Part 84 (2/2)

”OK,” she said, ”send out a search party if I'm not back in an hour.”

”Go get him, tiger,” the barman said, giving her hand a squeeze.

She carried her pineapple with her and drifted down the bar.

”h.e.l.lo there,” she said.

”Ms Church,” the man said. He had a disarming, confident smile. ”My name is Sammy Page.”

She knew the name, of course. The face, too, now that she thought about it. He offered her his hand. She didn't take it. He put it down, then wiped it on his trouser-leg.

”Are you having a good time?”

”A lovely time, thank you.” She sipped her drink and wished it was a little more serious and intimidating. It's hard to do frosty when you're holding a rum-filled pineapple with a paper parasol.

His smile faltered. ”I read your article. I can't believe I missed it. I mean, you've been here for six days and I just figured it out today? I'm a pretty incompetent villain.”

She let a little smile slip out at that. ”Well, it's a big Internet.”

”But I *love* your stuff. I've been reading it since, well, back when I lived in the Valley. I used to get the Merc actually delivered on paper.”

”You are a walking fossil, aren't you?”

He bobbed his head. ”So it comes down to this. I've been very distracted with making things besides lawsuits lately, as you know. I've been putting my energy into doing stuff, not preventing stuff. It's been refres.h.i.+ng.”

She grubbed in her pocket and came up with a little steno book and a pencil. ”Do you mind if I take notes?”

He gulped. ”Can this all be on background?”

She hefted her notebook. ”No,” she said finally. ”If there's anything that needs publis.h.i.+ng, I'm going to have to publish it. I can respect the fact that you're speaking to me with candor, but frankly, Mr Page, you haven't earned the privilege of speaking on background.”

He sipped at his drink -- a more grown-up highball, with a lone ice-cube in it, maybe a Scotch and soda. ”OK, right. Well, then, on the record, but candorously. I loved your article. I love your work in general. I'm really glad to have you here, because I think we make great stuff and we're making more of it than ever. Your latest post was right on the money -- we care about our work here. That's how we got to where we are.”

”But you devote a lot of your resources to other projects here, don't you? I've heard about you, Mr Page. I've interviewed Death Waits.” He winced and she scribbled a note, leaving him on tenterhooks while she wrote. Something cold and angry had hold of her writing arm. ”I've interviewed him and heard what he has to say about this place, what you have done.”

”My hands aren't the cleanest,” he said. ”But I'm trying to atone.” He swallowed. The barman was looking at them. ”Look, can I take you for a walk, maybe? Someplace more private?”

She thought about it. ”Let me get changed,” she said. ”Meet you in the lobby in ten.”

She swapped her tennis shoes for walking sandals and put on a clean s.h.i.+rt and long slacks, then draped a scarf over her shoulders like a shawl. Outside, the sunset was painting the lagoon b.l.o.o.d.y. She was just about to rush back down to the lobby when she stopped and called Lester, her fingers moving of their own volition.

”Hey, you,” he said. ”Still having fun in Mauschwitz?”

”It keeps getting weirder here, let me tell you,” she said. She told him about Sammy showing up, wanting to talk with her.

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