She blew out a long breath, her head sinking low. Alex tried to sit up.
“You all right?”
“Got shot a couple times,” she said. “Smarts.”
“Shit. You’re hurt?”
“Yeah. I’m going to get over to the console there in a minute. Call emergency services before blood loss makes me woozy.”
“I already did that,” Alex said. “Before I came in.”
“Good planning.”
“Not sure planning had much to do with it,” Alex said. And then, “Bobbie? Stay with me here.”
“I’m here,” she said, her voice sleepy. “I’m all right.”
In the distance, Alex heard the rising tritone of sirens. Breath by breath, they grew closer. For a long moment, he thought the deck was being shaken, then realized it was just his body, trembling. At the side of the room, one of the gunmen lay slumped against the wall. His neck was at a strange angle, and blood was drying on his chest. He wasn’t bleeding though. Dead, then. The man in the suit coughed and gagged, choking. The sirens got louder. There were voices now too. A woman identifying herself as police and warning them that people were coming in.
“I was coming to tell you,” Alex said. “I’ll stay. I’ll help.”
“Thanks.”
“This was about the black market stuff, wasn’t it?” Alex said. “I guess you’ve been asking the right questions.”
Bobbie managed a smile. Looking at her now, there was a lot of blood on her shirt.
“Don’t know,” she said. “All they asked me about was you.”
Chapter Twelve: Amos
“Want some coke?” Erich asked. “Not synth. Real stuff that came from a plant.”
“Nope. But I’d take a drink if one is handy,” Amos replied. The pleasantries were just ritual, but ritual was important. In Amos’ experience the more dangerous any two people were, the more carefully polite their social interactions tended to be. The loud, blustering ones were trying to get the other guy to back down. They wanted to stay out of a fight. The quiet ones were figuring out how to win it.
“Tatu, bring the El Charros,” Erich said, and one of the two guards slipped out the door. To Amos he added, “Been on a tequila kick lately.”
“I haven’t,” Amos said. “Earth is still the only place you can get good tequila. The Belter stuff is undrinkable.”
“Not a lot of blue agave up there, I guess.”
Amos shrugged and waited. Tatu returned with a tall skinny bottle and two narrow shot glasses. Erich filled both then lifted one in salute.
“To old friends.”
“Old friends,” Amos repeated and tossed back his shot.
“Another?” Erich asked, pointing at the bottle.
“
Sure.”
“Seen much of the neighborhood?”
“Just what was between here and the train station.”
“Hasn’t changed much,” Erich said, then paused while they both drank off their shots. He refilled their glasses. “Faces change, but the corners stay the same.”