“What is the problem?” Doc Maggie asked. “I’m assuming you didn’t come down here just to offer me a job.”
“Actually,” Kris said, “you are the main reason we’re down here. Vicky really needs somebody she can trust.”
“But we do have other problems,” Jack put in.
“Such as?” Maggie asked.
“You wouldn’t happen to know of a new heavy-industrial plant anywhere nearby?” Kris said.
“Where they might be putting together 5-inch lasers to arm pirate ships,” Jack added.
“It would likely be near the bay,” Kris said. “Someplace where it is easy to load freight shuttles and not have a lot of people looking over their shoulders at the manifest.”
“There is an old plant that has gotten really active in the last couple of months, or so I’m told. They don’t have a very good safety program. I’ve had to mend several broken arms, legs, a caved-in chest,” Maggie said. “And every time someone gets brought in, they’ve got a rent-a-cop escort. Supposedly to look after them, but I always felt they were there more for the intimidation than the care.”
“Where is this place?” Jack asked.
“You’re heading for it,” Maggie said. “My bus passes it every day on the way home. But you won’t be able to get in there. There’s a tall fence and guards walking it.”
“That won’t be a problem for us,” Kris said. “Chief, Nelly, get ready to deploy your little friends.”
“Aye aye, ma’am,” and “Already there,” came back at Kris.
The truck chugged along in the slow lane. Traffic was getting thicker as the morning got seriously started. The sidewalks filled up with people in work clothes hurrying to wherever they had to be. The light ahead of them turned red just before they got there.
Jack braked to a halt.
A van pulled up beside them. A big car closed in behind. A motorcycle pulled up to Kris’s right, occupying the bike lane. The young woman, holding tight to her driver, glanced at Kris and smiled a good morning.
Two old ladies walked up to the corner and stood there, half in the street, ready to slow walk their way across as soon as the light changed.
The smiling girl produced a pistol at the same moment that a truck came to a screeching halt in front of them, totally blocking them in.
Jack slammed the truck into gear and started to floor it, yanking the wheel to the right.
“No, Jack!” Kris shouted, making a grab for the wheel even as she pulled out her service automatic. “You’ll run over the old ladies.”
A door slammed open on the van beside Jack, and three gunners with machine pistols showed themselves at the ready.
Behind Kris, Marines went for their weapons as they dropped down, taking advantage of whatever cover sacks of corn might give them.
That horrible second between shock and deadly action stretched.
A man stepped out from behind the truck in front of them. He wore light green slacks and a blue windbreaker. His hands were shoved deep into his pants pockets.
“I understand Kris Longknife is with you, amigos. I’d like to talk with her. I mean, if you wouldn’t mind not shooting anyone for a few minutes, I’d really like to pass a few words with her.”
23
Kris took a deep breath as she slowly reached for the door handle. Her automatic was in the other hand, pointed out, though not at anyone in particular.
She let the breath out slowly as the door creaked open. Kris did everything slowly as she tried to let her stomach . . . and her trigger finger . . . catch up. She’d been alert but confident, then suddenly switched to ready for deadly action. Now there was a guy standing there as casual as could be asking for a few words with Kris as nonchalantly as some girls asked for her autograph.
Kris’s neck was definitely putting in for whiplash compensation.
“Since you know my name, would you mind telling me yours?” Kris said as she put one foot on the pavement.
“Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m Manuel Artamus. My friends call me Mannie. I’m the mayor of Sevastopol. At least that’s what they’ve been calling me since all hell broke out a few months ago.”
“I think I’m glad to meet you,” Kris said, stepping away from the truck.
“Good,” Mannie said, then raised his voice just a bit. “Guys, gals, let’s put the guns away. It would be a shame for us to have an accident when things are going so well. Grandmama, you can go home now. I’ll have Danny take you and Aunt Reina back to your place. As you can see, things are going fine.”
“You be careful,” said the older of the two women Kris hadn’t let Jack run over. “She’s a Longknife, and you know you can’t trust them.”
“Danny, please,” said Mannie.
The passenger door opened in the car that had closed in their back, and a young man hurried over to help the two gray-haired ladies into the backseat of their ride.
“Guys, move the van. You’re losing me votes blocking rush-hour traffic,” Mannie said, and the van with the three gunners drove through the now-green light and pulled into Momma’s Diner across the intersection.
“Would you mind moving your truck to Momma’s?” Mannie asked Jack.
The Marine officer looked daggers at Kris, but she waved him on, and he went.
Mannie walked up to Kris and offered her a hand. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to genuflect or kiss your ring. I hope this will do.”
“I’m happy with any greeting that doesn’t involve small-arms fire or high explosives,” Kris said, giving and receiving a firm handshake.
Mannie casually pointed the way across the street. “Momma’s has some of the best coffee in Sevastopol. And her pies are something you just have to taste before you leave town. Fresh organic apples. Real butter. Honest to God honey. None of that fake sugar that you can never tell where it came from.”
He opened the diner’s door for Kris. If the food was half as good as the smell, he had not oversold the place. It was about half-full.
Jack, Abby, Doc Maggie, and Chief Beni occupied a round table down the left-hand side of the diner. Kris’s four Marines were at the next table up against the wall behind Jack. Mannie’s henchmen held down two tables behind a pair of vacant seats at Jack’s table.
No hardware was in sight. The people filling up the right-hand side of the diner went about their morning business.
“Well, don’t just stand there letting the flies in, Mannie. Sit a spell and take the weight off your feet,” a cheerful waitress of middle years yelled from where she was filling a coffeepot from a device that looked like only a rocket scientist could build it . . . or operate it.
Mannie waved back and led Kris to the vacant chairs at her people’s table. He held Kris’s chair for her while she sat, then held up two fingers. “Two more for this table, Kelly.”
“On their way,” the waitress shouted back.
“You come here often?” Kris said.
“It’s a good place for a morning staff meeting,” he said, settling into his seat.
Kris waited for the coffee to arrive, pie orders placed, and the waitress to withdraw before she said, “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”
Mannie folded his hands on the table and stared Kris straight in the eyes. “I understand this morning that you’re serving Miss Victoria Smythe-Peterwald as a kind of ambassador with limited portfolio.”
“I hadn’t thought of my job quite in that light,” Kris said, “but I can see where it kind of has that appearance.”
He nodded at Doc Maggie. “I have no problem with your contacting Dr. Rodriguez and offering her a job. I think we will all benefit from a Peterwald having an advisor who isn’t a bloodthirsty psycho.”
“I’m glad we can see eye to eye on that,” Kris agreed.