X. Found Money, Stolen Time
Vicious arrived early at Mao Yenrai's home the following morning and waited respectfully at the front gate; Mao watched through the window as Spike strolled up, crushed out a cigarette on the sidewalk, and shook hands with his partner.
Mao nodded to himself. A falling-out between Spike and Vicious would have been disastrous at this point, though he had a feeling neither young man knew it. The older he got, the more he believed the Van were right to stay so firmly grounded in tradition and balance. Spike and Vicious were like two matched weights on a fulcrum, each bringing strength to the partnership with qualities the other lacked. Remove one from the equation, and the other would lose his leverage. Perhaps it had been unwise to separate them as leaders for this assignment, but in his heart Mao knew the real imbalance in that situation was his own son, Mato. His inclusion was a necessary risk, intended to ensure at least one of the street teams was under the direct control of Mao and the Van at all times.
It was Mato who opened the door for Vicious and Spike. Mao could hear their low voices, but not the conversation, before the three of them entered the sunroom and crossed to the table, waiting beside their chairs for the eldest man to take his place at the head.
Seeing them around his board, their faces turned to him waiting for his opening remarks, Mao could not help thinking of them all as his sons. Mato was his joy; he took full responsibility for the boy's shortcomings and swelled with pride at his successes. Spike was the image of his father come alive again, proof that personality could be carried in the genes along with the physical form. And Vicious, who had come to him as a teenager with a hundred years' history in his eyes, shone the brightest – as a result of being the most volatile element.
Mao poured tea and sat back in his chair, smiling. "It is a pleasure to have you all in my home. Some men in my position would feel fear, seeing the future vessels of their power assembled like this. But I feel relief, because I do not fear my own demise, so long as you are strong."
Tacit understanding among the younger men made it Vicious' place to respond first. "It is an honor to be invited," he replied. "I am in good company."
Spike knew how to behave in the formal society of the Syndicate, though he'd never admit it outside of a private meeting such as this one. He followed Vicious' remark, after a few seconds of polite silence, with his own greeting. "I have eaten in this sunroom at least once a year, every year of my life. And I'm grateful, every time, that you're still here, Mao."
"I've eaten in this sunroom every day of my life," Mato came back, taking the bait, "And look forward to doing the same again tomorrow." That drew a blistering look from his father, but Spike and Vicious laughed with him, and Mao finally joined in.
"I'll get right to the first item on the agenda," he said when the laughter had died down. "While you were on Ganymede, Vicious, we were contacted by the ISSP Counter-Terrorism director Sean Harrity. As we have all known for some time, the violent clashes between rival syndicates here on Mars take their toll outside our own ranks. There is legislation in place to increase the staffing for the ISSP's anti-Syndicate task forces, and to create a fund from which ISSP officers would be paid exorbitant bounties in exchange for naming police force members who continue to compromise with the Syndicates."
Vicious scoffed. "We hear the same threat every session."
"True," Mao conceded, "But this is the first time we have heard the threat publicly supported by the average citizen. And the citizens are not complaining about gambling, or even drugs. They are complaining about the bloodshed in the streets. Obviously, Harrity is no more interested in seeing this legislation pass than we are. So he has offered us a chance to improve our business position in exchange for making the proposed law seem unnecessary."
"I don't get it," Spike said mildly. "It sounds like they're asking us to 'be nice'."
"They are asking you to stop shooting up bars and train stops. They are offering a blind eye to our transports carrying the shipments from Ganymede, so long as the economic chokehold results in a quieter day-to-day street life. Harrity has contacted the White Tiger leaders as well. It will be up to the three of you to communicate and support the coming changes among the lower ranks, as it will be your responsibility to enforce our negotiated agreements with the White Tiger. You will each have a team of fighters. Your presence should be seen but not felt, unless you respond to a direct attack. I do not necessarily agree with the Van that you are not to be viewed as force. I would have chosen better diplomats if that were the case." He let the words sink in before going on. "I have assigned each of you a charge of twenty people. From your charges, you will choose a second in command of your group." He passed around scrolls, filled with names, to each of them. "Vicious, although I have assigned Julia to work with you, knowing it is most comfortable for you and probably for her, I would object to her selection as your designee."
Vicious raised an eyebrow. "I thought we had agreed that Julia was not a liability."
Spike looked back and forth between his partner and his mentor, wondering what the details of that conversation might have been.
Mao inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "My advice has nothing to do with Julia as a liability. Accept that I have thought through my reasons."
Spike did his best to derail the subject before it boiled over. "Wait. Are you saying there has already been an agreement made with the White Tiger leadership?"
"The overture has been made. But we believe if pressure comes from the bottom – in the form of your visibility and your clear goal to enforce the agreement – the time of transition will be shortened."
"So we aren't ambassadors, really. We're still the enforcers, but we have to shake hands before we start shooting?"
"You are ambassadors with persuasive firepower," Mao replied.
"That wasn't what was said at the Van," Mato cut in. "Not that I am questioning your direction, Father."
Mao gave him a sharp look. "Perhaps you were not listening well, Mato," he replied. "The instruction from the Van was to behave as businessmen, to speak before using your strength."
Mato sat back in his chair and made no further contribution. The uncomfortable lull in the conversation was interrupted by Mao's kitchen staff, who swept in with plates of fruit and coffee service, and while the staff bustled, the Dragons ate without speaking. After the door to the sunroom had closed again, Mao went on.
"My personal request to all of you is that you keep your eyes open for deviation. This would mean buyers who do not contact you on their expected schedule, as well as new buyers who traditionally deal with the Tigers but come to us directly now. Part of our concession to the White Tiger leadership was that we would not attempt to undercut their channels of distribution."
Vicious broke in, "Why concede anything? We have the upper hand. We can simply squeeze them out." He did not drop his gaze as Mao stared at him.
"Despite the consistency of your personal goals, Vicious, they are still inconsistent with the will of the Van. We are under order to reduce the visible fighting between the clans. What you suggest would accomplish precisely the opposite, and would undercut our ability to become the sole supplier of Red Eye on Mars."
Vicious continued to stare, but Mao looked away dismissively and turned to Spike, who had been reading his list. "Spike? You have said little, but what you have said suggests you are looking for a way to continue the rivalry as well."
He shook his head. "No, not exactly. I just want to make sure no one expects me to roll over in the name of being a diplomat."
Mao chuckled. "If that were a requirement, I would not have brought your name to the Van. You even less than your partner."
Spike and Vicious exchanged a look.
"I will expect your designation of seconds tomorrow morning," Mao said as he folded his linen napkin beside his plate. "On Monday, you will begin your formal assignment. We have nothing else for the three of you to attend to this weekend. Use discretion during these two days."
He rose, and the young men followed suit.
***
Spike punched in his ID code at the cash kiosk and whistled appreciatively at the balance displayed on the screen. He didn't know how other people got their money, but ever since his father's death, his had just appeared at regular intervals in his bank account. He collected a "salary" from the Red Dragon at the beginning of each month in addition to the pension payout, but that wasn't due for another two weeks. He withdrew a few thousand Woolongs in cash and pocketed the card, after making sure it showed the same balance as the kiosk.
He paused mid-stride to light a cigarette, thinking idly that the money might have come from this new assignment: a raise, or a bonus. Considering he spent frugally – not out of discipline, but because he had always had money and so never developed a taste for blowing through it – the fact that his account balance had nearly doubled was quite an increase. He did the math in his head, and realized it amounted to nearly a year's salary. The problem with having a trust fund, a pension, and a salary from the Syndicate was that he couldn't just walk into a bank branch and ask them for a statement – he was a glitch in the system.
He found himself back at Annie's, and smiled when he realized he wasn't just at a familiar stopping place, he was at the end of his journey. The sign out front had been turned to "Open", and he pushed through the door, grinning. "Annie! I'm ho-ooome!"
As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he saw two faces at the counter. His right eye saw Annie and Julia, though his left saw only shadows; he squinted and crossed the room.
"Hey, Spike," Julia greeted him, and he felt himself flush. "I came to see you and you weren't here."
"I had breakfast with Mao. I'm sorry, I didn't think to call you about it."
She nodded. "I figured as much, since I knew Vicious went. He was pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing. It's been nice to catch up with Annie, though."
"Don't tell me you're going already," Spike replied. "I have to shop today. I could use a feminine opinion."
She laughed out loud. "I'm not sure my opinion and a feminine opinion would be the same thing... and I'm meeting Vicious for lunch."
"I was going to go to the International District and wander," he said, hoping it sounded as interesting to her as the thought of her coming along sounded to him.
She gave him a sideways look. "I'll comm. you after lunch, if you can wait that long," she said, and he noticed she made no offer for him to attend the meal.
"Sure. I'll just bug Annie until I hear from you," he smiled back.
Annie groaned. "Julia, don't forget to call him."
Julia stood to leave, squeezing Spike's arm as she passed him but not meeting his eyes. "See you later," she called over her shoulder, and went out into the bright sun.
When the bells on the door had gone quiet, Annie poured herself a cup of coffee, laced it with a splash of bourbon, and pinned Spike with a stare. "What was that?"
He shook his head. "What was what?"
"That. With Julia."
"I don't know what you mean. Did she say something to you before I got here?"
She downed most of the coffee before she replied. "No, but she came here to see you. And since when do you invite Julia along on your shopping expeditions?"
Spike stared back at Annie. "I've known her for years. She's my friend. And she has great taste."
"When was the last time you went anywhere alone with her?"
He opened his mouth to say he'd been to her apartment a few days earlier, but closed it again when Annie's point became clear. Blushing a little, he replied, "I'm not up to anything. I just ... look, she and Vicious had a fight, which is behind them now, and Vicious and I had a fight, which is behind us now, and I'm craving familiar faces. Yours included."
Annie narrowed her eyes. "Don't start with the flattery, Spike."
"I'm not, I swear. Hey, what do I owe you for rent?"
"Good lord, you are incorrigible. Offer me flattery, and when I turn that down, offer me money." He could see the dimples in her cheeks even though she tried to hide her smile. "Thirty thousand a month."
"Come on," he said, and could tell she was about to reach across the counter and slap him, so he rushed on. "I paid Archer more than that to stitch my shoulder. Don't sell yourself short. I can cover more, easily."
She sized the young man up, trying to figure out if he was playing at something, but he looked utterly sincere. "No, Spike, thirty a month is fine. Whatever else you should be paying, you'll make up by working the counter or running deliveries."
He looked down. "After the meetings last night and this morning, I don't know how much time I'm going to have."
"Whatever time you have will be enough. We're done with this subject," she said, and finally gave him a smile.
He smiled back and pulled out his card. "Why don't you take a year off of that, just in case I'm not around on the first of the month sometime."
Her eyes widened. "You're sitting on" – she did the math in her head – "almost four hundred thousand Woolongs?"
He put his finger to his lips. "I don't know where some of it came from, so I figured I'd better spend it before it disappeared again." He didn't tell her he was really sitting on a few million; that would have opened up a much bigger can of worms.
Annie was familiar with the strange cycles of Syndicate banking, since her shop ran on the same system. "What if it's not yours, Spike?"
He nodded. "I thought about that." Laundering money through personal accounts happened every once in a while, though some warning was usually provided. "But no one's ever used my account as a washing machine before, and I just got a new assignment, and I can't very well go down to the Financial District and ask some guy in a suit to walk me through the last dozen transactions. Go on, make the transfer, so I know how much I have left to take shopping."
She hesitated before taking his card. "I'll take six months," she said, "And I want you to be careful."
He gave her a puzzled look.
"With your money. With yourself. And with Julia." She handed his card back after the transaction was complete. "For your first assignment, you can watch the counter while I go out and have somebody else make me a sandwich for lunch."
"Sure," he said, and settled into her customary seat with a magazine from the 18-up rack while she put on her coat.
"You want anything?"
He shook his head and smiled. "Nah. I'll eat when I go out."
"Be good," she told him with a wink.
***
He'd had a nap, made a list of what he needed, and just about given up on Julia calling back when his comm. buzzed and flashed her number. "Hey!" he greeted her, feeling a little euphoric.
"Hey yourself. Have you run your errands yet?"
"Nope. I was just about to leave. Are you going to help?"
"I don't have any idea what I can do to help you," she said with a laugh, "but a day out sounds like a good plan."
"I'm not beyond help. Should I pick you up?"
"Why don't I come get you?" she replied. "Easier to park a car than a Mono- racer in the I-D."
He beamed. "I'll be ready."
When she hung up, he looked around the room, searching for something to do with the time until she arrived. He had barely finished alphabetizing his books by author when he heard the purr of her convertible outside the open window, followed by the jingle of the shop bell. A knock on his door soon followed, and he called out "Come in," as he stowed the finally-empty suitcase under the bed and pulled on his sherpa jacket.
She opened the door and poked her head inside. "You haven't painted over it yet, I see?"
"Why would I do that?"
She shrugged. "I figured you'd do something to make it yours."
"I like that you used to live here," he replied, before he'd really thought about it. "Uh. You did a nice job decorating, I mean," he tacked on, but they both understood what he'd said.
She cocked her head to the side, almost smiling, and came inside, hesitating before leaving the door open. "What's on your list that I need to help you with, exactly?"
"I'm down to one suit," he said, "and I'm feeling a little weird about Annie's Victorian bedroom furniture. Wanted to pick out something a little more..."
"Manly?" she supplied.
"Me," he countered. "Though the paint job will stay."
"So I'm going clothes-and-furniture shopping with you?"
"If you don't mind." He waited, wondering if he'd overstepped some boundary.
She laughed. "It's more than a little surreal, Spike, but I'll try anything once."
"Excellent. Let's go."
As they wound through the city toward the northwest corner, where the International District sprawled back from the bay to the foothills, he let the wind blow through his hair and made up ground rules for the day. Annie had pegged him from the second he walked in the shop that morning, and that meant he had to curb whatever he was telegraphing about his enthusiasm for Julia's company – most of all, when she was around. The difference between fantasy and reality was painfully obvious. Whatever had transpired between her and Vicious – and he intended to find out what that was, today – they were clearly back on solid footing, and he'd served his purpose as a friend and confidant. He'd take whatever extra time of hers he could get, and had no desire to endanger the opportunity by being too forward. The idea of actually approaching her in any romantic way still seemed horribly wrong; wrong to betray his partner, wrong to ask her to do the same. But unlike Julia, he hadn't resolved anything with Vicious about his strange behavior – and it needled at him while they drove.
They walked the open-air market, looking for the row of clothiers and tailors in the Italian section. Spike stopped to teach a street performer how to make a cigarette vanish and reappear with one hand in his pocket, and Julia watched with a close eye, impressing him when she pulled it off as they continued down the street. "You're probably good at making things disappear," he teased.
She raised her eyebrows. "I've been known to do it. Though I like being able to pay for what I buy these days."
"Julia," he began, trying to figure out how best to broach the subject, "I don't want this to sound like something it isn't. But I want to know that you're really all right with Vicious. I don't need to know the details. I just would hate to think felt like you didn't have any options."
She looked around at the booths and the pedestrians as she replied, "What options do I have, exactly?"
He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. "Breaking it off with Vicious – if you wanted to – wouldn't necessarily mean breaking off your life here in Tharsis City. You would have the support of Mao. It counts for a lot."
She looked at him with mild concern. "How do you know I have Mao's support?"
He bit his lip. "He as much as said so this morning. And he directed Vicious not to put you in the line of fire for this little mission we're all about to take on. I assume Vicious told you all about it."
She nodded. "He told me about it. Told me he'd assigned Marcus Britt as his second in command. I figured he was the one pigeonholing me into sitting around in my apartment most of the time."
"Well, that would be him. All Mao told him was that he shouldn't assign you the secondary command, although he said in the same breath that he thought you could handle it."
"Spike, what did you tell him? He wouldn't give that direction unless he knew something about what happened over the past few days." She put on her sunglasses so he couldn't see her eyes, and her face was impossible to read.
Sighing, he relented. "I told him what Vicious had offered you, and what he asked me to do about it. I told him I didn't want to see it carried out by someone else. He assured me there would not be a next time."
She went pale. "Vicious will be able to figure out that he knows," she said, more to herself than to Spike.
"I doubt it," he said, stopping her with a hand on her arm. She turned to face him, and he looked into his reflection in her shades. "Mao had to know. And he's smart enough to know how to keep his knowledge hidden. I wasn't about to let Vicious jerk you around that way. He doesn't have the authority to make an offer to leave; you know that. And he didn't have the authority to send me after you."
"He said he knew you wouldn't do it."
Spike shook his head. "I guess I'm more transparent than I thought."
"You are," she said, but her tone was gentle. "I won't forget the last few days – your actions, or Vicious'. But I really am fine. I can handle him, and I can handle myself."
"I never doubted that," he said with a wry grin. "I just get the feeling the trip to Ganymede must have been a real roller-coaster ride."
She surprised him by putting her arms around him, and he returned the embrace cautiously, willing his body to behave. "I don't want to talk about it, Spike," she said against his shoulder, "but I know if I ever do, I can talk to you." She stepped back, looking a little sheepish, and they stood quiet for a moment, neither sure of what to say.
He pointed across the street. "There. Italian suits. Item number one."
By the time he'd picked out four suits, a half-dozen shirts, and a new trenchcoat, the discomfort of the earlier conversation had faded. He was about to pay when Julia stopped him, pointing to a suit in the window. Two- toned blue, double-breasted, with rectangular patches over the clasps, it looked like a musician's ensemble more than the attire of a businessman. "That," she declared, "is a Spike suit."
He raised his eyebrows. "You think so?" He motioned to the tailor and asked if he had one to try on. The tailor looked him up and down, and then replied, "It's far too short for you, but I could make you one."
"Do it," Julia cut in. "With a yellow shirt and a black tie."
"You have excellent taste, ma'am. He is lucky to have you."
Spike laughed. "She does have excellent taste. And I'm the unluckiest guy I know, but at least she'll shop with me."
He didn't dare look at her, and she was relieved that he did not see the shadow of regret cross her face before she pushed it from her mind.
Vicious arrived early at Mao Yenrai's home the following morning and waited respectfully at the front gate; Mao watched through the window as Spike strolled up, crushed out a cigarette on the sidewalk, and shook hands with his partner.
Mao nodded to himself. A falling-out between Spike and Vicious would have been disastrous at this point, though he had a feeling neither young man knew it. The older he got, the more he believed the Van were right to stay so firmly grounded in tradition and balance. Spike and Vicious were like two matched weights on a fulcrum, each bringing strength to the partnership with qualities the other lacked. Remove one from the equation, and the other would lose his leverage. Perhaps it had been unwise to separate them as leaders for this assignment, but in his heart Mao knew the real imbalance in that situation was his own son, Mato. His inclusion was a necessary risk, intended to ensure at least one of the street teams was under the direct control of Mao and the Van at all times.
It was Mato who opened the door for Vicious and Spike. Mao could hear their low voices, but not the conversation, before the three of them entered the sunroom and crossed to the table, waiting beside their chairs for the eldest man to take his place at the head.
Seeing them around his board, their faces turned to him waiting for his opening remarks, Mao could not help thinking of them all as his sons. Mato was his joy; he took full responsibility for the boy's shortcomings and swelled with pride at his successes. Spike was the image of his father come alive again, proof that personality could be carried in the genes along with the physical form. And Vicious, who had come to him as a teenager with a hundred years' history in his eyes, shone the brightest – as a result of being the most volatile element.
Mao poured tea and sat back in his chair, smiling. "It is a pleasure to have you all in my home. Some men in my position would feel fear, seeing the future vessels of their power assembled like this. But I feel relief, because I do not fear my own demise, so long as you are strong."
Tacit understanding among the younger men made it Vicious' place to respond first. "It is an honor to be invited," he replied. "I am in good company."
Spike knew how to behave in the formal society of the Syndicate, though he'd never admit it outside of a private meeting such as this one. He followed Vicious' remark, after a few seconds of polite silence, with his own greeting. "I have eaten in this sunroom at least once a year, every year of my life. And I'm grateful, every time, that you're still here, Mao."
"I've eaten in this sunroom every day of my life," Mato came back, taking the bait, "And look forward to doing the same again tomorrow." That drew a blistering look from his father, but Spike and Vicious laughed with him, and Mao finally joined in.
"I'll get right to the first item on the agenda," he said when the laughter had died down. "While you were on Ganymede, Vicious, we were contacted by the ISSP Counter-Terrorism director Sean Harrity. As we have all known for some time, the violent clashes between rival syndicates here on Mars take their toll outside our own ranks. There is legislation in place to increase the staffing for the ISSP's anti-Syndicate task forces, and to create a fund from which ISSP officers would be paid exorbitant bounties in exchange for naming police force members who continue to compromise with the Syndicates."
Vicious scoffed. "We hear the same threat every session."
"True," Mao conceded, "But this is the first time we have heard the threat publicly supported by the average citizen. And the citizens are not complaining about gambling, or even drugs. They are complaining about the bloodshed in the streets. Obviously, Harrity is no more interested in seeing this legislation pass than we are. So he has offered us a chance to improve our business position in exchange for making the proposed law seem unnecessary."
"I don't get it," Spike said mildly. "It sounds like they're asking us to 'be nice'."
"They are asking you to stop shooting up bars and train stops. They are offering a blind eye to our transports carrying the shipments from Ganymede, so long as the economic chokehold results in a quieter day-to-day street life. Harrity has contacted the White Tiger leaders as well. It will be up to the three of you to communicate and support the coming changes among the lower ranks, as it will be your responsibility to enforce our negotiated agreements with the White Tiger. You will each have a team of fighters. Your presence should be seen but not felt, unless you respond to a direct attack. I do not necessarily agree with the Van that you are not to be viewed as force. I would have chosen better diplomats if that were the case." He let the words sink in before going on. "I have assigned each of you a charge of twenty people. From your charges, you will choose a second in command of your group." He passed around scrolls, filled with names, to each of them. "Vicious, although I have assigned Julia to work with you, knowing it is most comfortable for you and probably for her, I would object to her selection as your designee."
Vicious raised an eyebrow. "I thought we had agreed that Julia was not a liability."
Spike looked back and forth between his partner and his mentor, wondering what the details of that conversation might have been.
Mao inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "My advice has nothing to do with Julia as a liability. Accept that I have thought through my reasons."
Spike did his best to derail the subject before it boiled over. "Wait. Are you saying there has already been an agreement made with the White Tiger leadership?"
"The overture has been made. But we believe if pressure comes from the bottom – in the form of your visibility and your clear goal to enforce the agreement – the time of transition will be shortened."
"So we aren't ambassadors, really. We're still the enforcers, but we have to shake hands before we start shooting?"
"You are ambassadors with persuasive firepower," Mao replied.
"That wasn't what was said at the Van," Mato cut in. "Not that I am questioning your direction, Father."
Mao gave him a sharp look. "Perhaps you were not listening well, Mato," he replied. "The instruction from the Van was to behave as businessmen, to speak before using your strength."
Mato sat back in his chair and made no further contribution. The uncomfortable lull in the conversation was interrupted by Mao's kitchen staff, who swept in with plates of fruit and coffee service, and while the staff bustled, the Dragons ate without speaking. After the door to the sunroom had closed again, Mao went on.
"My personal request to all of you is that you keep your eyes open for deviation. This would mean buyers who do not contact you on their expected schedule, as well as new buyers who traditionally deal with the Tigers but come to us directly now. Part of our concession to the White Tiger leadership was that we would not attempt to undercut their channels of distribution."
Vicious broke in, "Why concede anything? We have the upper hand. We can simply squeeze them out." He did not drop his gaze as Mao stared at him.
"Despite the consistency of your personal goals, Vicious, they are still inconsistent with the will of the Van. We are under order to reduce the visible fighting between the clans. What you suggest would accomplish precisely the opposite, and would undercut our ability to become the sole supplier of Red Eye on Mars."
Vicious continued to stare, but Mao looked away dismissively and turned to Spike, who had been reading his list. "Spike? You have said little, but what you have said suggests you are looking for a way to continue the rivalry as well."
He shook his head. "No, not exactly. I just want to make sure no one expects me to roll over in the name of being a diplomat."
Mao chuckled. "If that were a requirement, I would not have brought your name to the Van. You even less than your partner."
Spike and Vicious exchanged a look.
"I will expect your designation of seconds tomorrow morning," Mao said as he folded his linen napkin beside his plate. "On Monday, you will begin your formal assignment. We have nothing else for the three of you to attend to this weekend. Use discretion during these two days."
He rose, and the young men followed suit.
***
Spike punched in his ID code at the cash kiosk and whistled appreciatively at the balance displayed on the screen. He didn't know how other people got their money, but ever since his father's death, his had just appeared at regular intervals in his bank account. He collected a "salary" from the Red Dragon at the beginning of each month in addition to the pension payout, but that wasn't due for another two weeks. He withdrew a few thousand Woolongs in cash and pocketed the card, after making sure it showed the same balance as the kiosk.
He paused mid-stride to light a cigarette, thinking idly that the money might have come from this new assignment: a raise, or a bonus. Considering he spent frugally – not out of discipline, but because he had always had money and so never developed a taste for blowing through it – the fact that his account balance had nearly doubled was quite an increase. He did the math in his head, and realized it amounted to nearly a year's salary. The problem with having a trust fund, a pension, and a salary from the Syndicate was that he couldn't just walk into a bank branch and ask them for a statement – he was a glitch in the system.
He found himself back at Annie's, and smiled when he realized he wasn't just at a familiar stopping place, he was at the end of his journey. The sign out front had been turned to "Open", and he pushed through the door, grinning. "Annie! I'm ho-ooome!"
As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he saw two faces at the counter. His right eye saw Annie and Julia, though his left saw only shadows; he squinted and crossed the room.
"Hey, Spike," Julia greeted him, and he felt himself flush. "I came to see you and you weren't here."
"I had breakfast with Mao. I'm sorry, I didn't think to call you about it."
She nodded. "I figured as much, since I knew Vicious went. He was pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing. It's been nice to catch up with Annie, though."
"Don't tell me you're going already," Spike replied. "I have to shop today. I could use a feminine opinion."
She laughed out loud. "I'm not sure my opinion and a feminine opinion would be the same thing... and I'm meeting Vicious for lunch."
"I was going to go to the International District and wander," he said, hoping it sounded as interesting to her as the thought of her coming along sounded to him.
She gave him a sideways look. "I'll comm. you after lunch, if you can wait that long," she said, and he noticed she made no offer for him to attend the meal.
"Sure. I'll just bug Annie until I hear from you," he smiled back.
Annie groaned. "Julia, don't forget to call him."
Julia stood to leave, squeezing Spike's arm as she passed him but not meeting his eyes. "See you later," she called over her shoulder, and went out into the bright sun.
When the bells on the door had gone quiet, Annie poured herself a cup of coffee, laced it with a splash of bourbon, and pinned Spike with a stare. "What was that?"
He shook his head. "What was what?"
"That. With Julia."
"I don't know what you mean. Did she say something to you before I got here?"
She downed most of the coffee before she replied. "No, but she came here to see you. And since when do you invite Julia along on your shopping expeditions?"
Spike stared back at Annie. "I've known her for years. She's my friend. And she has great taste."
"When was the last time you went anywhere alone with her?"
He opened his mouth to say he'd been to her apartment a few days earlier, but closed it again when Annie's point became clear. Blushing a little, he replied, "I'm not up to anything. I just ... look, she and Vicious had a fight, which is behind them now, and Vicious and I had a fight, which is behind us now, and I'm craving familiar faces. Yours included."
Annie narrowed her eyes. "Don't start with the flattery, Spike."
"I'm not, I swear. Hey, what do I owe you for rent?"
"Good lord, you are incorrigible. Offer me flattery, and when I turn that down, offer me money." He could see the dimples in her cheeks even though she tried to hide her smile. "Thirty thousand a month."
"Come on," he said, and could tell she was about to reach across the counter and slap him, so he rushed on. "I paid Archer more than that to stitch my shoulder. Don't sell yourself short. I can cover more, easily."
She sized the young man up, trying to figure out if he was playing at something, but he looked utterly sincere. "No, Spike, thirty a month is fine. Whatever else you should be paying, you'll make up by working the counter or running deliveries."
He looked down. "After the meetings last night and this morning, I don't know how much time I'm going to have."
"Whatever time you have will be enough. We're done with this subject," she said, and finally gave him a smile.
He smiled back and pulled out his card. "Why don't you take a year off of that, just in case I'm not around on the first of the month sometime."
Her eyes widened. "You're sitting on" – she did the math in her head – "almost four hundred thousand Woolongs?"
He put his finger to his lips. "I don't know where some of it came from, so I figured I'd better spend it before it disappeared again." He didn't tell her he was really sitting on a few million; that would have opened up a much bigger can of worms.
Annie was familiar with the strange cycles of Syndicate banking, since her shop ran on the same system. "What if it's not yours, Spike?"
He nodded. "I thought about that." Laundering money through personal accounts happened every once in a while, though some warning was usually provided. "But no one's ever used my account as a washing machine before, and I just got a new assignment, and I can't very well go down to the Financial District and ask some guy in a suit to walk me through the last dozen transactions. Go on, make the transfer, so I know how much I have left to take shopping."
She hesitated before taking his card. "I'll take six months," she said, "And I want you to be careful."
He gave her a puzzled look.
"With your money. With yourself. And with Julia." She handed his card back after the transaction was complete. "For your first assignment, you can watch the counter while I go out and have somebody else make me a sandwich for lunch."
"Sure," he said, and settled into her customary seat with a magazine from the 18-up rack while she put on her coat.
"You want anything?"
He shook his head and smiled. "Nah. I'll eat when I go out."
"Be good," she told him with a wink.
***
He'd had a nap, made a list of what he needed, and just about given up on Julia calling back when his comm. buzzed and flashed her number. "Hey!" he greeted her, feeling a little euphoric.
"Hey yourself. Have you run your errands yet?"
"Nope. I was just about to leave. Are you going to help?"
"I don't have any idea what I can do to help you," she said with a laugh, "but a day out sounds like a good plan."
"I'm not beyond help. Should I pick you up?"
"Why don't I come get you?" she replied. "Easier to park a car than a Mono- racer in the I-D."
He beamed. "I'll be ready."
When she hung up, he looked around the room, searching for something to do with the time until she arrived. He had barely finished alphabetizing his books by author when he heard the purr of her convertible outside the open window, followed by the jingle of the shop bell. A knock on his door soon followed, and he called out "Come in," as he stowed the finally-empty suitcase under the bed and pulled on his sherpa jacket.
She opened the door and poked her head inside. "You haven't painted over it yet, I see?"
"Why would I do that?"
She shrugged. "I figured you'd do something to make it yours."
"I like that you used to live here," he replied, before he'd really thought about it. "Uh. You did a nice job decorating, I mean," he tacked on, but they both understood what he'd said.
She cocked her head to the side, almost smiling, and came inside, hesitating before leaving the door open. "What's on your list that I need to help you with, exactly?"
"I'm down to one suit," he said, "and I'm feeling a little weird about Annie's Victorian bedroom furniture. Wanted to pick out something a little more..."
"Manly?" she supplied.
"Me," he countered. "Though the paint job will stay."
"So I'm going clothes-and-furniture shopping with you?"
"If you don't mind." He waited, wondering if he'd overstepped some boundary.
She laughed. "It's more than a little surreal, Spike, but I'll try anything once."
"Excellent. Let's go."
As they wound through the city toward the northwest corner, where the International District sprawled back from the bay to the foothills, he let the wind blow through his hair and made up ground rules for the day. Annie had pegged him from the second he walked in the shop that morning, and that meant he had to curb whatever he was telegraphing about his enthusiasm for Julia's company – most of all, when she was around. The difference between fantasy and reality was painfully obvious. Whatever had transpired between her and Vicious – and he intended to find out what that was, today – they were clearly back on solid footing, and he'd served his purpose as a friend and confidant. He'd take whatever extra time of hers he could get, and had no desire to endanger the opportunity by being too forward. The idea of actually approaching her in any romantic way still seemed horribly wrong; wrong to betray his partner, wrong to ask her to do the same. But unlike Julia, he hadn't resolved anything with Vicious about his strange behavior – and it needled at him while they drove.
They walked the open-air market, looking for the row of clothiers and tailors in the Italian section. Spike stopped to teach a street performer how to make a cigarette vanish and reappear with one hand in his pocket, and Julia watched with a close eye, impressing him when she pulled it off as they continued down the street. "You're probably good at making things disappear," he teased.
She raised her eyebrows. "I've been known to do it. Though I like being able to pay for what I buy these days."
"Julia," he began, trying to figure out how best to broach the subject, "I don't want this to sound like something it isn't. But I want to know that you're really all right with Vicious. I don't need to know the details. I just would hate to think felt like you didn't have any options."
She looked around at the booths and the pedestrians as she replied, "What options do I have, exactly?"
He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. "Breaking it off with Vicious – if you wanted to – wouldn't necessarily mean breaking off your life here in Tharsis City. You would have the support of Mao. It counts for a lot."
She looked at him with mild concern. "How do you know I have Mao's support?"
He bit his lip. "He as much as said so this morning. And he directed Vicious not to put you in the line of fire for this little mission we're all about to take on. I assume Vicious told you all about it."
She nodded. "He told me about it. Told me he'd assigned Marcus Britt as his second in command. I figured he was the one pigeonholing me into sitting around in my apartment most of the time."
"Well, that would be him. All Mao told him was that he shouldn't assign you the secondary command, although he said in the same breath that he thought you could handle it."
"Spike, what did you tell him? He wouldn't give that direction unless he knew something about what happened over the past few days." She put on her sunglasses so he couldn't see her eyes, and her face was impossible to read.
Sighing, he relented. "I told him what Vicious had offered you, and what he asked me to do about it. I told him I didn't want to see it carried out by someone else. He assured me there would not be a next time."
She went pale. "Vicious will be able to figure out that he knows," she said, more to herself than to Spike.
"I doubt it," he said, stopping her with a hand on her arm. She turned to face him, and he looked into his reflection in her shades. "Mao had to know. And he's smart enough to know how to keep his knowledge hidden. I wasn't about to let Vicious jerk you around that way. He doesn't have the authority to make an offer to leave; you know that. And he didn't have the authority to send me after you."
"He said he knew you wouldn't do it."
Spike shook his head. "I guess I'm more transparent than I thought."
"You are," she said, but her tone was gentle. "I won't forget the last few days – your actions, or Vicious'. But I really am fine. I can handle him, and I can handle myself."
"I never doubted that," he said with a wry grin. "I just get the feeling the trip to Ganymede must have been a real roller-coaster ride."
She surprised him by putting her arms around him, and he returned the embrace cautiously, willing his body to behave. "I don't want to talk about it, Spike," she said against his shoulder, "but I know if I ever do, I can talk to you." She stepped back, looking a little sheepish, and they stood quiet for a moment, neither sure of what to say.
He pointed across the street. "There. Italian suits. Item number one."
By the time he'd picked out four suits, a half-dozen shirts, and a new trenchcoat, the discomfort of the earlier conversation had faded. He was about to pay when Julia stopped him, pointing to a suit in the window. Two- toned blue, double-breasted, with rectangular patches over the clasps, it looked like a musician's ensemble more than the attire of a businessman. "That," she declared, "is a Spike suit."
He raised his eyebrows. "You think so?" He motioned to the tailor and asked if he had one to try on. The tailor looked him up and down, and then replied, "It's far too short for you, but I could make you one."
"Do it," Julia cut in. "With a yellow shirt and a black tie."
"You have excellent taste, ma'am. He is lucky to have you."
Spike laughed. "She does have excellent taste. And I'm the unluckiest guy I know, but at least she'll shop with me."
He didn't dare look at her, and she was relieved that he did not see the shadow of regret cross her face before she pushed it from her mind.