No reaction.

“We also know you work for Congenial Companions who arranged your liaisons with Hutten, Who’s your boss, Candy?”

“Go check the Hall of Records.”

Crenshaw nodded to Ridley. He moved to the side of the bed where Candy could see him. Crouching, he brushed a blade down her cheek. Blood welled up in the shallow furrow it made.

“Reconsider, babe, or you’re going to lose something near and dear to you.”

“Sit on your spur.”

“Bad answer, babe,” Ridley’s arm flashed down, slicing his spur through the girl’s wrist. Her hand fell to the floor and was spattered with the blood pumping from her wrist. She started to scream.

“Ridley!” Markowitz leaped forward, only to be stopped short by a bloody blade whose point was less than a centimeter from his right eye.

“It’s biz, chummer. You want your own taste?” Ridley said through clenched teeth.

Crenshaw ignored them and spoke to the girl. “You’re going to bleed to death unless you tell me what I want to know. Now, who do you work for?”

“You won’t let me die?” Candy’s voice quavered. She was already going into shock.

“Of course not, dear. Who do you work for?”

“Help me first,” she pleaded.

“No, dear. You have to talk first.”

Candy began to cry, her breathing irregular and ragged. “The Elf bitch,” she moaned. “Calls herself Hart.”

“Now that’s a name I have heard before. You should have spoken up sooner, Candy. There was no need for you to get hurt.” Crenshaw stood up. “Markowitz, tie off her arm, then call a DocWagon.”

Markowitz gave Ridley one last glare and stepped around the razorguy to reach the bed. With swift motions, he freed the vacant restraining strap and applied it to Candy’s arm as a tourniquet. By the time he was done, she had fainted.

“You didn’t have to maim her,” he said.

“Null the static, Marky.” Ridley tapped the flat of one spur against his chrome arm. “Her kind’s always got credit socked away. She can buy the tech. They can make her faster, stronger, better!”

Ridley’s wild laughter made Crenshaw’s stomach go sour. The man was over the edge and would have to be watched. If it came to it, she could send him against Hart. He probably couldn’t take the Elf, but it would get him out of Crenshaw’s hair for good.

47

The street corner was like a hundred others in the metroplex this time of day. Hurrying by were corporate day-wagers, salarymen, and office ladies, all trying to make it home before the city’s nightlife took over the streets. Or else heading that way to ready themselves to join it. Already the first wave of night breeds was out. Chippers, chemguzzlers, and jackheads were panhandling for their next fixes while rockerfans, glitzqueens, and underage wannabees hustled off to the next scene-or-be-scene. The only thing that made this corner unique was the ebony Mitsubishi Nightsky rolling slowly to a stop by the curb.

The doors on the curbside of the limousine opened. A burly Ork rolled out of one to stand stern and vigilant sentry. The gray livery she wore was tailored to enhance her already considerable presence. Through the open door, Sam could see that the driver wore a similar uniform; he was also an Ork.

The back door gaped on a cool, dark interior. A woman who he recognized as Lofwyr’s secretary sat in a bucket jumpseat that backed against the partition separating the sybaritic rear compartment from the control center of the front. Across from her sat a man whose face was unfamiliar. The man, so relaxed he could only be the rightful owner of the vehicle, was slim and well-dressed. Fiftyish and distinguished, he wore his gray hair trimmed in a slightly old-Fashioned cut. When he smiled, a glint of gold showed among his teeth.

“Please get in, Mr. Verner,” the man said. “The sidewalk is no place to transact business.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, a signal to Ghost that the contact had arrived, He heard the sound of the Indians motorcycle starting, but the noise of traffic quickly swallowed the Sound. Ghost was ready to follow him, for they’d anticipated the possibility. “I guess that will be all right.”

Sam ducked his head and slid into the Nightsky then sank into the luxurious leather seat. Without a touch, the door closed silently, and the view outside the window began to move, Sam had not felt the Ork return to her seat or the car begin to roll. He turned to his host. “You are Mr…”

“Enterich.” He held out a hand.

Sam started to extend his own, then froze, staring at the silver ring the man wore. It was sculpted in the form of a Dragon. Haesslich had worn a silver Dragon ring when appearing as Mr. Drake.

“You are admiring my ring. An exquisite piece of work, is it not? It is a family heirloom that dates, I believe, from the fourteenth century. The image is something of a pun. You see, I had rather ambitious forebears. They thought the image of a firedrake was a better insignia for an up-and-coming family than a feathered pond paddler.”

“I don’t get it.”

“A drake, Mr. Verner.” Sam must still have looked perplexed, for his host added, “The firedrake was sometimes called simply a drake. In German, Enterich means drake… as in a male duck.” Sam gave a nervous chuckle.

“Do you believe in destiny, Mr. Verner?”

“Never used to.”

“Which implies that you do now.”

Sam wasn’t really sure anymore, but what was it to this fellow? “Why do you ask?”

“You seemed to react so strongly to my ring. Perhaps you might have taken my ring or name as a sign. Many people have such beliefs these days. Part of the revival of things magical, I suppose.”

“No,” Sam said. “I didn’t take it as a sign of anything.” Except that you might be a Dragon yourself.

“Ah, then it’s a pleasure to deal with a rational man. I’m sure that will make everything so much easier. Now, perhaps we can discuss your complaint regarding Lofwyr?”

“Before we get down to that, will you permit rue to phone my associates to let them know all is well?. They weren’t expecting me to be picked up.”

“I understand, Mr. Verner. Karen, place a call for our guest.”

“Ah, I’ve got my own, thanks,” Sam said, tapping his head.

Enterich seemed amused. “I see. Karen, lower the communications barrier, please. Mr. Verner will make his own call.”

Sam settled back, rocking his head forward onto his chest, the position he had seen regular head-phone users adopt. He closed his eyes as though concentrating on sending the commands to dial. Instead, he focused on breaking through to astral space.