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Rooster had his arm gently touching her elbow. "Of course it's not your fault, Yayella. It's going to take a while for the reversals in Texas to be overcome." He guided her down the hall toward the elevators and Valentine followed the thread of the conversation by hardening his hearing. "We'll redirect traffic through New Orleans and coastal craft can get it to Houston. The deposits will arrive a little seasick, but they'll be safer."
Rooster glided back into the foyer. "We're next," Cotswald said, and the security guard nodded.
Moyo's office filled the entire east side of the Pyramid. Sloping glass looked out over Memphis' few remaining high-rise buildings and the gold-lit blocks of the former children's hospital in the distance.
Except for the striking slope to the glass, the office didn't look like a pimp's digs, full of exotic animal furs and silver barware, or a rail baron's throne room of oak and brass. Valentine was expecting some combination of the two. Instead Moyo's office seemed to be modeled on a small-town sheriffs: there was a battered wooden desk with a compact, easel-like computer on it, and a not-quite-matching credenza against a dividing wall next to the desk. A few tube-steel chairs were placed around the room, one opposite the desk and more against the walls. On the other side of the divider was a kitchenette where brewed coffee sat on a hot plate, a locked gun case, and dozens of aluminum file cabinets. The most esoteric features were fancy drop-lighting fixtures, throwing puddles of gold on the red carpeting and lending a warm tone to the room. The only personal touch was a curio cabinet filled with toy trains.
Two professionally dressed women played cards on a newsprint-covered table at the corner window. One had a diplomat bag with a laptop poking out of it, the other kept an old-fashioned steno pad at her elbow.
Opposite the women a corridor, complete with a steel-barred door better than anything Valentine had seen at the Nut, led to a darkened hallway that looked as though it went to the center of the Pyramid.
Moyo flicked off the computer screen as they entered.
Valentine thought Moyo had the junkyard-dog features of a man who bit down and kissed up, on the downslope of forty. A cigar that looked like it came with the desk protruded from the corner of his mouth.
"Mister Cotswald has a new associate, a buyer up from Florida," Rooster explained. "This is Stu Jacksonville."
"Jacksonville. Gene Moyo. Pleased." Moyo didn't look pleased, but placed the cigar carefully at the edge of the desk and came around the edge to shake hands. His hand felt like a wrench wrapped in desert leather. "Christ, Roo, at this rate I'm never getting down to the games. There's supposed to be a good match tonight."
"We won't be long," Cotswald said. "Just need a few permissions to look over your current inventory."
"Roo, call down to the box and tell them to hold dinner. Well, siddown, you two. Make it fast."
They pulled chairs as Rooster left.
Valentine wanted a look around the office, but didn't see how he could in his present circumstances. He surreptitiously felt around in his pocket.
"What's your line, Jacksonville? Pro or amateur?"
Valentine hazarded a guess. "My official title's Provisional Leisure and Entertainment Director. The port's growing."
Moyo put the cigar back in his mouth. "Learn something useful, son. No one with a title like that rises."
"It's a sinecure. I used to work coast security."
"Get the facial reconstruction doing that?"
"That would make a better story. It was an accident-I was careless with a rifle."
"What kind of numbers are you looking for?"
Valentine shifted in his seat to cover his hand's motion. "Thirty gals to start off. I'd like a seat at your auctions, too. I can see two, maybe three trips a year up here."
The cigar moved from the left side of Moyo's mouth to his right. "Payment?"
"Gold. I have enough for a substantial deposit."
"Let's see your color. Sorry, but you're a stranger to me."
Valentine placed a coin on the desk.
"Fort Knox mint. Very good."
"Mister Moyo, if you'd rather talk business at the game, I'm not averse to continuing negotiations down there."
"Anais!" Moyo barked over his shoulder.
The woman with the diplomat bag set down her cards. "Yes, Mister Moyo?"
