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After a little bartering-Valentine had some difficulty with the man's accent-through Cotswald's offices they arranged for an old cabin cruiser at the rock-bottom price of four hundred dollars a week. In gold. One week in advance, and after the first day the second week had to be paid for or the rate would go to five hundred fifty dollars.
Valentine nodded at the terms. We'll be gone before then. Unless Duvalier. . .
Valentine sacrificed one of Everready's coins and got a pile of devalued Memphis scrip in return.
"Let me make sure those are Memphis bills," Cotswald said before Valentine could turn away. He thumbed through the wad. "Hold it, this fifty's in Atlanta dollars."
"Sorreh-suh," the rental agent slurred back.
Cotswald arranged the money and handed it to Valentine. "There's a couple of little markets inside the Pyramid. I wouldn't buy anything from the carts in the commons unless it's fruit or vegetables. They'll sell you dog and tell you it's veal. And don't buy the sausages unless you need stink-bait."
"Thank you."
"I have to attend to a few things in town. I'll be back tonight to show you around."
"Maybe not tonight. My security's not well. How about tomorrow night?"
"Even better. It'll be the weekend."
"Fuck it!" Duvalier barked.
Valentine took her arm. She flinched, but settled down when she saw who he was. "She doesn't like it when I fuss. C'mon, Red. Let's get you in the shade."
She still wasn't trembling. Valentine wished he had listened to old Doctor Jalenga from Second Regiment talk more about ravies. All he could remember is that when they started to spaz out the safest thing to do was shoot-
He'd agreed not to let her suffer-but now he wondered.
Cotswald followed them down the wharf, puffing: "Our arrangement. The-"
Valentine quickened his step, looking at the numbers painted on the cement alongside the moored houseboats. "You'll get it. Once you get me a tour of Moyo's setup."
"I need a chance ... to check out that ring . . . before you blow town."
"As soon as I'm in the Pyramid."
Number 28.5. This was their boat.
It looked like a frog sitting between two giant white tortoises. The two-level houseboats on either side of the spade-shaped cruiser looked as though they were using the craft as a fender. It had once been a dual-outboard, judging from the fixtures.
Cotswald shrugged. "It's a cabin."
A man who was mostly beer gut and sunglasses sat under an awning atop the port-side craft. "Yello, stranger," he offered.
"Hello back."
"You'll want to wash your bedding out good," their neighbor said. "Last time that cabin was used, it was by the president of the Ohio-Nebraska. He kept his bird dogs in there. They scratched a lot."
"I'll be back tomorrow," Cotswald said, perhaps fearing becoming part of a decontamination press-gang. Valentine nodded.
"Stu Jacksonville, Leisure and Entertainment," Valentine said. "Thanks for the tip."
"Forbes Abernathy. I'm a poor benighted refugee from Dallas, adrift in the world and drowning my sorrows in alcohol and Midway pussy. Or that's what the wife said before she took off with a Cincinnati general. Does this boat look adrift to you?"
Valentine threw the satchel down in the stern of his housing and helped Duvalier in. "Not in the least."
"Now, your putt-putt; a strong storm comes and you'll be blown downriver."
"Thanks for the warning." He tried the key in the padlock holding the doors to the front half of the cabin cruiser closed. After a little jiggling, it opened.
