lobby until I noticed a man whose stare had locked fast on me. From where I sat his face looked sharp and immature, his expression sulky.
He studied me from the plush drop couches behind the faux waterfall and his eyes weren’t exactly glowing with appreciation. In fact they burned with raw anger.
After a few moments he got up and stalked over, a young, self-important predator, on the balls of his feet.
‘This ’Tel is spoken for. Staked. Off-limits,’ he said. ‘Savvy?’
I froze him off with an almost-Parrish stare. ‘Whose stake is it?’ I asked bluntly.
He held his ground despite being smaller. I glanced appreciatively over his slim physique: either a gymnast, or he’d had a shitload of fine muscle-sculpting.
‘Mine.’
‘And you are . . . ?’ I slipped into the more snooty tone of my Amorato persona and stared down my nose in a way that really got shorter guys jumping.
He blinked in disbelief. Then his lip curled. ‘Lavish Deluxe - Delly . And free-lancers never tread on local tours. WHO are YOU ?’ he demanded.
I put my hand out, careful to handshake in the traditional way. ‘Jales Belliere. I’m from . . . out of town. I don’t know anything about stakes and I have no desire to work on your patch. I’m meeting someone . . . important,’ I said.
‘Important, eh?’ He curled his lip again, this time in disbelief. ‘Just keep out of my way.’
He spun on his heel and resumed his pose under the waterfall as if I didn’t exist.
Not quite to plan.
I swore a bit.
Then a commotion started up behind me and I watched a red-haired woman of perfectly paid-for proportions enter the lobby, circled by Militia. I tried not to gawk at the radiant perfection of her skin and the dangerous stilettos that lent her a high power-saturation rating.
My observations were interrupted by a discreetly veiled Intimate with the emblem of a runner on his gold lapels tapping me on the shoulder. He passed me a palm p-diary and inflated a privacy fedora to slip over my head.
Seeing my hesitation, he said, ‘Mr Monk does not converse over public comm.’
I opened my mouth in astonishment and closed it again as quickly as I could, lowering my head so that he could put the fedora in place.
Underneath it the mature, heavily jowled face I’d been studying on the Net floated into view before my eyes as though we were underwater.
‘Jales Belliere, I assume you are looking for a secondment.’
‘Er . . . yes. M-my . . . acquaintances tell me your secondments are among the best,’ I stammered.
‘And your acquaintances are?’
I reeled off some of the names I’d just been reading on the media profile lists and mumbled something about being new to town and having a gap in my tour calendar.
Monk’s mouth spread into a smile that lent some charm to the heavy face. ‘Then perhaps we should let you have the opportunity to be able to say that a secondment with James Monk is the best. When are you free?’
I gulped in shock.
‘Er . . . soon.’
Lame, but his invitation had caught me by surprise. I didn’t want to shut the door on this unexpected turn of events, but I had other immediate plans.
‘I shall leave Derek to make the arrangements,’ he said.
Monk terminated the exchange and I shrugged out of the bubble.
The Intimate blinked his live vid-feed off. Seemed I was being cammed while I commed.
Between the Hi-Tel’s doormen and Monk’s servant my skin itched from the bombardment of photons.
How the hell had I got an interview with James Monk? What should I do now? My Amorato guise would never stand up to real scrutiny.
From the corner of my eye I could see that everyone seemed to be staring at me.
Delly.
The desk staff.
The doormen.
Even the security-clad redhead frowned as though she was trying to place me. She gestured to two of her muscle boys who detached themselves from her entourage and headed over.
‘We should leave now,’ said Derek.
I ran my options. Go with Derek now - and risk
He studied me from the plush drop couches behind the faux waterfall and his eyes weren’t exactly glowing with appreciation. In fact they burned with raw anger.
After a few moments he got up and stalked over, a young, self-important predator, on the balls of his feet.
‘This ’Tel is spoken for. Staked. Off-limits,’ he said. ‘Savvy?’
I froze him off with an almost-Parrish stare. ‘Whose stake is it?’ I asked bluntly.
He held his ground despite being smaller. I glanced appreciatively over his slim physique: either a gymnast, or he’d had a shitload of fine muscle-sculpting.
‘Mine.’
‘And you are . . . ?’ I slipped into the more snooty tone of my Amorato persona and stared down my nose in a way that really got shorter guys jumping.
He blinked in disbelief. Then his lip curled. ‘Lavish Deluxe - Delly . And free-lancers never tread on local tours. WHO are YOU ?’ he demanded.
I put my hand out, careful to handshake in the traditional way. ‘Jales Belliere. I’m from . . . out of town. I don’t know anything about stakes and I have no desire to work on your patch. I’m meeting someone . . . important,’ I said.
‘Important, eh?’ He curled his lip again, this time in disbelief. ‘Just keep out of my way.’
He spun on his heel and resumed his pose under the waterfall as if I didn’t exist.
Not quite to plan.
I swore a bit.
Then a commotion started up behind me and I watched a red-haired woman of perfectly paid-for proportions enter the lobby, circled by Militia. I tried not to gawk at the radiant perfection of her skin and the dangerous stilettos that lent her a high power-saturation rating.
My observations were interrupted by a discreetly veiled Intimate with the emblem of a runner on his gold lapels tapping me on the shoulder. He passed me a palm p-diary and inflated a privacy fedora to slip over my head.
Seeing my hesitation, he said, ‘Mr Monk does not converse over public comm.’
I opened my mouth in astonishment and closed it again as quickly as I could, lowering my head so that he could put the fedora in place.
Underneath it the mature, heavily jowled face I’d been studying on the Net floated into view before my eyes as though we were underwater.
‘Jales Belliere, I assume you are looking for a secondment.’
‘Er . . . yes. M-my . . . acquaintances tell me your secondments are among the best,’ I stammered.
‘And your acquaintances are?’
I reeled off some of the names I’d just been reading on the media profile lists and mumbled something about being new to town and having a gap in my tour calendar.
Monk’s mouth spread into a smile that lent some charm to the heavy face. ‘Then perhaps we should let you have the opportunity to be able to say that a secondment with James Monk is the best. When are you free?’
I gulped in shock.
‘Er . . . soon.’
Lame, but his invitation had caught me by surprise. I didn’t want to shut the door on this unexpected turn of events, but I had other immediate plans.
‘I shall leave Derek to make the arrangements,’ he said.
Monk terminated the exchange and I shrugged out of the bubble.
The Intimate blinked his live vid-feed off. Seemed I was being cammed while I commed.
Between the Hi-Tel’s doormen and Monk’s servant my skin itched from the bombardment of photons.
How the hell had I got an interview with James Monk? What should I do now? My Amorato guise would never stand up to real scrutiny.
From the corner of my eye I could see that everyone seemed to be staring at me.
Delly.
The desk staff.
The doormen.
Even the security-clad redhead frowned as though she was trying to place me. She gestured to two of her muscle boys who detached themselves from her entourage and headed over.
‘We should leave now,’ said Derek.
I ran my options. Go with Derek now - and risk
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