I realized I hadn't been to the toilet in almost-I checked my watch-nine hours! I rectified that, then washed my hands, brushed my teeth and prepared for bed. I was about to climb under the covers when it struck me that, in all my months in the city, I'd yet to watch a sunrise. I dragged a chair over to the window, pulled back the curtains and sat down for nature's finest show. My head was still spinning and my fingers were shaking from delayed shock. I let my head loll back a moment to relieve the tension in my neck and before I could stop myself I was asleep and the sun was left to rise without an audience.
airiway
A maid woke me at seven to say Sonja Arne was expecting me for breakfast at Shankar's in forty-five minutes. If I was late, I'd have to go hungry until lunch.
I splashed water over my face, scraped the crust from my eyes, brushed back my hair, didn't shave-I'd call it designer stubble-sprayed under my armpits, slipped into my gear from the night before and was set to go.
The concierge spotted me in the lobby-I don't know how she knew me, since she hadn't been on duty when I arrived-and asked if I required a limo. I said I'd take a cab instead-they were more my style-and one of the bellboys hailed one for me. As I relaxed and stared off into space, I thought I recognized the back of the driver's head. He looked like the guy who'd picked me up half a year ago when I first came to this jungle of metal, glass and brick.
"Do you get many fares around the Skylight?" I asked, sounding him out.
"Nah," he replied gruffly. "Most of that lot are too high and mighty for a car like this." He had a curious way of accenting random words. I was sure it was him now.
"How about train stations? Do you-" I began as he stopped for a red light, but he cut me short.
"Look," he snapped, "just can it. I want nothing to do with your kind, OK? I'm giving you a ride, let's leave it at that."
"No need to get aggressive," I grumbled. "I was just trying to be friendly. I didn't mean-"
"I don't care what you meant," he interrupted. "I'm not interested." He honked at a pedestrian and was getting ready to wind down his window when the lights changed and he had to move on or risk being bulldozed by the river of cars to our rear.
"You work for The Cardinal, right?" he sneered. "Big man. Throws his money around like confetti. And everybody grabs, smiles and puckers up to kiss his hairy old ass. Sickening."
"You sound like you've had a run-in with him," I said.
"Me? Nah. I'm just a cabbie. I've never even seen him."
"Then what's your problem?"
"What he's done to this city. This was a good place to live. It had its problems, sure, but the scum knew their place and stuck to it. These days they run riot. Dirt everywhere you look. Everybody on the take. Because of him."
"Why don't you leave if you hate it that much?"
"Leave!" If he'd had a cigar, he'd have spat it out. "Why should I? It's my city too. I pay taxes, I earn my living. Nathanael Mead moves for no man."
"Nathanael Mead," I repeated. "I'll remember that."
"Do," he sniffed, then let me off at Shankar's a couple of minutes later. I thought he might refuse the tip, me being one of the Anti-christ's footmen, but he took it, albeit grudgingly.
The maitre d' was all smiles when I introduced myself. He treated me like a favorite regular and escorted me to table nineteen, waving aside the aides who normally seated the guests.
Shankar's was owned by Leonora Shankar, the woman behind The Cardinal in his formative years. The hippest restaurant in the city, where everybody who was anybody wanted to eat. But all the money in the world couldn't snare you a seat unless you were part of The Cardinal's crew. It was reserved for his people, from the shoeboys to the Troops to the executives. The food was great, the atmosphere delightful, and The Cardinal always covered the tab. One of the perks of the job. Occasionally the doors would open to a nonmember but outsiders were rare and carefully monitored.
It was a huge, one-room complex, divided into two levels. The upper floor was made of glass and completely transparent-women with skirts and dignity usually dined below. It was a place of glass, marble and steel. Leonora Shankar was renowned for her cold tastes. There were no carpets or rugs. Lots of people complained about the decor, but when you were getting your meals gratis it was hard to be too critical.
There was no privacy in Shankar's. Everybody was there on The Cardinal's business and had nothing to fear. It was the safest spot in the city, short of Party Central. Impossible to bug or infiltrate. There was an unwritten law that nothing heard in Shankar's could ever be discussed outside. It was a law everyone paid strict attention to-the cost of breaking it was instant execution.
There was a man with Sonja when I arrived, as strange a figure as you were likely to find, swathed in sweeping robes and scarves, sandals, hair long and plaited with colorful ribbons, face covered in tattoos which looked real from a distance but were just paint. He sprang to his feet when I reached the table and before I could speak he jabbed a bony finger at me. "Are you Capac Raimi?" When I nodded, he shrieked theatrically and threw his hands in the air. "Too soon!" he yelled, then spun around and dashed off.
"Who the hell was that?" I asked, bemused.
Sonja smiled. "He'll introduce himself when the time's right. I'd hate to steal his thunder."
"That guy works for The Cardinal?"
"He used to," she said. "He was a highflier once, but then he quit and now he's a nobody. He's left alone on The Cardinal's orders, comes and goes as he pleases. A lot of people would like to see him dead. Ford Tasso's one. There's nothing Ford hates more than a quitter. Personally I like him. I think you will too. Did you sleep well?"
"Not really. I nodded off in a chair, waiting for dawn to break." I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to massage out the stiffness. "How about you?"
"Same as usual. Popped a pill and slept like a baby. Do you want anything special for breakfast or do you trust me to order?"
"I place myself at your mercy."
She ordered toast and cornflakes, low-fat butter and skimmed milk on the side. "This is it?" I asked, disappointed. I was expecting something more exotic.
"I believe in simple starts," she said.
I buttered my toast, milked my cornflakes and ate. "Tell me," I mumbled, "and please interrupt if I'm being rude, but what you said last night-was it true?"
"About being a prostitute?"
"Yeah."
"True."
"Oh."
"You don't approve?" she smiled.
"I thought it was something people fell into when all else failed," I said. "You made it sound like a career move."
"It was," she said. "I'd never go back, and I wouldn't have started if I'd thought I couldn't move on to something better, but I'm not ashamed of my life. I did what I had to."
"But surely it affected your love life. What did your boyfriend think?"
"I didn't have one," she said. "My current girlfriend wouldn't have approved, but I didn't meet her until later, so that wasn't an issue."
"You're a…?" I coughed uncomfortably.
"Yes," she laughed as I blushed. "And in case you were going to ask, I didn't turn to women because of my traumatic experiences with men while on the streets."
"The question never entered my mind."
"I bet." She poured some milk into a crystal glass, took a sip, wiped around her mouth with her satin napkin. "This is Adrian," she said.
I turned and looked back. A young man was standing directly behind me, a baseball cap held between his joined hands in a stance of mock respect.