Three paused, turned, and gently pushed Wren into her care.
“Keep to yourself in here. Clientele’s a mixed bag.”
“There isn’t a better place we can go?”
“Lotta connections run through here,” he answered, shaking his head. Then, after a moment, added, “And I need a drink.”
He pushed open the door, and the droning sound grew louder. Cass realized it was some fusion-style of music. And she wasn’t sure she liked it. She picked Wren up, and followed Three inside.
If Three had been worried about Cass getting them noticed, the fear seemed unfounded. As far as she could tell, no one in the place had even looked their way when they came in. The Samurai McGann was pretty clearly a bar of some kind, but beyond that it was tough to judge what exactly its business amounted to. There were tables, mostly occupied though not full, as well as hard-wire jacks and terminals for various transactions of questionable nature. Three found a booth off to one side of the place, and directed Cass and Wren in that direction. As she removed her pack and Wren’s and stashed them in a pile, Cass kept an eye on Three. He approached the bartender, had a brief conversation, and then came over and joined them. He slung his heavy pack onto the bench and dropped into the seat across from Cass.
“Where’s your drink?” she asked.
“Later. Gonna try to take care of some business first.”
Cass cradled Wren in her lap. His eyes were wide, drinking in the fresh assault on his senses, but he seemed to be in good spirits.
“Got any food here?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know you want it. Let’s see how things shake out first.”
Three was just turning to look back over his shoulder when there was a flash of motion. Three’s head went down, the muzzle of a jittergun pressed hard into the side of his face. He went still, and Cass’s heart stopped cold in her chest. It’d happened so fast.
Then, there was laughing. And the man with the gun was sitting at the table, grinning like a skull, and Three was half-smiling, shaking his head.
“Gettin’ slow in your advanced age there, Numbers,” the man said, apparently amused. “You get my letter?”
“No, Twitch. Still hasn’t come yet.”
An old, running joke apparently.
“Family man now?”
“Cass, her son Wren,” he said, motioning to each in turn. “Friends of mine.”
The man extended his hand, the stubby jittergun now safely in a holster he wore high on his belly, right next to its twin.
“jCharles,” he said. He was tall, thin, with sharp features. Quick movements, but precise, like he could start and stop at the exact point he wanted to, but move at top speed in between. Almost mechanical. Cass couldn’t help but wonder just how fast he could draw those jitters.
Cass shook his hand, as did Wren when it was offered.
“How long you in for?” jCharles asked, apparently to Three, though he was still looking at Cass.
“No longer than we have to be. We need some things.”
jCharles nodded, checked over his shoulder to the bar, and made some vague motions. The bartender nodded. jCharles turned back to Cass, smiled.
“My place. If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve cleaned up a bit.”
“What’s the word on q-dose?” Three asked.
Straight to business.
“Tabs or jector?”
Three looked to Cass, prompted her.
“Tabs.”
“No worries. Couple hours maybe.”
“And how about these?”
Three placed a closed fist on the table, opened it slowly. jCharles swept whatever it was into his hand, swift as a magician. He smiled and winked at Cass again.
“Spatz¸ brother. Thirties?” he said. Then grimaced, glanced at Wren, then back at Cass. “Sorry, I have a filthy mouth.”
Then to Three, slipping the item back to him. Cass figured it was an empty shell from Three’s pistol.
“I don’t think I can help you there. Eighteens I can do pretty easy. Maybe a couple twenty-fours at best.”
Three nodded, seemed to be expecting that. Cass suddenly felt a pang of guilt over her reckless firing outside the Vault, and wondered just how precious a resource she’d wasted. Far more than she’d realized, that much was certain.
The bartender swung by and dropped off four beverages. Three small mugs of a golden-brown viscous liquid for the adults, and something aqua and fizzy for Wren. It smelled vaguely fruity.
“Can I try it?” he whispered.
“Sure, baby.”
Wren leaned forward, and sipped out of the straw. His eyes lit up almost immediately.
“Good, huh?” jCharles said. “Made that one up myself.”
Wren nodded, and then sat back against Cass. Shyness setting in. Probably exhausted.
“And the big favor,” Three said.
“Yeah?”
“We need on the train.”
jCharles actually looked stunned by that. He let out a low whistle. “That’s quite a shopping list, brother.” He shook his head. “I can try to arrange a meeting, but that’s about the best I can do. Afraid you’re gonna have to talk to Bonefolder yourself for that one.”
“You can arrange it?”
“I said I can try to arrange it. No promises.”
“Try hard. It’s important.”
“Yeah, I’d guess so,” jCharles glanced at Cass and Wren again. A different look in his eye now. “Where you stayin’?”
“Nowhere yet,” Three answered. “Just rolled in.”
“Alright, I’ll set you up,” said jCharles. He swept up his mug, downed the contents, and then slammed it on the table as he stood. He moved like an animation skipping frames. “Drop upstairs if you want, Mol’s in. I got some business to attend to this afternoon.”
Three nodded, waved slightly, and jCharles was gone. Cass waited for Three to elaborate, but of course he didn’t. Finally, she prompted him.
“So… Bonefolder? That doesn’t sound like something we want to do.”
Three just nodded. Took a sip of his drink, grimaced, shook his head.
“Sit tight for a sec. I’m gonna go see Mol, let her know we’re here.” He stood, scanned the bar. Then added, “And do not chug that.”
Cass and Wren sat silently, Wren occasionally leaning forward to sip his drink. The Samurai McGann was a busy place, people coming and going, but mostly minding their own business. So it was strange when Cass saw the man by the door, staring at them. She didn’t recognize him, and he looked away quickly. Though there was something vaguely familiar about his eyes. As he walked out, she noticed he walked with a limp, but thought nothing more of it. It wouldn’t be until much later that she would place him.
Nineteen
Three climbed the back staircase with heavy steps. Weary. Far more so than he felt he should’ve been. He was used to being the one on the hunt, not the other way around. It was a slow burn, never being able to rest, never feeling safe; it was beginning to take its toll. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this fatigued. The guards at the gate… he shook his head. Losing his edge, when he needed it most. And he wasn’t sure when he’d get it back.
He hoped he’d get it back.
The stairwell was poorly lit, and its corridor was so narrow Three had to twist his torso to keep his shoulders from rubbing the walls on either side. An iron door stood guard at the top, painted over with some kind of pale green rubberized coating. There was no landing. The stairs just dead-ended at the base of the door. Three stood on the last step, gathered himself. Mol was in there. Always tough to see her.