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He leans forward and says, “So what’s the plan?”
“The plan is we go in and we get out ASAP. And why are you asking me? You’re Mr. Insider. What’s your plan for getting us to the ghost?”
“We’re going to have to deal with at least a couple of groups of crazies inside Kill City. Families and federacies.”
“What’s the difference?” says Traven.
“There are some intact old Sub Rosa families. Ones that have fallen so low they’re completely off the map. We’ll be meeting one of them when we get there. The Mangarms.”
I say, “Do they know we’re coming?”
“How would they?” says Delon.
“So, your plan is that we walk into their house and ask for a handout?”
Delon rustles a bag at his feet.
“I have shiny stones and beads to trade. Barter is very big in Kill City.”
“Are you sure the Mangarms know anything useful?”
“If they don’t they’ll know who we should talk to. In any case, they’re a good bunch to make nice with. They’re the family closest to the outside world, which keeps them vaguely civilized.”
“And how many uncivilized families will we be meeting?” says Candy.
“None if we get lucky. If we’re not, who knows?”
“What are the federacies you spoke of? Are they the uncivilized groups?” says Vidocq.
“Not necessarily, but they’re the ones most likely to be dangerous. They’re not families. More like dog packs. Random groups of down-and-out Sub Rosa, civilians, and Lurkers. The good thing is that they’re big on marking their territories, so if we keep our eyes open, we’ll be able to steer clear of them.”
“Luck is for suckers,” I say. “Keeping us out of crazy country is your number one job. If we have to take the long way around, fine. I don’t want to cage-fight a bunch of head cases where I don’t know the exits.”
“Understood,” says Delon. “I don’t want any close encounters either.”
“But we might have to meet them,” says Traven.
“It depends on where the ghost is hiding.”
“That means we might have to.”
“Yes.”
“Is there anyone here who doesn’t have a gun?” I say.
“I don’t,” says Traven.
“Do you want one?”
“No, thank you. You and Brigitte know guns. I’ll end up shooting myself in the foot.”
“Anyone else?”
“I don’t, but I have my own defenses,” says Vidocq.
Vidocq wears a custom greatcoat with dozens of pockets inside. Each pocket holds a potion he can toss like a mini-grenade at anything that needs its attitude adjusted.
“Good. What about you, Paul?”
