She signaled the bartender, yet another rotund blue alien. "I'll have one of those," she said, pointing to Dimitrios' glass.
"Yes, Missy," growled the alien.
"Are those creatures the original inhabitants of Innesfree?" she asked. "They seem to be omnipresent."
"Only in the hotel," answered Dimitrios. "They're native to Halcyon II. The ones you see are indentured servants, working off their debts."
"How do you know that?"
"I've been to Halcyon II, and I know the policy of the corporation that owns this chain of hotels."
"And you put up with it?"
"It's not up to me," said Dimitrios. "They sign the papers, they work off their debts. It's the law."
"Didn't you ever want to break a bad law?"
"Lady, I represent the law out here. If you don't break it, you'll never have a problem with me."
"And good or bad law, it makes no difference to you?" she persisted.
"You're looking for Santiago," he said. "I've got my own priorities."
"I know," said Matilda. The alien arrived with her drink, set it down, and scuttled away. "Strange little beasts, aren't they?"
"Not to a lady Halcyoni," said Dimitrios.
"Point taken." She sipped the drink. "It's very good."
"Most fruit drinks are," he said. "I don't know why, but the human body seems to metabolize alien fruits and vegetables easier than alien protein."
"Are you saying you're a vegetarian?"
"No, I like meat. But I try not to eat it on days that I'm likely to work. Wouldn't want to get stomach cramps or worse at the wrong time."
"You keep saying it so impersonally: 'Days that you're going to work.'"
"You can't humanize these bastards," answered Dimitrios. "You can't ever do anything that'll make you pause, or hesitate, or listen to a plea or an explanation or an excuse. They killed the innocent and the helpless; they have to die."
"Do you ever have second thoughts, or regrets?"
He shook his head. "I might have, about a man who killed another man in a fair fight. Or a man who robbed a bank and killed a guard who was trying to kill him. Or about you. But not about the men I go after."
"So you never feel remorse, or regret?"
"Only satisfaction." He paused. "Why do you care?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm trying to make a list of traits I need to find in Santiago."
He laughed softly.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"If you get close enough to ask 'em, he's probably not Santiago."
They spent the rest of the afternoon in the bar, sipping fruit drinks and waiting for night to fall. When it had been dark for more than an hour, she got up and made her way back to El Gran Senor.
"You're early," said Manolete. "I like that in a performer."
"Not much to do in this town," she replied.
"And I like that in a town," he said. "This is the only excitement there is." He paused. "We should be full all night long. Everyone knows Dimitrios of the Three Burners plans to kill Hootowl Jacobs here tonight."
"Just how many people did you tell?"
"Enough."
"If word reaches Jacobs, you'll be in for a disappointing evening."
"You don't know the Hootowl," said Manolete. "He doesn't back down from anything."
"I thought all he didn't back down from were middle-aged wives who trusted him."
"That's because you've been listening to Dimitrios."
She considered sending a warning to Dimitrios, then changed her mind. His rejection of her offer hadn't discouraged her, but failure to take Hootowl Jacobs would decide it once and for alclass="underline" if he couldn't kill Jacobs, then he could never be Santiago.
She changed into her costume, put on her make-up, then sent for the Borillian guitarist. His name could not be pronounced by any human, so she decided to call him Jose. He seemed friendly enough, and spoke in tinkling chimes, which his t-pack translated into a dull monotone. After learning the extent of his repertoire, she felt confident that she could improvise to anything he chose to play.
She had some time to kill, so she left her dressing room and began wandering around the building, trying to acquaint herself with it. She found the staff's bathroom and kitchen, and a small room with a card table, then went out front. A few men and women were already sitting at tables, drinks in front of them, and a holograph of a quartet of guitarists was projected on the stage, with the music coming from everywhere, or so it seemed.
"You look good," said Manolete, approaching her.
"Thanks."
"I mean really good."
"I mean really thanks," she said.
"You know, maybe we could work a little something out here," he continued.
"I doubt it."
"It would mean more money for you."
"It'd mean a quick kick in the balls for you," said Matilda. "Are you sure you want to pay me extra for that?"
He glared at her. "Maybe I'll just turn you over to Hootowl."
"First, I'm not rich enough for him, and second, his life expectancy is probably about an hour."
"We'll see," said Manolete, walking off.
She walked over to the bar, introduced herself to the two bartenders, and sat on a stool for awhile listening to the recorded music.
A few moments later a man with bulging blue eyes and a distinctive widow's peak entered and took a table in the farthest corner, his back to a wall, and she knew Jacobs had arrived. Before long the room was full and she went back to her dressing room, awaiting her signal to perform.
It came after another half hour, and shortly thereafter she was dancing to the music of Jose, her fourteen-fingered Borillian guitarist. He took it easy on her, building his speed and rhythm slowly until he saw that she could keep up with him.
She spun around as Jose reached the final few bars of his song, then stopped and bowed to mild applause. As she looked up, she saw that Dimitrios had entered the room and was walking calmly toward Hootowl Jacobs. She began stamping her feet and whirling around again, with no accompaniment, hoping to attract Jacobs' attention, to keep him looking toward the stage.
She dared a look in his direction, and saw that he was indeed looking at her. Then Dimitrios was next to him, placed a burner in his ear, and fired.
There was a shrill scream from a nearby table as Hootowl Jacobs pitched forward on the table, blood pouring out of his ear.
"There's no cause for alarm," said Dimitrios in a loud, clear voice. He held up a small titanium card. "I am a licensed bounty hunter. This man was wanted for a minimum of ten murders. I'm sorry to have disrupted your evening. I'll have him out of here as soon as possible."
A man at a nearby table stood up.
"You didn't even give him a chance!"
"This is a business, not a sporting event," answered Dimitrios.
"But you just walked up to him and shot him!"
"He was wanted dead or alive. Given the crimes he had committed, I prefer dead."
"I wonder how good you are against someone who knows you're there and can fight back." The man pulled his jacket back, revealing a matched pair of screechers in his gunbelt.