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"Get my weekly out. See if Rooster's got any last-minute additions, then you two can go home as soon as I'm done with my last appointment."
"Thank you, Mister Moyo," she said.
"Rooster!" Moyo yelled.
Rooster appeared quickly enough. "Take these gentlemen down to the owner's box. We have much inventory on hand?"
"New? Five or six girls at the most," Rooster said. "Sorry, Mister Jacksonville, a year ago we had half of Arkansas in here. At this rate there won't be another auction for some weeks."
"You can buy out of my joints, if you want, Jacksonville," Moyo said. "I've got a couple older gals who aren't half-bad managers, too. If the price is right you could hire one or two away from me."
"I appreciate your generosity," Valentine said, shifting his foot slightly.
Moyo put down his cigar again in the same wet groove. "Liquor in the box is on me, alright? Cots, you staying?"
"I need to see about my weekend shifts, and monthlies," Cotswald said. "Line In is piping the Sourbellies from Beal Street athenaeum tonight; thought I'd tune in."
"More ice for us, then," Moyo said, coming around the desk to shake hands again. "Rooster, take Stu down to the box and get him set up. Unless you want a quick look at the inventory?"
Valentine hated to think of the faces. "No, I'll check out your games. And your bar."
"Be down in an hour or so. I've got to go up and do my own reporting." Moyo inclined his head toward the barred corridor.
"You actually go up?" Valentine asked; no pretense was required for his incredulity.
"Just to an audience blister. You ever been in one?"
"No," Valentine said.
Moyo lost a little of his bristle. "My predecessor used to rub lemon zest inside his nostrils to keep out the smell. But it's the walls that get to me. That paste they use, it sucks water out of the outside air somehow. Everything on the inside's wet and dripping. When a big drop hits your shoulder . . . well, you jump. Feels like someone tapping you."
Valentine broke the silence that followed. "See you for a drink later, then."
"Sure. Whoa there, Stu, you missing something?"
"What's that?" Valentine asked.
"Looks like you dropped your roll." Moyo pointed. "It's right under the desk there."
There goes the excuse to come back up here . . . "Must have fallen out when I reached for my coin," Valentine said, flushing. "That would have been a pisser; that's my walking-around money." Valentine retrieved the bills he'd nudged under the desk moments ago.
"I'll forgo the ten percent finder's fee," Moyo said. "Rooster, give me the latest transport figures with destinations, then send in that ass Peckinsnow on your way out, would you?"
* * * *
Valentine slipped the brass ring to Cotswald on the way out as Rooster collected his carryall from his desk. Valentine wondered how long it would take him to have it "checked out." While a brass ring meant little to a Kurian or one of their Reapers if it wasn't on the actual owner's finger, it was still a powerful totem when waved in front of the groundlings. Valentine just had to hope the circumstances of the ring's loss were not so well known as to have everyone connected to it, including Stu Jacksonville, immediately rounded up for the Reapers.
"If you're into music, maybe you can show me around Beale Street tomorrow," Valentine said.
Valentine watched Cotswald touch the ring in his pocket, fingering it like an exploring teenager. "Sure," he said absently.
"You'll find that little thank-you-what did Mister Moyo say, 'finder's fee?'-useful if you ever get down my way," Valentine said.
"I'll have to do that before long," Cotswald said. Valentine felt sorry for the dreamy look in the man's eyes. Did confidence men ever feel guilty as they took their marks?
Valentine and Rooster exited on the "showcase" level. Cotswald continued down in the elevator.
Fresh paint covered the structural concrete here, and the lighting came from bulbs.
