"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 Doc Wagon."

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 daywagers, 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 Indian's 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 me 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.

The transition came quickly, and he opened his astral eyes to look at Mr. Enterich, who surprised Sam by still appearing as a man. When Sam turned to Karen, he saw the furry being whom he had known as Jacqueline the Sasquatch. So his vision hadn't failed, and he could still pierce illusions. As a precaution, he checked the Orks in the front seat. They were just Orks, though heavily implanted with cyberware. Abandoning his pose of making a call, he returned to the mundane. "All taken care of," he said.

His host's smile was warm. "Fine. Now, back to your concern about Lofwyr's dealings with you?"

"You've already expressed some of it."

It was Enterich's turn to look puzzled. "Which is?"

"That Lofwyr knew Drake was Haesslich. You've said as much, and I never told you."

"That was not intended as duplicity, Mr. Verner. Lofwyr did suggest that all was not as it seemed with Mr. Drake. Allowing you to discover that fact for yourself and to demonstrate continued determination to proceed assured the Dragon that your effort was worthy of his support."

"Then what does he plan to do?"

"Lofwyr leaves the planning to you. His own involvement in this matter is not politic."

"So he expects me to tackle Haesslich on my own?" Sam was incredulous. What did a Dragon think a Human could do if the Dragon himself was afraid to get involved?

"No need for distress, Mr. Verner. I can safely say that Lofwyr does not expect you to tackle Haesslich directly or without support. When you have made your plans, contact me. If your scheme shows a reasonable chance of success, we can arrange certain resources to aid in the effort. Discreetly, of course."

"What kind of resources?"

"Supplies, equipment, and cash are the easiest to obtain, as long as your needs are within reasonable bounds. Additional, nonspecialist personnel might also be arranged. In the meantime, please accept the services of my aide Karen Montejac as a liaison and advisor."

Sam looked at the woman he knew to be a Sasquatch and a magician. Did she know that he knew? "Mind if I call you Jaq?"

"I'd find it charming," she said, smiling cheerfully.

48.

"Jenny?"

"Right here, boss." The decker's response came from Hart's terminal.

"Any word on Candy?"

"Nothing new. She's still sedated and we haven't yet matched anybody to the descriptions of her assailants. Good thing she's got replacement coverage on her insurance policy."

"I wouldn't send any couriers to that thing without it after what it did to the first girl. Candy will be fine in a couple months."

"Hey, boss, you think they hit her because she was a courier?"

"That's been worrying me. She's the only one who's been to the arcology twice."

"She was a busy girl before you took her on," Jenny said. "Maybe it was something personal."

"Let's hope so. Keep looking."

"Affirmative."

Hart went back to studying the files Major Fuhito had supplied on known runners. They offered slim hope, but she kept looking for any clue that would lead her to Verner through his associates. No one walked the shadows alone; but how could there be so little on the one name they had? This Dodger was almost like a shadow, but any decker as good as his file indicated would be elusive. She had just finished reading it for the tenth time when Jenny interrupted.

"Boss, I don't think the attack on Candy was personal. Alfie's got company downstairs."

"What kind of company?"

"Woman calling herself Alice Crenshaw insists on seeing you."

"Crenshaw? Renraku security?"

"How many can there be?"

"And she wants to see the owner, right?"

"Not like that, boss. She asked for you by name."

That was trouble. For Renraku's deputy security chief to drop in on the enemy for a chat was definitely not standard procedure.

"Jenny, can you still catch tonight's courier?"

"Affirmative."

"Have her tell the thing that tomorrow night's joyride is going to be an end run. Things are getting too hot."

Crenshaw followed her guide up the stairs. She was not unduly worried. Physical security on the building was not enough to keep her from getting out if Hart proved difficult or unstable. Not that she expected such a reaction. From what she had heard, this Hart was a total pro, mercenary to the core. Crenshaw was confident she'd be able to reason with the Elf.

The over-oiled hunk of Free California beefcake opened a last door and stepped inside.

"Thanks, Ralphie," she said, brushing past him.

"It's Alfie."

She ignored him, intent on forming a first-hand impression of the internationally renowned Hart. Hart was seated, but it was obvious she was tall, like most of her kind. She also had the smooth Elven skin, oval face, and delicate, foxy features that men, norm and Elf alike, fawned over. If Hart was a bit on the scrawny side, that was a popular preference, too. Crenshaw reminded herself that Hart had to have brains, too. She'd never have lasted this long in the trade.

Hart made no effort to stand or welcome her visitor. She just sat back in her chair with a look of calm expectancy. Her hands were out of sight behind the desk. Crenshaw pulled up a chrome and plastic chair in front of the desk, ignoring the stuffed armchair already there. Hart still said nothing.

Crenshaw chose her words carefully. "Before you do something we might both regret, let me say I've only come here to talk. I thought that we might be able to see eye-to-eye, one professional woman to another. I also feel obliged to tell you that my associates nearby would not take kindly to any show of violence."

"Are they loaded for Dragon?" Hart asked softly.

"Excuse me?"

"I have a feathered friend nearby who would also, as you say, not take kindly to violence."

"Ah, the serpent who helped you extract Samuel Verner from the arcology. Good. If we've got a matching of muscle, we can get down to business."

Hart inclined her head, which Crenshaw took as agreement. "How is Mr. Verner?"

"I wouldn't know."

An admirable poker face, Crenshaw thought. "Come now, Ms. Hart. I know that you and he are working together."

"Then you know more than I do."

"Are you saying that Samuel Verner is not behind this plot to suborn a member of the Renraku Special Directorate?"

Hart frowned. "I don't like making your job any easier, Crenshaw, but Verner is someone I'd like to see out of the picture. He's been a bit of trouble for me."

Crenshaw found a falling out among the runners interesting, but not unusual. "Whether or not you admit to working with Verner, your own involvement is clear. I also know that you have turned Konrad Hutten, though we have yet to determine what hold you have on him."

"If you have found a weak link in your corporate chain, why not just cut it out?"