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A faint cheer erupted from the arena as they walked the concourse toward the elevators.
"Fifteen-minute call for motorcycle jousting," a pleasant southern-belle drawl announced over the loudspeakers. "A reminder: The Jackson Rangers have gone all of July undefeated. Last year's finalists, Indianapolis Power, will challenge tonight. Ten minutes remain to get your bets in."
They shouldered past a group of off-duty soldiers extracting money from their socks and hats, and stepped into the line at the elevator.
"Destination?" a red-jacketed security man asked as he walked up to their place in the line. He had a bald head and the smooth-but-unenergetic manner of a headwaiter.
"Moyo's office," Cotswald said.
"You have an appointment, Mr. Cotswald?"
"Yes, we do. I made it through Anais."
The security man flipped through a three-ring binder. "Cotswald and Jacksonville. VIP visitor. Very good, sir." Two guards looked them up and down. "If I could just have you take off your coat, Mr. Cotswald," the security man said.
"Of course." Cotswald removed his coat and turned in a circle.
"Thank you. Excuse me, Mr. Jacksonville," the man said. "Step out of line and extend your arms, please."
Valentine submitted to a pat down from one of the guards. They extracted the folding knife. "I'm sorry, sir, no blades whatsoever," the supervisor said. He placed it in a gridwork of cubbyholes like a mail sorter and gave Valentine a numbered chit, and each of them got red plastic badges on lanyards.
"Please wear these around your necks at all times, especially when upstairs," the supervisor said. "Gordon will take you up."
They rode in silence. Gordon advised them to watch their step when the doors opened. Valentine made a move to tip him but Cotswald shook his head.
They exited the elevator, went down a short hallway lined with paintings of irises and turned, then passed into a wood-paneled foyer. A red-blazered security man holding another binder waited on a chair. A man with the most neatly trimmed hair and nails Valentine had ever seen smiled from his wooden desk at a nexus of hallways.
"Mr. Cotswald, how are you tonight?" Asian eyes that reminded Valentine of a picture of his grandmother crinkled in a friendly fashion.
"Keeping busy," Cotswald said.
"And this is?"
"Stu Jacksonville, Leisure and Entertaiment from the Gulf. This is Rooster. Stu's looking to upgrade his inventory."
"Excellent, just excellent," Rooster said. "You're wondering about the name. It's from my days looking for new talent in the rail yards. My hair used to stick up on top."
"Gotcha," Valentine said.
A voice shouted from behind leather-padded doors. "Christ on a popsicle stick, you're a fuckup. Rooster, I've got another ass that needs kicking in here!"
"Mister Moyo's having trouble with the lines up from Texas," Rooster explained. "Please excuse me. Won't you have a seat?"
"Oh, quit crying, you twatl" the same voice yelled. "Stuff the excuses!"
Rooster picked up a leather folio and passed through the double leather doors.
"I hate when he gets worked up," the security man said. "You want to go next?"
"You've got bad news too, I take it?" Cotswald asked, perhaps hoping for a piece of stray information he could sell to Everready.
"Desertions. Not of our people; the Memphis clowns. City Guard commander says we've got to start using our forces for exterior security as well as internal until they can get back up to strength. That means busting heads down in the commons, and no one much likes that."
"Maybe we should go first," Cotswald said. "Mr. Jacksonville is looking to spend a great deal of money."
"Then please, be my guest," the security man said.
One of the double doors opened again. A sullen-looking woman came out, holding the shoulder strap of her briefcase with both hands as though it were a lifeline in a hurricane.
