Tiny stepped behind it and turned to mix something. He needed a drink to break the tension so searched for his favorite under the bar. He had never sold a nun before and the deal had him on edge.
There was a large fireplace beside the entrance. Four armchairs and a long couch-all cowhide, flanked its flickering orange flames. A long table with many chairs stretched away from the doors. A pink stone patio opened beyond.
“There you are!” Tiny found a gallon-sized bottle of Grand Marnier. “Class all the way round.” The salesman poured, took a sip. He set the glass down and lit a cigarette.
The whole deal was fluttering along on a wing and a prayer. It was on the elevator he started questioning his choices. If he hadn’t seen those Eyesore things he wouldn’t have believed half the other shit that had happened. “Barter what you have,” Lucifer had said. Bartering usually didn’t involve money, but Tiny would see about that.
One phone call to the Central Authority Offices in the Tower had told Tiny that the Prime was looking for Sister Cawood. The Prime would be happy to discuss your claim.
But why did the Prime want her? Generally, men didn’t fuck nuns. Though rich men fucked whatever they wanted.
Tiny had ruled out going to the Catholic Church with her. Those bastards weren’t likely to deal. And what did they have that he wanted?
“She’s worth something…Balg was going to kidnap her,” he said to himself and wished he paid more attention to the news. Felon said she was a Tower Builder-whatever that was-important at least, but how do you put a price on her?
With Felon gone to Davy Jones’ Locker, the nun became a fallback position for him and the boys. At the moment she was in a safe location with Driver and Bloody playing bank guards. Driver had been concerned about Tiny making the deal without body armor, but the salesman insisted that just encouraged gunplay. His job was to get prices flying, not bullets. The Prime owned International Credit Co. and just about everything else. Maybe that was why he wanted to own a nun. It was the only thing he hadn’t sewn his name on.
But the deal could get sticky. Tiny knew he was selling a product with uncertain value to a man he desperately needed to be friends with. He couldn’t be inflexible, but he couldn’t show a single sign of weakness. Tiny drank off the rest of his drink, and had just finished refilling it when the Prime entered.
He was a big buffalo of a man, as Driver would say, with black hair in a bang cut gun barrel straight. His cheeks were puffy and red, but looked heavier than soft. The Prime wore a black suit, white shirt and pencil-thin tie. His dark eyes roved the room, before fixing on Tiny behind the bar.
“Drink, Mr. Prime?” Tiny’s voice was a cool and calm baritone. “I’m mixing!”
The Prime stared. The salesman’s heart rate surged waiting for a response. He had to keep the proceedings friendly. After all, the Prime had the right to order the woman’s return. As the leader of Westprime he had ultimate authority, and Tiny had nothing to back him up. He had the nun stashed, that was it; but Tiny knew he’d give her up if he had to.
Finally the Prime smiled-the lines around his eyes were crimson. “Rusty Nail.” His voice was husky.
“I’ll get the hammer!” A mountain lifted off the salesman’s shoulders. Tiny chuckled and grabbed the Drambuie and Scotch, keeping one eye on the man. The Prime had a plain set of features that were somehow arranged to disturb. It was probably their unremarkable qualities set on the shoulders of a man with ultimate power. That, and the way he jigged his weight from leg to leg, nothing ridiculous, just a nervous background twitch that hinted at the man’s inner state. He had his steam up.
“You act very familiar, but you’re not.” The Prime moved toward the bar, his dark eyes showed green in the light.
“Friends call me Tiny.” The salesman poured Drambuie over ice.
The Prime frowned, looked him over. “You’re almost average height, why Tiny?” He slid his bulk onto a barstool.
“Irony, Mr. Prime.” Tiny stirred the drink, laid out a napkin, set the glass on it. “I’m taller when I’m lying on my back.” He covered his apprehension with a laugh.
The Prime sipped his drink, fidgeted on the barstool and watched him. A shadow of humor quivered at the corner of his mouth.
“I noticed there were road blocks.” Tiny tasted the Grand Marnier. “You expecting trouble?” Something flashed in the Prime’s eye. “Or have you got it?”
The Prime looked at his drink. Something flickered behind the man’s features; a hint of red soaked his cheeks.
“This is a great little boardroom you’ve got here. First class all the way.” Tiny pulled out his cigarettes and offered one to the Prime, who declined. “I guess this is where you do all of your…”
“Mr. Tiny,” the Prime said, cutting him off. His expression held dangerous possibilities. “You have Sister Cawood and want payment for her return. If you don’t like blackmail, pick another line of work.”
“I admire plain talk, Mr. Prime.” Tiny smiled, shrugged his shoulders and lit one of his cigarettes. He rattled a small ceramic barrel full of toothpicks. “But I’m shocked. If I were to discuss money at all it would only be in regards to any out-of-pocket expenses incurred during our expedition to retrieve Sister Cawood from her prior bondage.”
The Prime leveled his gaze. “How did you do it? Or did you do it? What happened at Towerview Terrace? What made the burn marks?” A gleam lit the Prime’s eyes. “Why’d you take her?”
“Hold on there.” Tiny threw up his hands. “You’re getting ahead of ourselves. What are you talking about?”
“Murder. City Authority found a dead woman there, and only recently, Reverend Able Stoneworthy returned-dead! Last seen alive at Towerview Terrace in Cawood’s company.”
Murder? Well shit. Tiny recoiled from the idea. He should have known someone died if Felon was involved.
“I don’t know about murder.” Tiny leaned against the bar. Cigarette smoke made a bitter shape in the air. “But I believe the killer kidnapped Sister Cawood. Last I saw the him a bunch of dead guys were dragging him into a sewer.”
“You said earlier that you were recovering expenses incurred during ‘our’ expedition.” The Prime snorted.
“Partners.” Tiny smiled hesitantly, proceeding with care. “Gentlemen looking to Sister Cawood’s needs for the duration of our negotiations.”
“How much do you want?” The Prime’s face gleamed with sweat.
“Whoa there, Mr. Prime.” Tiny shook his head, smiling. “I’m not here to sell anything. I want you to have the nun, free of charge!”
“Free?” The Prime frowned. “Why?”
“Well we went to considerable trouble to get her. And I’m not about to try to sell you something that you can take.” For impact, Tiny squinted his eyes. “But, I’ve always wanted to meet one of the big players in the world. Those I’ve met are ants compared to you.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “Mr. Prime, you got the weight of the world on your shoulders, but I want you to consider something.” The salesman set his palms flat on the bar top. “We can help you out.”
Menace passed over the Prime’s face. “ I need help?”
“Not in the least. But qualified assistance that you can trust, is rare.” Tiny set his cigarette in the ashtray. “I can tell that you’re feeling the pinch these days with the Change and all. More than likely a time is coming when there will be nothing but trouble.”
The Prime glowered.
“In exchange for the nun I can offer you three guns.” Tiny watched for reaction. He knew he was taking the path of least resistance, but he could tell the Prime was too tough to break down for the quick sale. “You can check our files, you’ll see we worked for the government as Regulators in the first years.”
“I have Operatives, City Enforcement Officers, the whole Westprime Defense Force at my disposal.” The Prime took a drink. “I need you?”
“We’ll do anything and enjoy it.” Tiny summoned up his most dangerous face. “We like to get paid for it, but we’ll do whatever you ask. You decide where you can use us.” Tiny walked around the bar. “Doesn’t get simpler than that.”