“Alright, finally,” he said, smiling through the lie. “Moneymath says one seventy-three and some decimals is the going rate for pristine. She doesn’t look quite pristine, though.”
“Don’t jerk, lawdog. She’s all she is, unspoilt. Two hundred says the deal.” The dealer’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and his left hand edged a fraction of an inch closer towards the inside of his coat.
“She is real pretty,” Boss answered. He pretended to think it over. Didn’t really matter, since he couldn’t afford it anyway. But supply was scarce lately, and he couldn’t afford to lose this one either. “Call it one-ninety, no more questions asked.”
The dealer rubbed the fingertips of his left hand together, either like he was already counting the money or he was getting ready to draw down. Boss leaned forward, like he was just shifting in his chair, and stretched his fingertips out to brush the grip of the weapon under the desk.
The dealer snorted something thick and nasty and made a little grunting noise in his throat, and then swallowed. Boss almost gagged at the sound.
“Fine enough, we’ll call it.”
“Excellent. I’ll have one of my boys handle the transfer. You can leave her with me.”
The dealer barked a laugh. “Not so, lawdog, spendies — then she stays.”
Of course Boss had known that’s how it’d go, but it was always worth a shot. The trick now was just figuring out which of his crew he needed in the room to keep things from turning into a bloodbath, and how to get them in without making him suspicious. Wing was a little faster on the draw, but Cauld was a deadeye who could shoot the flame off a candle and not even spill the wax. Probably couldn’t get both of them in the room without tipping the dealer off, though.
Just then Wing poked his head in. “Hey, Boss, you got some guy out here wants to see you.”
“He’ll have to wait. We’re in conference.” Boss said. That made the decision for him. Wing was already here. He should stay and help with the dealer.
“Said it’d just take a second.”
“What’s he want?” Boss asked Wing.
“To see you, I reckon.”
Boss dropped his gaze ever so slightly and clenched his jaw just a bit more. “Yeah, I figured that part. But what for? He selling or buying?” he asked.
“Beats me, Boss. Just said he had a message.”
“Not the kind where he walks in and tries to kill me.”
“Nah, Boss, he ain’t gonna hurt nobody.” Wing chuckled. “He’s all old and beat-up lookin’. Beats all I ever seen. Got a blindfold and everything.”
Boss scratched between his eyes with his thumb knuckle, but then it occurred to him that this might be just what he needed. A good distraction, an excuse to bring in both his guys. Just had to be careful not to give anything away. “You won’t mind I hope. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Your house,” the dealer said. “Just don’t jerk.”
“Alright,” Boss said, and then added a heavy sigh, like he was doing everyone a favor. “Bring him in, but stay on him. Hey, and while you’re at it, get Cauld in here so we can pay this man.”
Wing scrunched up his face for a second, clearly trying to work out why Cauld would have anything to do with paying anybody, but then he figured it out. Thankfully the dealer was too busy watching Boss.
“Sure, Boss. What’s the amount?” Wing asked.
“One-ninety.”
Wing whistled, and then looked the girl up and down. “Yeah, I guess I could see that. Usual package or secure?”
“Secure.” It was their internal code: The usual package was for when someone might have some use alive. Secure meant drop the hit fast and hard. Wing nodded and disappeared.
Boss raised his hands in mock exasperation. “Sorry for this. I have at times been overly kind to beggars. Guess word gets around.” It was true. Boss tried to help the less fortunate out when he could. Just hadn’t been able to all that much of late. The dealer didn’t respond, except that he pulled on the leash and drew the girl closer.
A moment later, an older man shuffled through the door, his hand partially outstretched and head slightly bowed. Wing and Cauld followed him in. The dealer, wily as he was, slid over — slick as oil — and put his back to the wall, his eyes on the three arrivals while he kept the girl between him and Boss.
Wing trailed close to the old man and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting too close to Boss. Cauld was a pure professional. He rolled in casually with a case in his hands and took up a spot next to Boss, one that just happened to have a real good angle on the dealer.
“You wanna handle the pay first, Boss?” Cauld asked.
“Best to keep that private, I’d think?” Boss answered, looking at the dealer.
“Fine that,” the dealer said, his eyes roving smoothly between Boss, Cauld, and Wing.
The old man hadn’t raised his head or stirred since Wing had stopped him in place. He just stood there, head bowed, hands folded in front of himself — like a child waiting to be punished. His hair was long and wild, a dirty grey, his face dusted with a wispy matted beard. He really did look pathetic, and Boss thought for a moment it might be kindest to just put him down. But Boss was a businessman, not a murderer.
“We’re in the middle of something here, old man. What’s the message?”
The beggar didn’t raise his head or move at all, but his voice came out stronger than Boss expected. “An old friend seeks you.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”
The old man was silent long enough that Boss opened his mouth to prompt him again. The old man drew a breath and said, “You were an agent once. A man of noble purpose and profession.”
Boss snorted. “I was an agent, yeah. Don’t know about all that other.” He didn’t care for how often that’d been mentioned today. Boss briefly wondered if maybe the dealer and this old guy were partners in something. The dealer was on edge, though. If they were in on it together, he was doing a masterful job of acting.
“You have strayed.”
“Livin’ll do that to a man. Do I know you?” Boss asked.
“You knew me once. Long ago.”
“Yeah? What’s your name?”
“Today,” the old man said, “I am Honor.”
Boss couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. But Boss’s name was Boss, so he didn’t have much reason to doubt it. Still, it sounded funny, and so he let out a little non-committal chuckle that he hoped could be taken as either polite amusement, or simple acknowledgment. There was a too-long moment of silence afterwards.
“Look here,” the dealer finally said, “clocks is spendies. Sum me out and chat after, or me and merch is scoots.”
Boss was still trying to work out whether there was some connection between the two degenerates that stood before him — when all of a sudden the old man moved all easy and casual, like he was stretching after a nap. But in the movement he somehow covered the distance to the dealer and in the same motion, he swept his hand out in a graceful arc.
Maybe he touched the dealer; Boss couldn’t tell exactly what happened. He just saw the dealer flinch. And just as smooth, the old man returned to his spot as calmly. And even as if he’d never moved at all, with his hands folded in front of him again. It’d all happened in less time than it took Boss to inhale. Everybody just stood there stunned for a second.
Then the dealer made a little gurgle, and he let go of the leash and reached up to his neck with both hands, and all of a sudden it looked like he was trying to tie a crimson silk neckerchief on, the way his hands were going, and all the red. Boss’s brain wouldn’t process what he was seeing because he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. The dealer fell on his knees and gurgled some more, and Wing said something that Boss didn’t quite catch.