He continued walking, came to a grubby bar, and entered it. He studied the faces he found there. These weren't the hard men who traveled the Frontier, living by their wits and their skills. These men weren't traveling anywhere, and such skills as they had once possessed were long gone. You're the bottom of the food chain. There will be too many connections between you and the man I'm after.
He turned and left, ignoring the catcalls that followed him, then began looking into store windows until he found one that sold formal wear. He went in, purchased the finest outfit they had, waited while the robot tailor shortened the sleeves and took in the waist, then returned to his hotel and napped until dinnertime.
Then he donned the formal outfit, changed some of his larger bills at the hotel desk so that his roll of money would look even bigger, and had the desk clerk direct him to the most expensive restaurant in Snakepit. He wasn't very hungry, and found the food mediocre and overpriced, but he stayed long enough to be seen by a goodly number of people. Then, after he paid his bill with cash, flashing his huge roll of the money, he went off to the Golden Flush, the most expensive casino in town.
He made quite a production of peeling bills off his roll to bet at the craps table, broke even after half an hour, then wandered over to the jabob table (the one alien game that had taken hold on the Frontier's casinos), and dropped a quick fifty thousand credits.
Next he went to the men's room, ostensibly to rinse his face off, actually because it was the most private spot in the casino and the one where he was most likely to be approached. And sure enough, a blond man with almost colorless blue eyes followed him in.
"I saw you at the tables," he said.
There was a long silence. Dante wasn't going to make it any easier on the man. He'd sell harder if Dante offered him no encouragement.
He hadn't asked any questions, so Dante offered no reply.
"You look like a man with money to spend," continued the man. "You ever spend it on anything besides the tables?"
"From time to time," replied Dante.
"How about tonight?"
Dante finished wiping off face, then turned to the blond man. "The only thing I buy is seed, and I don't buy it from flunkies."
"I'm no flunky!" said the man angrily.
"Bullshit," said Dante. "I can smell a flunky a mile off. You go tell your boss I'll make a buy, but only from him."
The man seemed to be considering his answer, and whether to admit that he even had a boss. Finally he said: "He doesn't deal with the customers."
Dante pulled his wad out. "I've got two million credits here. I have another million Maria Theresa dollars back on my ship. I'm going to spend it on seed. Now, I can spend it with your boss, or I can buy it from someone else, it makes no difference to me." He paused. "But it'll make a difference to you, because I'll pass the word that you're the reason I went elsewhere."
"Maybe I'll just kill you and take your money," said the man menacingly as he stepped closer and loomed over the much smaller Dante.
"Just how dumb do you think I am?" said Dante, allowing his contempt to creep into his voice. "See this diamond stickpin I'm wearing? It's a miniaturized holo camera. Your face, your voiceprint, everything you've said since you came in here are already in half a dozen computers."
It was a lie, but told with utter conviction, and the blond man hesitated uneasily. "Why should I believe you?" he demanded.
"Because we're alone in a bathroom on your turf, and if it wasn't true I'd be inviting you to blow me away. Is everyone in your organization as stupid as you?"
"You call me stupid once more and I'll kill you, camera or no camera!" snarled the blond man.
Don't push it too hard. These guys shoot first and ask questions later.
"Okay, we're at an impasse. I've got millions to spend, your boss has millions to unload. You know I won't deal with anyone else. Do you take me to him, or do I spend my money somewhere else? It's getting late; I need a decision."
The blond man frowned. Finally he said: "It may take a while to reach him."
"That's not my problem. All he has to know is that my name is Dante Alighieri, and I'm staying at the Cheshire Hotel. He can find me there." He walked to the door, then turned back to the man. "I'm leaving in the morning. If I don't hear from him by then, I won't be back."
He walked out of the men's room without waiting for a reply, kept walking past the bar and tables of the Golden Flush, and didn't stop until he reached his suite at the Cheshire a few minutes later. Then he considered his situation. By now they'd checked out his identity and his ship's registration. They wouldn't be able to find out where he got his money, but they'd be able to assure themselves that he was who he said he was, that he wasn't a Democracy undercover agent. It would take a few hours for the man to round up some muscle and come to the hotel. He had time to get out of his uncomfortable formal outfit, take a quick Dryshower, and get into his regular clothes.
He finished dressing and had spent the next two hours hovering a few inches above the floor on a form-adapt chair, staring out his window at the city, watching the artificial lights play on the rough underground walls, when the Spy-Eye alerted him that he had visitors and showed him holographs of the seven humans who were standing at the door to the suite. He ordered it to open, then had his chair turn until he was facing his visitors.
The muscle entered first. What surprised him was that the muscle that seemed to be in charge were both women. They were hard-featured, hard-muscled, hard-eyed, and heavily armed, one with long auburn hair, the other with short blonde hair, otherwise almost identical. They and the four men spread out and began searching the suite, examining it for hidden microphones, hidden cameras, hidden killers. Finally, satisfied, they stood aside and a stocky man entered with them. He was dressed in colorful silks and satins out of a previous, more spectacular galactic era, and he wore a hat with a huge feather in it, which he soon took off, revealing a colorfully-tattooed bald head.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said, showing no inclination to offer an exquisitely-gloved hand. "I am known as the Candy Man."
"Pleased to meet you," said Dante.
"Are you really?" asked the Candy Man. "In fact, why are you meeting me at all? You were told I don't deal directly with the customers."
"And I told your man I don't deal with flunkies."
"Of course you do. Every single time."
"And yet here you are."
"You act like a rich, foolish man, Mr. Alighieri, and yet based on what my associate told me, you are not foolish at all. Since you seem to be pretending to be something you are not, I thought we should meet. I just happened to be on Alibaster today"—he stared hard at Dante—"or did you already know that?"
"All I know is that I came here to do buy some seed. How much can you supply?"
"Subtlety is not among your virtues, Mr. Alighieri," said the Candy Man. I'm glad you think so. I must be a better liar than even I thought.
"I'm in a hurry. Have you got any seed, or any I wasting my time?"
"I have more than you could use in half a dozen lifetimes," said the Candy Man.
"Prime?"
"The best."