“Luck up and bit me in the ass or I’d do a deal.” He drained the last drops of the cohanq and inspected the pile of local gelt, turning each plaque over, scowling at the holoed face and the enigmatic inscriptions. They were all alike. Fifteen of them. Twenty to a brass unless the Toerk was cheating him. He pushed five of them back. “Again.”
When the barscort slid his glass back to him, Worm took another swallow and felt a warm buzz forming in his head. He enjoyed it for a moment, then blinked at the Toerk. “Be here a while.”
“So you said.”
Worm moved the plaques with his finger. “All outgo ’n no in don’t play.”
“Labor exchange over by the Tinkerman’s lot. Ask anyone, they’ll point you right.”
“Could do, uh-huh. Could drop by here again, maybe you’d know someone could use a good lock man.”
“Drop a name. References as it were.”
“Texugarra. Gran Jalla Pit.”
“Ah. Sweet lady that she is.”
Worm snorted. “Texugarra would drop his beard should he hear that.”
“And what a beard it is, heh?”
“Every hair white as Menaviddan monofil and twice as tough.”
“Let us say you come along here round midafternoon tomorrow. You’ve found a place to stay?”
“Just got off the jit.”
The Lommertoerkan found a stylo and a bit of paper, scrawled a few words on it. “Empling has a room or two, I put down where to find him. If you don’t take to that place, look round there. Plenty of others.” He dropped the paper in front of Worm, swept the rest of the plaques into a side pocket of his tunic, and went to serve another patron.
Worm finished the drink, sipping slowly, savoring. the sweet fire of the cohanq. In a little while he’d have to go to work again, but for the moment he was just Worm and nothing more, no worries to twist his gut and give him nightmares where he relived things he hated having seen the first time.
The night was hot and sticky, a cloud layer blocking moon and starlight and pressing on the air until it was so thick it was more like breathing water. Worm ignored the, sweat rolling down his back and inside his barrier gloves and huddled in the deepest shadow he could find while Keyket went through the ID dance with the guard inside. The man had taken the bribe all right, but he was making sure he opened to the right thieves. Worm didn’t blame him, knowing how pissed a type like Grinder got when someone swooped in and snatched his prize; he just wished the git would hurry and make up his mind.
And he wished it would rain and wash the crud from the air. He was working up a real hate for this stinking world. The sooner he got off it, the better he’d like it, but it was going to be tougher than he thought glomming that femme. She was here all right; he’d seen her ambulating around with Grinder’s crippled kid. Hadn’t figured she’d have that kind of connections. Meant he had to be jodaddin sure he had it right, ’cause he wouldn’t get a second chance.
A siss from Keyket brought him out of shadow. The door opened, and they hurried inside.
“Bug has the sec sys tamed.” The guard was whispering, the sweat on Ins face from more than the heat. “Says you got a clear hour before the bypass starts to strain.”
Keyket nodded. “Gotcha. Where?”
“I better show you. This setup’s so messed only the keph can keep straight what’s where. Bug’s got dollies already there.”
The first lock took the longest time, almost twenty minutes of their hour. It was a tricky bit of ’tronics with layered freeze triggers and a mutating key, but he’d done tougher and he knew better than to lose hold on his patience.
He’d just got the lock to signal open when a brief waggle on the readout warned him there was another trick in the shipper’s bag. He swore under his breath and-ran the palmscanner around the crack where the lid fitted onto the base. Just a pressure spot. Simple but wicked if you missed it. He pressed his thumb onto the spot, the lock hummed, and the lid to the container cracked open.
He left the loading to Keyket and the guard, and moved on to the next container. The pattern was the same, so he went through that one fast as kobber beer through a gut By the time he finished the third, they’d lifted the packets they wanted from the first and transferred them to Grinder’s box. He shifted over there, closed the lid, reset the count and the pressure spot, engaged the lock, then stood waiting while Keyket finished pulling what he wanted from the second container.
Twenty minutes more and they were out of there, the warehouse sealed up again, no evidence anything had happened-except for some stuff gone missing off invoice and who could say where that went down. It hadn’t surprised Worm that Grinder knew exactly what was in each of those boices or that he wasn’t simply cleaning them out. He’d worked for smart and he’d worked for dumb and from what he’d seen here, Grinder was on the high side of smart. Reminded him a lot of Mort. Which made him shiver when he thought of what would happen if he missed the snatch and blew his cover.
A few steps before they hit the main street, Keyket gave his shoulder a friendly punch. “Never seen slicker, Worm. Grinder likes gits who know how to do the job. You better go shuck y’ tools. I’ll meet you at The Tank for the payout.”
4
Worm followed Keyket into the small back office and stood by the door, his shoulders hunched, his eyes fixed on the legs of the blocky desk, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Once they knew what he could do with locks, low-level managers like Tank got real nervous if they thought he was looking around too much. They never realized it wasn’t what he saw that mattered so much, but whether he was carrying. And he was carrying; getting into Tank’s office wasn’t a chance he could pass by.
The sensacube in his pocket turned warm against his thumb, giving him a clear to start the tabs and tictacs sewn onto the jacket pulling in images and tracing energy flow.
Tank counted out the plaques into two piles, one larger than the other; his hands were quick and accurate, small hands for such a block of a man. Worm watched them and thought gambler. Whatever he is now, he got his stake gambling.
When the counting was finished and the plaques in canvas bags, Keyket stuffed his down the front of his shirt and went out, flashing a grin at Worm as he went.
When Worm came to get his bag, Tank cleared his throat. “Grinder was real happy with Keyket’s report. He wants you over for dinner tomorrow, Worm. Which means you mind your manners and dress nice. He’ll send a jit to pick you up at six hour sharp, outside Harron’s Greenshop down to north end of Star Street, that’s right next to the ring road. If he likes you, he’ll probably give you a place. It’s a good deal, and he won’t be happy if you give him any shuffle about it. You know and I know, we don’t want Grinder not happy.”
Worm stood holding the sack. “Yah,” he said after a moment. “Maybe it won’t happen. Say it does, I’ll be real enthused.”
Tank blew out the breath he’d been holding and the hard line of his shoulders eased off. “Good. One last thing. If you stay the night, could be one of the women living in the house will come by. Grinder likes to keep them happy after he’s moved on, so you don’t need to worry about that. Just make sure she goes away feeling good. And keep your mouth shut after. You hear?”
“No lie?”
“No lie. He’s a generous man to folk who don’t cross him.”
“Gotcha. Urn, there a laundry around? Been washing my own, but…” He shrugged.
“Transy Herm’s over by The Rainy Season. Tell ’er how come, and she’ll jump you up the line.”
“Thanks.”
When he got back to his room, Worm swept it for ears, but found none. Apparently Grinder wasn’t that interested in him yet. He was exhausted and needed to sleep, but he stripped his jacket first, setting the tabs and tictacs in their slots in the decoder, plugging in the sensacube to download its more general data set.