Part 31 (1/2)
”Good,” said Heidi. ”You want to quit? I'll get your a.s.s fired.”
Hollis looked at her. ”Okay,” she said.
46. TORTOISESh.e.l.l AND PINSTRIPES
This hotel where Hollis was staying, which had no sign at all, had an antique desk carved with a naked girl, apparently feeling up a horse, though the work was so intricate that it was hard to tell, exactly, what was going on, and Milgrim didn't want to seem to be staring. Otherwise, there were dark paneled walls, a pair of curving marble stairways, and the unfriendly regard of the young man seated behind the desk, peering coldly up through nonprescription lenses in tortoisesh.e.l.l frames. Not to mention his tall, st.u.r.dy, pinstriped a.s.sociate, who'd asked if he could help Milgrim. Help him, Milgrim had felt, to turn right around and get back on the street where he belonged. ”Hollis Henry,” Milgrim had said, managing what he'd felt had been a good approximation of a neutral tone he'd heard a lot of around Blue Ant, in similar circ.u.mstances.
”Yes?”
”Her car's here.” Truck had seemed too specific. ”Can you let her know, please?”
”You'll want the desk,” the tall young man had said, turning and walking back to what Milgrim now a.s.sumed to be his station by the door.
There hadn't seemed to be any, or not in the stand-up, pigeonholes-behind sense, so Milgrim had continued on, another ten feet or so, to where this other, smaller, similarly suited young man was seated. ”Hollis Henry,” he'd said, trying his neutral tone again, though it hadn't come out very well. He'd thought it sounded rather dirty, somehow, though perhaps that was the carving, which he'd noticed as he spoke.
”Name?”
”Milgrim.”
”Are you expected?”
”Yes.”
Milgrim, viewed through what he imagined were probably parts of the actual exoskeleton of a dead if not extinct animal, held his ground while a very elegantly ancient-looking telephone was brought into play. ”She doesn't appear to be in.”
From somewhere beyond the stair came a complex rattle of metal, and then the sound of Hollis's voice.
”That would be her now,” said Milgrim.
Then Hollis appeared, beside a tall, pale, hawk-nosed, ferocious-looking woman who might have been captain of the guard at some Goth queen's palace, to judge by her tight short jacket, with its fringed epaulets and ornate frogs, every shade from charcoal to midnight. She needs a saber, Milgrim thought, delighted.
”Your car is here, Miss Henry,” said Tortoisesh.e.l.l, Milgrim having apparently become invisible.
”This is Heidi, Milgrim.” Hollis sounded tired.
The tall woman's large, startlingly strong hand effortlessly captured Milgrim's, giving it a brisk, rhythmic shake, possibly half of some covert recognition system. Milgrim's hand was allowed to escape.
”She's coming with us.”
”Of course,” said Milgrim as the tall one, Heidi, headed for the door, her stride long and determined.
”Good evening, Miss Hyde, Miss Henry,” said Pinstripes.
”Honey,” said Heidi.
”Robert,” said Hollis.
He opened and held the door for them.
”Now, that's a ride,” said Heidi, catching sight of the Hilux. ”Lose your rocket launcher?”
Milgrim looked back as Pinstripes closed the door behind them. Was there such a thing as a private hotel? He knew that there were private parks here. ”What's this hotel called?” he asked.
”Cabinet,” said Hollis. ”Let's go.”
47. IN THE CUISINART ATRIUM
Heidi, for some reason, knew a great deal about custom vehicular armor. Perhaps it was a Beverly Hills thing, Hollis thought, as Aldous wound them deeper into the City, or a Ponzi scheme thing, or both. Heidi and Aldous, with whom Hollis could see Heidi was flirting, though still at a level of solid deniability, were deep in a discussion of whether or not Bigend had been wise to insist on power windows for the front set of doors, which had meant forgoing a bulletproof doc.u.mentation slot on the driver's side, through which papers might be presented without opening either the door or the window. The power windows, Heidi maintained, meant that the doors were necessarily armored to a lower standard, with Aldous firmly insisting that this was not the case.
”I wish I didn't have to see him now,” said Milgrim, beside Hollis in the back seat. ”I have to tell him something.”
”So do I,” said Hollis, not caring whether Aldous heard, though she doubted that he did. ”I'm quitting.”
”You are?” Milgrim looked suddenly bereft.
”Meredith's changed her mind about telling me who the Hounds designer is. Her reason for doing that left me thinking I should let the whole thing go.”
”What will you do?”
”I'll tell him I can't do it. That should be that.” She wished she were as confident as she'd just sounded. ”What do you have to tell him?”
”About Preston Gracie,” said Milgrim, ”the man Foley's working for.”
”How do you know that?”
”Someone told me,” said Milgrim, and actually squirmed. ”Someone I met.”
”Who's Preston Gracie?”
”Mike,” Milgrim said. ”She says they're all named Mike.”
”All who?”
”Special soldiers.”
”He's a soldier?”
”Not anymore. An arms dealer.”
”She who?”
”Winnie,” said Milgrim, his voice catching. ”She's a ... cop.” This last emerging, Hollis thought, as though he were having to confess, in utmost seriousness, to having had a conversation, or perhaps some more intimate exchange, with some other species entirely. ”Well, sort of a cop. Worse, probably. A DCIS agent.” He p.r.o.nounced this ”deesis,” and she had no idea what it meant.