"Where's he going now?" he heard Mick say.
"How the hell should I know?" Rick answered. "I ain't getting near him. I heard his puke can melt metal."
Gregg slithered down the narrow sewer inlet feet first. He pulled the lid over him. He hoped Bushorn understood, hoped he had the right day. That left only one small problem - how to get to Tomlin.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
The waiting was boring. When Ray got bored he had too much time to think, and now he had something to think about. He came back from the bathroom where he'd just taken his temperature (normaclass="underline" one hundred and three degrees) and spent a minute or two staring at his tongue (looked normal, but Ray wasn't sure; he'd never really looked closely at his tongue before). He seemed to be all right, but then Crypt Kicker seemed okay until he'd turned into a pile of shit right in front of Ray's eyes. This Black Trump stuff was maddening. And Ray had the feeling that he'd have to go face-to-face with it again. He didn't want to, that was for sure. He didn't know if he could. He'd never run away from anything in his life, but the Black Trump was like nothing he'd ever faced. Maybe he was better off chasing Hartmann than chasing death.
To get his mind off the Black Trump he looked at Harvest, who was sitting at the hotel room's tiny writing desk, reading the dossier Barnett had given them. Her silk-clad legs were crossed at the knee, her blond hair was attractively tousled. She looked good enough to eat.
"Harvest," Ray said as a conversational gambit. "What kind of name is that?"
April Harvest looked up from the dossier. "A last name," she finally said.
"Well, it's an unusual last name."
She looked at Ray expressionlessly. "Not to me it isn't."
"Well ..." This wasn't going very well. Ray didn't know if he should be exasperated or angry. He suspected he'd reach the latter stage soon enough. She continued to look at him. He felt trapped by the gaze of her killer blue eyes. "Well ..." he said again. He felt like an idiot. This wasn't going well at all.
A knock on the door rescued him.
"Who is it?" he barked, louder and harsher than necessary.
There was a momentary silence, then a voice on the other side of the door said, "No one. No one's here "
Ray frowned. He looked at Harvest. She was frowning, too.
"Yes there is," another voice said. "It's me."
Ray growled. He got off the bed and glided to the door with his usual effortless grace. He yanked it open. "Oh. It's you." Ray stepped back. "Come in."
"No, I have to be going," Mick Dockstedder said. "Nice seeing you again." He gave a jaunty little wave and tried to walk away, but his conjoined twin wasn't having it.
"Now just wait a minute, Mick," said Rick. "I want to talk to Ray."
"I don't!" Mick said a bit sharply. "Let's go."
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
Ray silently watched the twins' struggle for control of their single pair of legs. This was it, he told himself. There was no doubt, now. It was anger.
"Get inside," he growled in a low, dangerous voice, "before I knock the crap out of you ... out of both of you ... and drag you in."
Mick looked at his brother with hurt in his eyes. "You've done it, now, Rick."
"No I haven't," Rick said as Ray closed the door behind them. "It'll work out just fine. Won't it?"
"You bet," Ray said without enthusiasm.
Rick and Mick stopped when they saw Harvest look at them with disbelief and disgust on her finely-chiseled features.
"Who's that?" Mick asked.
"You remember her," Rick answered. "She was at Squisher's."
"I know that," Mick said. "I want to know who she is."
"She's on the Special Executive Task Force," Ray said.
"I'm his boss," Harvest added.
"Maybe we can trust Ray," Mick said, "but we don't know anything about her."
"You a wild carder, lady?" Rick asked.
Harvest shook her head.
"That's it," Mick shouted. "I'm out of here."
"No, you're not," Rick shouted back. "You wait right here for me."
"I won't!"
"Oh, yes you will, you dummy!"
"Well, yeah, I'm smarter than you any day of the week!"
"Are not!"
"Are too!"
The two shouted invectives at each other as they moon-walked back and forth across a patch of carpet, heading to the door and back, the door and back. Ray planted himself in front of them, grabbed them, and spun them around.
"What the hell do you guys want?" he roared.
"Nothing!" Mick said "My mouth is shut."
Ray grabbed his nose and twisted. "Keep it shut," Ray barked. "Or I'll tear your nose off." He looked at Rick. "How about you?"
Rick licked his lips. "You said there'd be money in it if we told you where Hartmann was."
Ray nodded, suppressing a smile. "That's right."
"How much?"
"A thousand."
Rick looked at his brother.
"Tell him to let go of my nose," he said. Ray sighed and did. Mick refused to meet his brother's eyes. Rick nudged him, but Mick shook his head. "Nope. This is your doing. I want no part of it."
"Okay," Rick said. "Suit yourself." He looked at Ray. "I been around, you know. I know a lot of what's coming down."
Ray nodded impatiently. "Sure. But what do you know about Hartmann?
"He's been seen in the company of some blond nat bimbo - oh." Harvest had cleared her throat and stared at him with her hard blue eyes. "No offense, lady, um, ma'am. He's been hanging with Fatter Squid, too."
"We know that," Harvest said briefly.
"He's been on his own since Father Squid and the others were picked up by the police. But he wants to get out of the city. I overheard him in Squisher's."
"How's he trying to get out?" Ray asked.
"A plane," Rick said. "He's trying to hire a plane. Ain't that right, Mick?"
Mick shook his head. "I ain't saying."
"Where? Tomlin? La Guardia? Where?" Harvest asked.
Rick shook his head. "I don't know."
Ray frowned thoughtfully. "That's not much to go on."
Rick looked indignant. "It's the skinny. You can trust me."
"Hah!" Mick interjected.
"Sure you can, Mr. Ray. I wouldn't want to screw with you."
Ray nodded judiciously. "Damn right. Okay." he reached into his pocket for his wallet. He counted five hundred-dollar bills and handed them over to Rick.
"You said an even thou."
"Another five hundred when we get Hartmann."
"But - "
Ray looked at him.
"Okay. That's fair." Rick stuffed the bills in his pants' pocket.
"Here." Ray handed him a sheaf of printed forms. "Sign this receipt."
"Okay."
Rick's signature was accomplished in a laborious scrawl. As they headed out the door they began arguing about what to do with the money. Mick was all for a big celebration dinner and maybe a visit to Chickadee's. Rick was firm that this was his money and Mick wasn't going to benefit from it. He remembered that there was a new edition of Star Trek porcelain plates rimmed in real 14-carat gold that he'd wanted for his collection. Ray stood at the door, watching them argue as they lurched off down the hall. He shook his head and shut the door.
"Can you believe those two?" he asked Harvest.
"I don't know. You've invested five hundred dollars of the government's money in them."
"Plenty more where that came from. What are you doing?"
She stopped dialing the phone and looked at him with eyes that could melt ice. "Setting up a dragnet to cover all the airports in the metropolitan area. You have a better idea?"
Ray opened his mouth, then shut it and shook his head. Nothing he felt he could go into right this moment.