This part wasn’t in the Western.
Balot thought for a moment, then nodded meekly.
The bartender prepared the two drinks with a precision that could only come from years of practice. He put the bottle the Doctor pointed to on the bar so that the Doctor could check the label. Balot thought for a moment that the bartender might do the same for her with the carton of milk, but it wasn’t to be—it went straight back in the refrigerator.
The bartender placed the glasses on the bar, then retreated to one side.
“Hmm, maybe I should have ordered the same as you,” said the Doctor, who could barely keep the laughter out of his voice. Balot looked at him.
“This is just some token hospitality before negotiations begin in earnest, by the way. They could well be here already, of course, just making us wait…” The Doctor took his glass in his hand.
Suddenly, Balot’s left hand jumped up to rest on the Doctor’s shoulder—without Balot controlling it. “There’s a fast-working sleeping draught in yours, Doc. Balot’s is clear,” whispered Oeufcoque.
The Doctor seemed more nonplussed than surprised. “So it’s Balot they’re after, is it? They’re still hoping for the Trustees to slip up, I guess. They sure don’t give up easily.”
“All seven people in the room, including the bartender, are armed with handguns of one sort or another,” continued Oeufcoque, before his hand moved off the Doctor’s shoulder.
The Doctor shrugged. “Not much I can do to help, then. Looks like you two are on your own, sorry about that!” He clinked his glass with Balot’s and downed his drink. “Urgh…and I’d only taken an antidote just before I came in too. I think I’m going to be sick…” The Doctor pulled a sour face, and Balot looked on at him with wide eyes.
The very next moment the pub entrance opened wide, and in came a well-built man, smiling broadly. “Dr. Easter? I’m Skyscraper. I trust you received my messages?”
“You’re OctoberCorp’s legal representative?” The Doctor’s eyes were already starting to sag. Balot couldn’t tell whether it was an act or not.
Skyscraper smiled again. “I’m one of the legal team, yes. I mainly handle criminal cases and compensation claims. I do apologize for having kept you so long. Please, do come and take a seat over here where it’s more comfortable.”
“Thank you,” said the Doctor, walking over to the chairs as if he were floating on clouds. Balot followed him.
The man who called himself Skyscraper sat down last, squeezing his generous frame into the chair.
“I’ll have the same as she’s having,” Skyscraper said to the bartender when he came to bring over Balot’s glass on a tray. “What about you, sir, are you not drinking?”
“No, I’m fine, thankshh…” The Doctor’s speech was growing suspiciously slurred.
It was pretty clear by now that the Doctor really was getting tired. Balot nudged his shoulder gently. She was trying to tell him that he could fall asleep safely and that she had everything under control, but Skyscraper evidently interpreted this move as concern on Balot’s part.
“You do seem to be tired, sir. We’d better get this over with as quickly as possible, then. Not to worry about your return—we have a chauffeured car on hand to take you both back to wherever you need to go.”
“You put in your request for a pretrial settlement just this afternoon?” The Doctor yawned.
“Yes, although we’ve had all the relevant paperwork prepared for some time.”
“That’s very considerate of you.”
“Ah, yes, well, we may be on different sides, but we do have certain issues in common. Our jobs are to safeguard the long-term interests of our respective businesses by ensuring that our people are protected and that our businesses are allowed to develop progressively.”
“Is that right? Well, uh, I suppose that’s so, isn’t it?” said the Doctor.
“Yes, and we at OctoberCorp are most concerned about the man you brought to trial, Shell-Septinos. We feel that his future prospects are most lamentable,” said Skyscraper.
“Well, you would, wouldn’t you, given that he seems to know everything about everything. And?”
Skyscraper’s beaming face was unflinching in the face of the Doctor’s flippant riposte. Then he shrugged his shoulders and smiled at Balot with a concerned expression.
Balot knew all too well how quickly the smiles of these sorts of men changed.
“The crimes that the man committed are terrible, of course. There’s no denying that. But to refuse him any possibility of rehabilitation is to refute the significance of the law. OctoberCorp’s position is that we would like to give him the opportunity to reflect on his crimes and thereby gradually redeem himself. We will of course, Ms. Rune-Balot, foot the bill for any portion of the compensation that you are awarded and that he is unable to pay you out of his own assets.”
Skyscraper smiled at Balot in anticipation of her answer. This is how much I’ll pay, now will you give me what I want? Balot had seen that inane grin too many times.
It was the Doctor who spoke next, though. “And so it came to pass that Shell lived out his days peacefully under the thumb of his corporate masters… That’s how the story goes, is it? Presumably we get our brown envelope under the table if—and only if—we don’t touch on any, uh, inconvenient truths during the next trial?”
“Dear, dear, Dr. Easter! I do hope you don’t speak quite so bluntly when you’re in court!”
“Maybe not out loud, but I certainly think it. As for your answer, well, I’ll make sure that a reply is sent to you by email through the official Broilerhouse channels. It’ll be a short reply, though. Shorter than the password you’ll need to get into it.”
“And what sort of reply might that be?”
“‘Dear Balloon-face. Eat shit.’ ”
Skyscraper’s smile seemed to stretch even farther.
His face turned crimson, his eyes bloodshot. Yet he was still smiling. A grotesque sight.
“You see, we’re PIs, and our job is to solve this case,” said the Doctor, smiling back, a very different sort of smile. “The courtroom antics are only a small part of that. The best thing you can do now is run along and try and deceive the judge into believing that there are any number of holes in our case, maybe appeal for a retrial. Won’t do you any good in the long run, though.”
With that, the Doctor toppled face-first onto the table in front of him.
Balot was visibly concerned. She was worried that the Doctor might have hurt himself.
Skyscraper thought she was worried about her own safety. “Poor little princess. Aren’t you enjoying your milk anymore?” he said, his voice now steeped with sarcasm. “Don’t blame me, blame this idiot here who you trusted to keep you safe.”
His dark red cheeks puffed out as he rose out of his seat toward her. He wore a whole new expression now, one in which rage and joy intermingled in equal measure. He was practically drooling as his thick arms reached out toward Balot to grab her, but Balot slipped to one side.
“We know you’re unarmed, we scanned you on the X-ray as you came in,” Skyscraper smirked. “The man has a handgun in his pocket, but that’s all you have, right?”
So that explained the uneasy sensation Balot had experienced when she entered the bar.
Balot realized that the people at the other tables were now drawing in.
–Oeufcoque, these people are enemies, right?
Balot wanted to make sure she was doing the right thing before she did anything she couldn’t take back.
“That’s right. They’re planning on holding you for ransom, and in exchange for your release they’ll try and force us to relinquish the chips as evidence,” Oeufcoque said out loud, unconcerned as to who could hear him.