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But how will they know me?
Babe.
That was it. That was all I got. I frowned at it.
Then I shrugged and put my phone away.
Rashid rejoined us. “It is called ‘Little Pig Mongolian Hot Pot’ he informed Louis-Cesare, who ignored him both because he didn’t care, and because our food had arrived.
It looked like the dim sum place was doing a bang-up business, and was churning the food out. They must have already had everything made; they’d just needed to dish it up. Which they’d done in traditional white to-go boxes, which Louis-Cesare handed around.
“What is this?” Rashid asked, holding up something from one of Bahram’s boxes.
“Fung Zao,” I said, my mouth full of barbequed pork.
“And that is what?”
“Good!” Bahram said, looking surprised. And dug into his feet.
A large, shiny, floating limo glided toward us, not bothering to dodge anything as we, and everyone else in the skies, had been doing. But then, it didn’t need to, as everybody gave it an extra wide birth. It reminded me of a shark cutting through the ocean and fish suddenly remembering somewhere else they needed to be.
Only it wasn’t a shark that decorated the face of the man who looked out of the back window, after it silently lowered.
I didn’t know him, but I knew that tat. A beautifully rendered tiger prowled across the cheek of a handsome Chinese guy in an expensive suit. The tat matched the one I’d put on before we landed, because Kitty was not only security in these parts; she was my calling card.
I held up an arm, and my own tiger growled a little at his, before the two recognized each other and settled down.
“Dorina Basarab,” the man said, and bowed his head slightly. “If you will come with me?”
The door was opened and a hand extended. I grabbed my buns and happily scuttled over. Louis-Cesare followed, despite not being asked, and got away with it because he always did; it was a talent.
But Rashid found the door closed in his face.
“What—we are with them!” he said indignantly.
My new guide popped an eyebrow worthy of Mircea. “I was told to pick up two senators. Are you a senator?”
“I—no, but—”
“Then you can follow us.”
“But—but—we don’t know how to drive this thing!”
“You were just saying you could do better,” Bahram said, around a mouthful of feet.
“I did not!”
“Yes, you did, just a minute ago—”
“Be quiet!” he was told.
He may have been told other things, as well, but I didn’t hear them. Because our ride was smoothly gliding across the skies, which seemed much less chaotic with tinted windows and soft music tinkling in the background. And champagne on offer.
“I left my beer,” I realized.
“Bahram will no doubt handle it,” Louis-Cesare said, accepting a glass of bubbles for us both.
I smiled and ate pork buns.
