"Big motherfucker. Calls himself Eight-Man." The club room had fallen silent; Eight-Man actually started to growl. It was a sound that Vickers would have preferred to have missed. Eggy also let out a long animal snarl. He rushed at Eight-Man and punched him as hard as he could in the stomach. Eight-Man gasped, took a step back but recovered himself. He swung at Eggy, smashing him in the side of the head with a piledriver punch that should have felled a mule. Eggy stumbled, he staggered. For a moment it seemed as though he was going to fall into Yabu but Yabu stepped neatly out of the way. Eggy appeared poised to go down like a felled tree. Then he shook his head. It was a remarkable recovery. Everyone waited for the next escalating move. And then suddenly they were in each other's arms, slapping, pounding, hugging, shouting and heehooing. The room split between relief and revulsion. There was something disturbing about the fact that there was a deep bond between these two extreme individuals.
"I didn't know Eggy had friends."
The group moved forward to the bar as a mass and began demanding drinks from a rather agitated handler who seemed a little out of her depth as a bartender. A little of the tension in the room had eased and there was a more normal buzz of conversation, albeit punctuated by the occasional hollers and bellows from Eggy and Eight-Man. Vickers had only just started his first scotch when a young woman positioned herself very deliberately in front of him. She bore an uncomfortable simularity to Ilsa van Doren except that, where Ilsa gave the impression of even coming out of the shower with perfect makeup and hair, this woman wore no makeup and had her hair in a utilitarian bun.
"Welcome to Phoenix. The way they have things set up around here, a girl can't stand still and wait for an introduction."
Vickers looked across the room. This aspect of the situation hadn't occurred to him previously. Five women to each man could produce some very competitive women.
"There seem to be plenty of men here in security."
"There's still a thousand or more eager, predatory bimbos over in handler country."
Vickers nodded.
"It's got to be a weird situation."
"Weird isn't the word."
"Talking of weird, who are the leather goddess and the lady muscle builder?"
"Isn't it always the same? Everyone wants to know who those two bitches are. The musclebound broad is Annie Flagg. She used to be the private bodyguard of Calley at Metropolitan until he choked on the canape. By all accounts it was so private that she had enough influence left over to get in here. I don't know much about Carmen Rainer except what you see. The rumor is that she ran something extremely nasty in London before the lefties took over. How do I get you to pay attention to me? Should I buy you a drink or not? By the way, my name's Singer. Abbie Singer."
Vickers shook his head. "No, thank you, I don't think I'm quite ready yet for another drink."
It wasn't that he didn't find the attention flattering. Something had triggered his built-in protective instinct. He was convinced that a short, dark man, also in uniform, was staring at him intently. Abbie Singer was talking to him but he wasn't hearing her. He wasn't even sure that what she said was meant to be heard. It was possibly just a corraling maneuver.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"You could at least look interested."
He was right. The short, dark man, even though he was doing his best to appear random and casual, was definitely homing in on him. It was this kind of certain perception that had kept Vickers living as long as he had. The small, dark man seemed unsure of his method of approach. Abbie Singer was scarcely concealing her annoyance.
"Listen, if you don't want to talk to me, you only have to…"
"No. really, it's not that."
The man made his move. "Listen, Abbie, you don't mind if I take Mort away from you, do you? There's something I have to talk to him about."
The small dark man had decided on the direct approach, an appeal to Vickers' curiosity. It worked. Vickers allowed himself to be drawn to one side. Abbie looked even more annoyed.
"I'll be waiting for you. I figure you owe me at least a drink."
"Sure, sure, I'll be right back when I've taken care of this." He turned his attention to the small, dark man and his face hardened. "Do I know you?"
"I thought you might have been sent to get me out."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I suppose you're going to tell me that you're not Victoria Morgenstern's favorite gun."
Was this one of the Contec intelligence spooks who'd gone in front of him? In this fool's case intelligence seemed to be a contradiction in terms.
"What's your name?"
"Hodding."
Vickers had already decided that Hodding was quite useless to him even in the event that he decided he'd go on with the Contec mission. His tone was one of patient contempt.
"Well, okay. Hodding, the first thing you need to know is that I was terminated by Contec and I'm now under exclusive contract to Global Leisure. You hear me?"
The piece of information seemed to shake Hodding. Vickers didn't give him the time to relax.
"And even if there might be some unfinished Contec business to concern me here, only a fucking idiot would try to buttonhole me about it in a place that's without a doubt under full eavesdrop!"
"You want to go somewhere?"
This sucker had a death wish.
"No, I don't want to go anywhere. I don't want to talk to you. I want you to get away from me and stay away from me. I don't want you to speak to me again unless it's in the course of your duties around the bunker. Are you understanding me?"
"Yes, but…"
"If you don't, I might be tempted to break your neck. Remember who I am, Hodding. You said it. I am Victoria Morgenstern's favorite hired gun."
For a few seconds, Hodding stood rooted and open mouthed. He had come to Vickers as a possible way out of a situation and he'd apparently turned up a monster. It took a final glare from Vickers to finally remind him what he should be doing. His mouth suddenly snapped shut and he moved away from Vickers as though he were infectious. Vickers also moved. He fought down the urge to look for cameras and microphones. Abbie Singer was back again. She gave him something on which to focus.
"Maybe I'll have that drink now."
She looked at him sharply. "Problem?"
Vickers took a deep breath and tried to look unconcerned.
"No, nothing. It was just some old business from before."
Abbie singer glanced at the ceiling.
"There are times when it seems a million miles away. It's all so locked in down here, it's another world."
"How long have you been down here?"
"Two months."
"When do you rotate out?"
"We don't know, nobody's been told."
"Nobody seems to be told anything in this place."
"They say it's security. You don't hear that you're getting out until literally a few hours before you go."
"Doesn't that make you crazy?"
As though to confirm that it did indeed make her crazy, she finished her drink in a single belt and moved to the bar for another.
"Sure it does, but you have to figure that it's going to be worth it in the long run."