn’t been locked? One quick scan around the empty room pulled the plug on his heart.
Varinia had packed up and moved out.
But when? To where? Why hadn’t she left a message?
The word bitch clawed the tip of his tongue, but Solomon hesitated in spitting it out. He didn’t simply have strong feelings for her, he trusted her more than he’d trusted anyone in a long time. And this just didn’t smell right.
The only other place he could think of to try was the only one he dreaded returning to. But if the bastards at Delfin were behind this… shit, he was about to make powerful enemies. The kind that didn’t take kindly to…ringers like him.
“Hey, can you help me out?” Solomon asked one of the bouncers patrolling the high-priced block inside the Delfin. “I was in here last night—the premier cube—and I’ve lost my goddamn cufflinks. They’re very expensive silver studs. Can you help me out?”
The blond seven-footer stopped chewing, stared down at him. “You can’t be here ’less you ante up. Paying clients only. I tell you what, though—you go cool your heels at the front desk while I scan the prem.”
“Okay. Thanks. Appreciate it.”
The man grunted and waited for Solomon to leave the corridor. Soon as he was out of sight, Solomon returned the favor, his back to the wall, listening while
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