“Had?”
“I think so, but they talk that tango hotel soldier shit. Your brother’s on it, whatever it was. On his way back.”
“Bet it’s the fucking statehouse,” she said, sitting down on the bed. “Do me.” Gesturing at the baking sugar crown.
“What are you going to do?”
“Go back. Try to raise some money. Have Burton call me there. Ash can put it through. If you can’t reach him, tell Macon.”
“Conner okay?”
“Easiest person there to understand. Okay’s probably stretching it.”
He ran a cold dab of saline across her forehead, lowered the crown into place. Helped her lie back.
She took a breath, closed her eyes.
52
Netherton stood in the entrance to the gallery. Flynne’s peripheral was seated on a bench, three meters away, back to him, apparently viewing Lev’s father’s two best Picassos. The sparring partner stood nearby, facing the doorway, hands in its trouser pockets. “Good distance right there,” it said.
“Yes,” said Netherton, who’d been about to step closer.
“This a museum?” asked the sparring partner.
“A private gallery,” Netherton said. “In a home.”
“They live in a museum?”
“They live with art,” Netherton said. “Though the man who actually owns it lives elsewhere.”
“Didn’t have so much art, he could live here,” it said. “As much space as that parking lot downstairs.”
“I’m Wilf Netherton.”
“Conner,” it said.
“If you have questions,” Netherton said, “I can try to answer them.”
“She said you fucked up,” it said.
“Who did?”
“Flynne. Said this was all happening because you fucked up.”
“It is, I suppose.”
“How?”
“I was less than professional. With a woman. One thing led to another.”
“Led to a lot.”
“I suppose it did-” said Netherton, forgetting and taking a step forward.
“Stop,” it said.
Netherton did. “Do you know Flynne very well?” he asked.
“High school,” it said. “Best friend’s sister. Smart. She’d have left, gone somewhere, hadn’t been for their mother.”
Netherton wondered if Flynne’s peripheral was taking in visual information, and if so, where it was going. Then it turned.
“Where are they?” Flynne asked. “Something’s happening. Need to talk to them. Now.”
“Ask him,” the peripheral said, meaning Netherton.
“Still in the kitchen,” Netherton said.
She stood, turned. “Got the money to buy the governor yet?”
“I imagine they already have quite a lot of money, on your end. It would be more a matter of finding a way to apply it.”
“Find them.” And she was out the door, headed for the kitchen. The sparring partner swept past him. Netherton followed, noting that it didn’t regard him as sufficient threat to not allow him to take up the rear.
“Good evening,” said Lowbeer, her voice unmistakable. In the entrance to the kitchen, with Lev and Ash. “And this would be Mr. Penske.”
“Problem back home,” Flynne said. “Shooting.”
“Who’s shooting whom?” Lowbeer asked.
“Just went back for a minute. Shots, on the property. Edward heard our guys talking, like they’d engaged somebody. What about buying that governor now?” This last to Lev.
“A matter of acquiring majority stakes in the two firms who most directly enabled his election,” Lev said. “Ossian is on it.”
“You’re understandably concerned,” said Lowbeer, to Flynne.
“My mother’s in the house. Nobody’s supposed to be able to get on the property. Had drones up.”
“Can you check on the situation there and report to us, please?” Lowbeer asked Ash. “We’ll be in that charming room upstairs. Unfortunately I’ve only a little time now, but I did want to meet Flynne in her peripheral-” She smiled. “And of course Mr. Penske. And I’ve a proposal. A course of action.”
Ash asked something, briskly, in yet another synthetic language. Listened to the reply they couldn’t hear. “Ossian’s on the phone, with Edward,” she said to Flynne. “The situation there is under control.”
“What about my mother?”
Ash asked a shorter question, in what was already a different language, listened. “She wasn’t disturbed. Your friend is with her.”
“Janice,” said Flynne, visibly relieved.
“If you’re satisfied for the moment,” Lowbeer said to Flynne, “please join us upstairs. You’re entirely central to my proposal. You’ll join us as well, Conner.”
Netherton saw the peripheral silently query Flynne, who nodded. “Don’t know shit about any of this,” it said, to Lowbeer.
“You’re boots on the ground, Mr. Penske, as we said in my youth,” Lowbeer said. “We’ll need that.”
“Never good news,” said the peripheral, though it didn’t seem particularly displeased.
“Lead the way then, Mr. Netherton,” said Lowbeer.
Netherton did, imagining, as he climbed the stairs, a better world, one in which a relaxing drink would be waiting in the sitting room.
53
Parts of Lev’s house, Flynne thought, climbing after Netherton, Lowbeer behind her, were really a lot like any house. The kitchen, for instance, smelled of bacon, even though it had a stove half the size of the Airstream. But then there was the art gallery, which looked to be most of the length of a football field. And the garage below that, and whatever might be further down. But these stairs were just stairs, wooden, polished, a long tongue of what she guessed was Turkish carpet up them, fastened with brass rods and fancy hooks. Looked walked on, like people lived here.
At a square landing, the stairs turned right, then ended on a hallway. Old-fashioned furniture, paintings and mirrors in big frames, incandescent bulbs, frosted glass. And Netherton, ahead of her, walking through open double doors, into the gold-trimmed forest green of the Hefty Mart Santa’s Headquarters display.
They always set it up in a window, just after Halloween. The holograms changed every year, but the room had been what she’d loved. This was better, realer, and she wondered why they’d do that, but now Lowbeer was guiding her in, hand on her shoulder, pulling out a chair for her at the long dark table. Dark green curtains hid tall windows. The others coming in behind them, Ash and Ossian and Lev, then Conner. Lev turned to close the doors, Conner watching him.
“Be seated, Mr. Murphy,” said Lowbeer, who was wearing a sort of mannish pantsuit. “You aren’t playing butler now.” Ossian took a seat across from Flynne, Ash beside him. Lowbeer sat in one of two tall green armchairs at the head of the table, Lev in the other. Conner lounged back against a dark green wall, beside something she thought was probably a sideboard, with a silver tray on it, and on that, one of those cut-glass bottles, with matching glasses. Netherton, still standing, seemed to be looking at that, but then he looked around, blinked, sat down beside Flynne.
“Delighted to see you,” Lev said, to Lowbeer.
“No solicitors evident,” she said. “Most cordial.”
“They haven’t been convinced that they’re entirely unnecessary, but they’ve agreed to be less obviously present.”
“More pleasant in any case,” Lowbeer said. She looked around at the rest of them. “I wish to propose a course of action.”
“Please,” said Lev.
“Thank you. Tuesday evening, in four days’ time, Daedra West hosts a gathering, the venue yet to be announced. Possibly one of the guildhalls. Her guest list, so far, is interesting.” She looked at Lev. “The Remembrancer himself may be there. Lesser faces from the City. We’ve been unable to determine even an ostensible purpose. I would suggest, Mr. Netherton,” and Flynne saw Netherton’s eyes narrow slightly, “that you might, in your way, be able to conjure up some sufficiently vivid rationale for an invitation.”
“For whom?” asked Netherton, beside Flynne. He sat close to the table, hunched forward, like someone holding cards.