Kim Oh 3: Real Dangerous People (The Kim Oh Thrillers) by K. W. Jeter Page A

“Should be okay.”
     
    “Heard a lot of good things about you.”
     
    Elton raised an eyebrow.
     
    “Okay,” he said. “See you around.”
     
    He turned and walked into the bar.
     
    Curt put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. After a minute or so, he spoke up. “Making friends, I see.”
     
    “Got a problem with that?”
     
    “Couldn’t care less.” He shrugged. “Do what you want.”
     
    I smiled. “I will.”
     
    By that time, Elton was already meeting up with the people he’d gone to the White Hawk to meet. He told me all about it a day or so later, when we’d been shooting the breeze, covering our shift back at Falcon’s mansion.
     
    The place was even shabbier than the crew’s Diamondhead Lounge hangout, but it had an actual stage at one end, with most of the floor cleared for dancing. Right at the time when Curt and I had dropped him off, there wasn’t any of that going on. Just a few grizzled regulars hunched over at the bar, nursing their watered-down beers.
     
    “Yo, Elton –” The bartender called over to him as he walked into the dim space. “Long time, no see.”
     
    “Yeah,” he said. “Been busy.”
     
    “So I hear.”
     
    “Sammy been in lately?” Elton leaned onto the end of the bar.
     
    “Yeah, some.” The bartender set a beer in front of him.
     
    “That so?” Elton opened his wallet, extracted a twenty and slid it across the bar. “Sure would like to talk to ol’ Sammy.”
     
    The bartender put his hand down on one end of the twenty. “It could happen.”
     
    “Tonight?” Elton didn’t let go of the other end. “Like I said, I’m a busy man.”
     
    The bartender nodded. Elton lifted his hand from the bar. The twenty disappeared behind the bartender’s apron.
     
    * * *
     
    Early evening, with the sun starting to go down. But we weren’t in the city anymore. Curt steered the Chevy down some bumpy, rutted road on the outskirts.
     
    I looked at the skeletal trees creeping by, then over at him. “Just where the hell are we going?”
     
    “Like I said, back at Falcon’s place. We’ve got some business to take care of.”
     
    “The business is back there in town.” I pointed behind us with my thumb. “Or have you already forgotten we’re supposed to be watching over Mr. Falcon?”
     
    “He’ll be fine,” said Curt. “Earl and Foley can take care of things for tonight.”
     
    “Okay.” I wasn’t going to argue with him. “You’re the boss.”
     
    He glanced over at me. “That’s right,” he said.
     
    Then he went back to his driving.
     
    * * *
     
    Right about that time, Earl and Foley were in their shirtsleeves, kicking back on the couch in one of the less formal rooms in Falcon’s mansion. They had the TV on, probably one of those stupid game shows. Mrs. Falcon was being a gracious hostess, setting a tray with soft drinks and a little bowl of mixed nuts on the little table in front of them.
     
    “Now, if there’s anything else you boys want, you just go on into the kitchen and help yourselves.”
     
    “Thank you, ma’am.” That was Earl.
     
    “Yeah, thanks,” added Foley.
     
    She headed out of the room, then looked back at them. “And I’ve told Maria that she’ll need to fix you breakfast in the morning. Bacon and eggs all right?”
     
    “Just toast would be fine, ma’am. And coffee.”
     
    “The idea!” She pretended to be shocked. “You’ll get a proper breakfast in this house.”
     
    “Okay.” Earl admitted defeat. “That’d be great.”
     
    “Good night, then.”
     
    Past the doorway, she could be seen heading up the stairs. Earl and Foley turned back toward the TV.
     
    “Nice lady,” said Foley.
     
    Earl shrugged. “Drinks like a fish. Curt had me go out and pick her up a coupla times, at the clinic where Falcon sends her to dry out.”
     
    “Still a nice lady.”
     
    “Yeah, I guess.”
     
    “I mean – it’d be sad if something happened to her old