The screen on Skater's telecom flatlined into a gray surface. No one said a word, but the group gradually broke up. Archangel returned to her deck and jacked in while the others went to see about assembling some kind of a meal. Even with Lofwyr's help, all were aware that they couldn't stay hidden forever. And there was the deal they'd made with the dragon. Time was running out on all fronts.
Skater had a call to make and he punched in the numbers, one by one.
"Carbone," came a cultured voice after a few moments. A brief instant later, the vid image flickered to life. The man had thin blond hair that lay plastered against his scalp. His eyebrows were almost colorless, thin edges against pink skin, but his dark blue eyes fit the Vashon Island suit he wore. He was inspecting a compound bow, plucking at the drawstring with his fingers. When he did, a laser aiming light fired a ruby shaft out of the telecom's view along the bow's sighting line.
Skater pushed all the swirling emotions out of his mind and concentrated on dealing with Carbone. “I’m Jack Skater."
Carbone nodded. "I got your name when your call was transferred back." He plucked the bowstring again. "I know who you are. What I want to know is why I should give you the time of day."
"Because," Skater said, "I can take Synclair Tone off your hands. From what I gather, that's something akin to losing a cranial tumor."
"Interesting." Carbone laid the bow on an ornate desk that looked like it had been assembled by elven carpenters. Then he seated himself behind it. "Except that Tone happens to be protected property."
"And you're doing the protecting," Skater agreed. "Somewhat less than enthusiastically."
"But with no lack of professionalism." Carbone leaned back in his chair.
"Agreed. That's why I'm calling you. If I could do this without disrupting what you're doing, I would."
"And in the event that you somehow succeeded, I'd have you tracked down and geeked." Carbone steepled his hands in front of him. "Just so we both know where we stand in this thing."
Skater nodded. In his mind, Larisa was telling him again that the baby's name was Emma, that she was his daughter. He put a lid on the thought with real effort.
"Getting Tone flatlined while in my employ could be somewhat embarrassing," Carbone said.
"Keeping him around could prove to be even more embarrassing," Skate replied.
There was only a slight hesitation on Carbone's behalf. "Yes."
"And there could be rumors circulating that you paid for someone to whack Tone yourself. Of course, these would remain unfounded. You are not, however, in the protection business, so it shouldn't affect your real marketability."
"Indeed, I am not." Carbone laughed, and the sound of it was cold and brittle. "It would be poetic in a way, I suppose, people saying that even I wasn't safe from myself after the contract had been accepted. But-how do I know you can deliver?"
"Even if I wasn't able to remove Tone, you'd still be in a position of deniability."
“True.”
"I'd consider that a win-win situation for you however it goes."
"What is it that you want from me?”
Skater didn't let a smile touch his face as he slid into position to deal. He knew he couldn't ask who Tone belonged to, but he knew the man's boss had to connect somehow to Silverstaff. "I know about the casino Tone has cut himself a part of. All I want from you is a bit of laxity."
"Later, it will be questioned how someone was able to take Tone from my watch."
"Are you Tone's keeper," Skater asked, "or are you being used as a cover?"
"Suggesting that my responsibility to Tone ends somewhere?”
"You didn't authorize him to cut into the casino."
"No," Carbone answered. "Though it's well-known that I keep a close eye on my staff."
"It's also known that Tone isn't exactly one of your staff."
Carbone took a long, slim cigarillo from an ornate box of worked metals. "Yes." He tapped one end and then lit it with a sculptured lighter. "What is your interest in Tone?"
"Personal."
Exhaling twin streams of smoke through his nose, Carbone said, "So you'd risk much to get him."
"I think I already have," Skater said. "Approaching you about getting rid of him isn't the wisest thing I could do. Especially when you could sell me out to any of a handful of interested parties. I'm betting that being rid of Tone is worth more than that. You'll let me know if I'm right."
Carbone blinked once, but otherwise his face might have been stone. "How soon could you make your move?"
"Five minutes after this transmission.”
Carbone nodded. "Give me an hour. I'm sure arrangements can be made. But keep in mind one thing."
Skater listened.
"If there are repercussions, if I am asked to look into the matter and take care of it, I will. Never doubt that."
"I don't," Skater replied. "I'm gambling that whoever ultimately owns Tone doesn't really prize him. Tone is just a piece in a very deadly chess game. He has no real worth, except as a planned sacrifice. I'm just going to take him out of the game prematurely and change the relationship of cause and effect."
"We'll see if you're correct." Carbone leaned forward and broke the connection.
Skater let out a tense breath and hit his own Disconnect. It was time to find out if he was right.
30
Stinky-Fingered Al’s occupied the bottom two floors of what had once been a four-story hotel. The new security bars over the windows and the reinforced security door creating an isosceles triangle with the two cross streets contradicted the peeling paint and graffiti.
Skater double-parked the Ford Americar he and Duran had boosted behind a delivery truck servicing a small troll restaurant across the street. A hand-lettered sign running down the length of the cafe door said RIBS. The scent of simmering barbecue sauce filled the air.
"I hear Stinky-Finger bought the hotel from a real estate company that was never able to get it out of the red." Duran said from the passenger seat. He ran a hand through his unruly coarse hair, then slipped the Scorpion's sling over his shoulder where it would be hidden by his combat-cut jacket. "Guess the gambling action here is wiz, though."
Skater had to agree. Sandwich boards on sawhorses advertised available parking in three different areas. A local go-gang called the Leather Devils had evidently set themselves up as the parking franchise for the casino.
Adrenaline surged inside Skater as he crossed the street. His focus was there, but not quite in reach. Thoughts of the baby-Larisa's daughter-kept cycling around in his head, moving but going nowhere. It was hard to keep from operating out of emotion, and the strongest one he felt was confusion.”
"You chill?" Duran asked as they stepped up on the curb in front of the casino.
"Getting there." Skater shifted inside his duster, adjusting to the feel of the Predator in the break-out shoulder rig under his left arm.
"Don't worry about getting around everything right now. It's been coming at you too fast. Take care of the biz you can, and let the rest of it come when the time's right." The ork pushed one of the doors open and waited for Skater. "Tonight, it's time for Synclair Tone."
Skater nodded. He had to work on that too. The closer he got to Tone, the more tightly the anger inside him coiled. He knew that Duran was aware of it.