Part 50 (1/2)
and here he spread his other hand, flat, palm down, on the dark wood, the drink-ringed varnish, ”I'll scream, okay? I don't know what any of this is about. You might be crazy. But what I most definitely am not is anybody's idea of a hero. I'm not now, and I wasn't back there in
L.A.”.
Blackwell and Yamazaki exchanged glances. Blackwell pursed his lips, gave a tiny nod. ”Good on you then,” he said. ”1 think you just might be right for the job.”
”No job,” Laney said, but let the bartender pour him a second bourbon. ”I don't want to hear about any job at all, not until I know who's hiring me.”
”I'm chief of security for Lo/Rez,” Blackwell said, ”and I owe that silly b.a.s.t.a.r.d my life. The last five of which I'd've pa.s.sed in the punitive bowels of the State of f.u.c.king Victoria. If it hadn't been for him. Though I'd've topped myself first, no fear.”
”The band? You're security for them?”
”Rydell spoke well of you, Mr. Laney.” Yamazaki's neck bobbed in the collar of his plaid s.h.i.+rt,
”I don't know Rydell,” Laney said. ”He was just the night watchman at a hotel I couldn't afford.”
”Rydell has a good sense of people, I think,” Yamazaki said.
To Blackwell: ”LoJRez? They're in trouble?”
”Rez,” Blackwell said. ”He says he's going to marry this j.a.p twist doesn't f.u.c.king exist! And he knows she doesn't, and says we've nof.u.c.king imagination! Now hear me,” and Blackwell produced, from some unspecific region of his clothing, a mirror-polished rectangle 72 William Gibson with a round hole through its uppermost, leading corner. Something not much larger than a cashcard, to see it in his big hand. ”Someone's got to our boy, hear? Got to him. Don't know how, don't know who. Though personally myself I'd bet on the f.u.c.king Kombinat. Those Russ b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, But you, my friend, you're going to do your nodal thing for us, on our Rez, and you are going to find flicking out. Who.” And the rectangle came down with a concise little thunk, to be left standing, crosswise to the counter's grain, and Laney saw that it was a very small meat cleaver, with round steel rivets through its tidy rosewood handle.
”And when you do,” Blackwell said, ”we shall sort them well and f.u.c.king out.”
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10. Whiskey Clone Eddie's club was way up in something like an offke building. Chia didn't think there were music clubs on the upper floors of buildings like that in Seattle, but she wasn't sure. She'd fallen asleep in the Graceland, and only woke up as Eddie was driving into a garage entrance, and then up into something vaguely like a Ferris wheel, or the cylinder of an old-fas.h.i.+oned revolver, except the bullets were cars. She watched out the windows as it swung them up and over, to stop at the top, where Eddie drove forward into a parking garage that might've been anywhere, except the cars were all big and black, though none as big as the Graceland.
”Come on up with us and freshen up, honey,” Maryalice said.
'You look wrecked.”
”I have to port,” Chia said. ”Find my friend I'm staying with..
”Easy enough,” Maryalice said, sliding across the velour and opening the door. Eddie got out the driver's side, taking the bag with the Nissan County sticker with him. He still didn't look very happy. Chia took her bag with her and followed Maryalice. They all got into an elevator. Eddie pressed his palm against a hand-shaped outline on the wall and said something in j.a.panese. The elevator said something back, then the door closed and they were going up. Fast, it felt like, but they just kept going.
Being in the elevator didn't seem to be improving Eddie's mood.
He had to stand right up close to Maryalice, and Chia could see a lit
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tie muscle working, in the hinge of his jaw, as he looked at her. Maryalice just looked right back at him.