Then again, she is there at the border of the Basin, and borders are triple-dicey places. Crazy Dogs probably aren’t the first problem she’s had of the sort. Though mebbe the most persistent.”
“She might be trying to get under Trumbo’s skin,” Krysty said.
“It’s working,” Mildred stated.
“So, Jak,” Ryan called, “see an easy way in?”
Jak yipped a laugh, not unlike a coyote himself. “No way!”
“That’s what I reckoned.”
“We did get to see the back room,” Mildred said.
“Eager to try climbing through one of those windows?”
“Not me.”
“I’m not even considering frontal assault,” Ryan said, “since those are for when you let yourself get triple-screwed out of any other option, or got loads more warm bodies and blasters than tactical sense. Not to mention it’d take an armored wag’s main gun to poke through those walls, mud or not.”
“So are you still willing to go for it?” Mildred asked. “Getting Dark Lady’s thingamajig, I mean?”
“You size her up for the sort who’ll pay us for a job that produces no results?”
“Hell no!”
“Then absolutely.”
“How?”
“I’m working on it,” he said.
* * *
T HE SUN WAS near to setting and the street in front of the gaudy house was unusually vacant. The gaudy was all lit up per usual, though.
Nobody was outside. When Ryan stepped up to the door, he couldn’t hear the usual music and merriment.
Instead he heard voices raised in anger.
Chapter Twelve
“Allow me to remind you,” Dark Lady was saying in a whip-taut voice when Ryan pushed open the door, “you are guests in this establishment.”
There was a good crowd in the gaudy for late afternoon. Most of the tables were occupied, and at least half a dozen of Dark Lady’s “entertainers” were standing or sitting in conversations with guests that might turn into business transactions. The gaudy’s star performer, the lovely blond Lucy, had drawn a crowd all her own.
Ryan took that all in in a flash as he entered, followed by his friends, except for Ricky, who had to have his sleeve grabbed by Jak and be towed out of the doorway to stand in front of an unoccupied table.
Some of the customers glanced at the newcomers when they came in and their eyes got wide. Some visibly began to think even harder about bolting out those self-same doors.
The “guests” Dark Lady was addressing in a not-double-friendly voice never bothered to glance around.
“We’re not guests,” said a tall guy with a sharp knife-scarred face and a shock of sandy-blond hair. He was tall and wore some kind of yellow pelt draped on the shoulders of his black leather jacket. He had a sawed-off lever-action longblaster holstered to his right thigh. “We go where the fuck we please.”
“Please do not ever address me that way again,” Dark Lady said. Her tone of voice suggested the “please” was mere formality. She wasn’t making a suggestion .
The tall, rangy blond man in the fur had a pair of backups, shorter but no less mean-looking. One was a woman with stubble starting out on a skull shaved up to a Mohawk so ludicrously tall it might as well have been shellacked that electric shade of blue to make it stand up. She wore black leather with studs and spikes, and her face might not have been unattractive without the sneer and the black paint on her lips. She had a couple big knives sheathed at her chain belt.
The other person was a man even shorter, even aside from the hair, than she was, and heftier built than his partners. He had greased-back hair that was probably a shade of brown, and a seamed, jowly, stubble-cheeked face. His back was turned to the door; if he carried a visible weapon Ryan didn’t see it. Nonetheless he took one’s presence for granted.
“Crazy Dogs?” J.B. murmured from Ryan’s left elbow.
“Reckon so.”
“Listen up,” the blond man said. “Listen close. You’re the closest thing to a baron this shithouse ville has, so you have
“She might be trying to get under Trumbo’s skin,” Krysty said.
“It’s working,” Mildred stated.
“So, Jak,” Ryan called, “see an easy way in?”
Jak yipped a laugh, not unlike a coyote himself. “No way!”
“That’s what I reckoned.”
“We did get to see the back room,” Mildred said.
“Eager to try climbing through one of those windows?”
“Not me.”
“I’m not even considering frontal assault,” Ryan said, “since those are for when you let yourself get triple-screwed out of any other option, or got loads more warm bodies and blasters than tactical sense. Not to mention it’d take an armored wag’s main gun to poke through those walls, mud or not.”
“So are you still willing to go for it?” Mildred asked. “Getting Dark Lady’s thingamajig, I mean?”
“You size her up for the sort who’ll pay us for a job that produces no results?”
“Hell no!”
“Then absolutely.”
“How?”
“I’m working on it,” he said.
* * *
T HE SUN WAS near to setting and the street in front of the gaudy house was unusually vacant. The gaudy was all lit up per usual, though.
Nobody was outside. When Ryan stepped up to the door, he couldn’t hear the usual music and merriment.
Instead he heard voices raised in anger.
Chapter Twelve
“Allow me to remind you,” Dark Lady was saying in a whip-taut voice when Ryan pushed open the door, “you are guests in this establishment.”
There was a good crowd in the gaudy for late afternoon. Most of the tables were occupied, and at least half a dozen of Dark Lady’s “entertainers” were standing or sitting in conversations with guests that might turn into business transactions. The gaudy’s star performer, the lovely blond Lucy, had drawn a crowd all her own.
Ryan took that all in in a flash as he entered, followed by his friends, except for Ricky, who had to have his sleeve grabbed by Jak and be towed out of the doorway to stand in front of an unoccupied table.
Some of the customers glanced at the newcomers when they came in and their eyes got wide. Some visibly began to think even harder about bolting out those self-same doors.
The “guests” Dark Lady was addressing in a not-double-friendly voice never bothered to glance around.
“We’re not guests,” said a tall guy with a sharp knife-scarred face and a shock of sandy-blond hair. He was tall and wore some kind of yellow pelt draped on the shoulders of his black leather jacket. He had a sawed-off lever-action longblaster holstered to his right thigh. “We go where the fuck we please.”
“Please do not ever address me that way again,” Dark Lady said. Her tone of voice suggested the “please” was mere formality. She wasn’t making a suggestion .
The tall, rangy blond man in the fur had a pair of backups, shorter but no less mean-looking. One was a woman with stubble starting out on a skull shaved up to a Mohawk so ludicrously tall it might as well have been shellacked that electric shade of blue to make it stand up. She wore black leather with studs and spikes, and her face might not have been unattractive without the sneer and the black paint on her lips. She had a couple big knives sheathed at her chain belt.
The other person was a man even shorter, even aside from the hair, than she was, and heftier built than his partners. He had greased-back hair that was probably a shade of brown, and a seamed, jowly, stubble-cheeked face. His back was turned to the door; if he carried a visible weapon Ryan didn’t see it. Nonetheless he took one’s presence for granted.
“Crazy Dogs?” J.B. murmured from Ryan’s left elbow.
“Reckon so.”
“Listen up,” the blond man said. “Listen close. You’re the closest thing to a baron this shithouse ville has, so you have
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