"Mm, thish ish pretty good," I mumbled through a mouthful of omelet.

"Toldja," said Walker as he sipped his caff in the other side of the booth. "Fantine cooks 'em up just like her old man did."

I nodded and took another bite. The eggs had certainly come from powder, but the peppers were fresh and the meat was real-probably goat or cat with a bit of pork for flavor. It was a heartier breakfast than I usually got. "So what's going on?" I asked after I swallowed.

The two of us were sitting in a corner booth at Monte's Diner, seated among recyclermen and day laborers. It was a little open-fronted concrete affair in Central Ward, crammed between a gun-loan-and-pawn shop and a Penitents' Shelter. My head ached a little from the night before, but between food, caff, and all the water Dad had pressed on me last night I was doing a lot better than I could be. Getting drunk with those two had been a lark. I'd gotten to sleep in until nine-thirty or so before Walker's phone call woke me up.

"Lemme ask you the same thing first," Walker said over steepled hands. He'd let his face go a bit stubbly-it suited him, I thought-but otherwise he looked the same as usual. "You healin' up good? Feelin' alright?"

"Yeah. I've been on my feet for a couple days now. No complications."

"Looks like you been on your face, too." He gestured at all the little scratches on my head and the backs of my hands. "You fall asleep on the Bussomat floor or somethin’?"

I shook my head. "Nah. These are from, well..." Was it a good idea to tell him about yesterday's trip? I defaulted to holding things close to my chest most of the time, but I couldn't think of a good reason to do it this time. Still felt kind of funny. "Me and my dad took a trip into the park yesterday."

His eyebrows shot up. "What in the hell'd you do that for? Just the two of you?"

"Us and one other guy. They're into history, artifacts, that kinda stuff. I was just dumb muscle."

He snorted. "Ac-a-demics. Sheeit. If I wanted to see some busted-ass old buildings I'd just go home. You're lucky you made it out in one piece, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know." I leaned forward, toying with the last bite or two of my omelet. "It's a Kingsfucked mess in there, man. Admin leaving all that on our front porch is fuckin' criminal."

"Don't I know it. They ain't the most responsible people when it comes to the 'lower classes.' Man, one time back in Fehu pit, there was this risto come to visit-"

"Wait!" I interrupted. "I wanted to ask you about that. While we were in there, Walker, we almost ran into a real-deal samurai. He had a couple Masks and a sciency type with him."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "No shit! Where at? What was he wearing?"

"Where, I don't know. Place is a maze. He was at the same old buildings where we were headed. Had on an orange shirt, black pants, big blue and green belt. And a fuckin' hotwire, too."

"Those are Cromwell colors. Hmm..." He looked pensive. "Crommys're an old army family. As ristos go, they're alright-which means they're just plain old assholes instead of absolute ragin' dickheads like the rest. Lemme tell you, though, they're good to have on your side in a scrap. Seen 'em fightin' raiders a couple times back home and I did not envy those poor desperadoes. Not a'tall."

"You know a good bit about them, don't you?" I grinned. "You a court-watcher?"

"Fat fuckin' chance. I ain't got time to waste on shit like that and if I did I'd waste it on somethin' else. Like I said, I've just seen 'em back in the pits. Cromwells, Hideyoshi-Blins, the Montesquieu...they did most of the actual fightin'. Other families're mostly poseurs from what I've heard." He shook his head slowly. "Though it's like...man. Some of them samurai can drive a Praetor better'n I can drive my own body. I s'pose when you're born richer'n Glamis you got plenty of time to practice. But I'm ramblin'. I'll ask around, is what I mean to say." He drained his mug, refilled it from the pot on the scratched plastic table.

"Now then. Good to hear you're feelin' alright. You ready to go back to work? Light work, light work," he added upon seeing the look on my face. "We'll ease you back into things-and the Bones're in kind of a weird spot right now anyway. I'm tryin' to keep the pressure up on Blue Div, but not do anything crazy."

I finally cleared my plate and sat back. "Keep them willing to talk to us, right? So we can maybe still end this peacefully."

He nodded. "Yup. That's the best outcome for both sides. As my grandaddy would say, though, we gotta keep the skeer on 'em. Otherwise they got no incentive to negotiate."

"What exactly does 'skeer' entail?"

He grinned hugely, silver canines flashing with reflected flourescent light. "Oh, plenty of different stuff. You're gonna get a crash course in gangland tomfuckery, little miss. Don't worry, though. Ain't none of it tough as what you done already. You're kinda doin' things in reverse order, here."

I frowned. "I told you I'm not gonna break legs for you-"

"No, no, no. None of that." He waved a dismissive hand. "This is all still frontline shit, just not kicking in doors. Mostly." The bastard actually winked.

"Alright, alright. Just remember our agreement."

"Wouldn't dream of forgettin'."

"Good." I topped off my caff, let the scented steam warm my face. "What about those Blues that jumped you and Monta? You find out if they're rogue or not-"

"Quiet, quiet!" Walker hissed, leaning forward. "I'm tryin' to keep that shit on the down low. Never know who's listening."

"But you were just talking strategy-"

"It ain't the Blues I'm worried about." He got a dark look in his eyes, though I didn't think it was directed at me. "I'm still lookin' into it, to answer your question. Followin' up on a few different leads. Ain't gonna say anything more 'til I know exactly what's going on."

Hmm. This was the first time I'd heard Walker treat other Bones like they were the enemy-though now that I thought about it, it was kind of funny he was the only member I'd actually met. He'd told me already he worked with a small crew, people he was sure he could trust.

"Alright," I finally answered. "Seems smart. Don't want to go off half-cocked."

"Exactly. 'Specially 'cause we got a Runes meeting in a few days. Big bosses gettin' together to talk shop." He smiled again, sly this time. "You're invited, by the way."

I almost shot caff out my nose. "What the hell am I gonna do at a mob boss meeting, Walker?"

"Well, I need a bodyguard, don't I? Monta's still laid up with his busted leg, so..."

"Walker, man, I kill people, not guard 'em! I don't know how to do that!"

"It's easy," he said airily. "Just kill 'em after they make a move instead of before." I rolled my eyes. "Oh, come on, girl. You're just there to look tough. It's mostly just a tradition, a flex. And I ain't gonna miss an opportunity to show off the great Sawyer to all the Runes at once."

I narrowed my eyes. "Who's Sawyer?"

He laughed that silly, hitching laugh of his. "You are, hon! It's what they're callin' you on the street. S’what we call the stonecutters back home.

I wasn't too interested in the etymology. "Who's calling me that on the street? What are you talking about?"

"Sharkie. Come on now. You ain't exactly the slickest operator out there. You tend to leave a mess. Might even say you've made a name for yourself, right?" He cracked up again.

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I groaned, knuckling my forehead. "I've been working for you a week, man! Why the fuck do I have a...shit, a reputation? I know I'm not the only one in the Bones to kill people, that's for fuckin' sure."

"Hmm, let's see." He started counting on his fingers. "You're a nice young lady, you're seven feet tall, and you could probably deadlift a minitruck. And you cut people up with a Kingsdamn glittersaw. Oh, and you went bare-knuckles against a Blue Div heavy and killed him with his own motherfuckin' arm." He slapped both palms down on the table and leaned in. "It's the kind of thing that piques one's interest, Sharkie. I mean this as a compliment, not an insult-but you just ain't normal. People're gonna talk."

"Don't I fuckin' know it." I didn't raise my head. I hoped this didn't spread too far. Last thing I wanted was for Sawada to hear about me as some kind of mafia boogeyman.

"Aw, cheer up. It ain't a bad thing, having a reputation. If people think you're gonna act a certain way, it's easier to catch 'em off guard. Right? I act like some kinda stupid, quarry-born asshole, when in fact"-his accent suddenly disappeared-"I am an incredibly intelligent, highly educated social operator."

I must've gaped at him for about five seconds before he busted up cackling at me. "Sheeit, you are too easy, hon!" The quarry drawl was back in full force. "Had you goin' there, didn't I?"

"Too early in the morning for this," I muttered. "I don't even know what to believe anymore."

"Sorry, sorry. I can't help it." He drained his mug, then drank the dregs right out of the caff pot. The waitress gave him a disgusted look as she went by but he either didn't notice or didn't care. "But anyway. Blue Division. Basically, if that old harridan Commander Canra gets more'n an hour of sleep this next couple of days, we fucked up. First thing I need you to do is real simple. You head for the Xinjiang Foley plant over in Port Town. Meet a feller out front named Bluecat. You'll recognize 'im, I promise. He says "What is the freedom of birds?", you answer "An insult." He'll give you a package. Don't fuckin' open it. You take it over to the Dockside Doxy, it's near the plant and a street up from the canal. Ask for Rembrandt at the counter. They'll take you to meet Marie-remember her? Marie drives you to a destination, you leave the package there and make tracks. Good?"

Sounded like the opposite of simple to me, but whatever. "Meat packing plant. Bluecat. An insult. Take the package to the Dockside Doxy-wait, that's a whorehouse, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

It wasn't what he did in his spare time that I was worried about. "So the Guild runs it, right? Won't that cause problems?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Madam Adam owes me a couple favors. And all he's gonna do is help you lose any tails. No harm, no foul."

"Sure. So I meet Marie, we go...somewhere, I drop off the package and bounce on the double. Right?"

"Exactamente. You're haulin' some iron, right?"

"Always." It was true. Already it felt weird walking around without a couple pounds of gun on me.

"Good. Port Town's pretty solid Bones territory, but still. It's rough."

"I'll be careful." He wasn't lying. I'd been once or twice with Sawada and the impression I'd gotten had been of a continuous, neighborhood-wide bar fight.

"Good, good. Anyone drunk enough to fuck with you won't be tough to deal with anyway, you lookin' how you do. No offense."

I shrugged. Again, no lies.

"'Kay. Right." He struck a match and lit up a cigarette, and the look the poor waitress gave him this time ought to have melted the flesh off his bones. He was too busy taking a long drag to notice. "Before you go, Sharkie...well, listen. I know I thanked you for last week already-but thank you. Truly. You saved my life, and Monta's too."

I sank down in the booth a little, embarrassed. "You've been good to me, so I helped you out," I muttered. "Keep it up and I'll do it again. And who else is gonna sign my checks?"

He smiled at that but his tone stayed serious. "Believe it or not, that's the fourth time someone's bailed my ass out of a no-win predicament. After the second time I made it a policy to make it worth their while." He spread his hands out wide. "So what can I do for you?"

Being the mature and intelligent woman that I was, the first thing that popped up in my head was to ask for a car, something neck-snappingly fast with an interior more comfortable than my house. But that was fucking stupid. Just stick to this job and I'd be able to afford something pretty quick. And where would I park it? So I thought a little longer before speaking.

"Alright," I said finally. "I've got a few things."

"Shoot."

"First, that dude Rossignol fucked me up. Easily could've been me left on the floor. So I want training. Hand to hand, blades, guns, whatever."

He scratched his cheek before answering. "You know, I know just the guy. Done."

"Nice! Okay, next, you ever heard of a store called Sawada's? Near Livery Street?" This was the hardest thing to ask for, but I'd decided it was the safest option.

"Hmm...yeah, I think so. Sells appliances and shit? I think some of the old Spiders used to work there."

Sawada'd never mentioned it, but it was true he sometimes hired help when he thought he needed it-or they did. Giving disgraced former gang members a paycheck sounded right up his alley.

"That's the place. What I wanna ask is, do you think you could have someone keep an eye on it? Or at least cruise by a few times a day? A friend of mine works there, and I don't want anything to happen to him. Especially since I've got freakin' street cred now." I hoped he wouldn't press for more details. I didn't want even Walker knowing just how important Sawada was to me.

"Yeah, I can do that. Livery's pretty neutral anyway. Anything else?" No questions at all. I guess he was used to people being cagey.

I sat back, considering. I was honestly a little surprised he'd even said yes to both of my other requests. I would have given up the training to have Dad safer if I'd had to. I didn't have to think too long.

"A shower," I blurted out. "Somewhere to live with my own fucking shower."

"Ha!" Walker grinned at me. "Alright, alright, but you gotta be more specific. A B-block mansion? A studio in R? Maybe a three-hundredth floor penthouse in Ikaros Tower?"

I scoffed. "How 'bout a room longer than I am tall, plus a bathroom?"

"Oh, that can be arranged. I'll get back to you by tomorrow. But come on, girl! All this shit you're askin' for, it's too responsible, too thought out! Whatever happened to the fuckin' frivolity of youth? I'd be halfway down a bottle of Vitroix whiskey by now if I was you."

"Nydd's nuts, Walker, if you insist. Hmm..." I smiled, suddenly remembering something. "Who makes the fanciest, most expensive, most stupid overpaying-for-clout kind of specs?"

"Hmm...Verney-Balançon, probably. S'what Kaunaz has, and his outfits are usually worth more than my cars."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." He waggled a finger at me, mock-threatening. "I still ain't quite forgiven you for Allison."

I leaned forward, putting a serious look on. "I say this as a friend, Walker, I promise-but I think I did you a favor."

"You killed her, and now you gotta go dancin' on her grave?"

"Oh, come on. Anyway, Walker? Those glasses? Get me a pair. Full mirrored, steel frames, the scariest ones they make."

"There we go! That's exactly what I'm talkin' about! You know, those designer glasses'll be lost inside of a month, but you buy a pair for two denars at a gomi stand and you'll never be rid of 'em."

I shrugged. "You're the one who wants me to get something stupid!"

"Well, I was kinda hopin' you'd ask for a rocket bike or a fast car or somethin'..."

"Almost did."

"Ha!" he crowed. "Knew it. Oh, shit, I actually brought one more thing for you." He reached into the ever-present leather jacket and pulled out a flask-not the scratched-up one he used, but a smaller one, shiny and new. He passed it over and I unscrewed the lid to give the contents a sniff. "No, wait, don't-" Walker reached over the table but I'd already gotten a good whiff.

It was nearly enough that I dropped the flask. In fact I did drop it, though Walker snagged it before it could spill. The stuff within reeked like strong liquor, hot sauce and smelling salts, underlaid by a planty smell much like the one I'd gotten familiar with cutting through thornbushes in the park. Walker quickly screwed the lid back on, but I still felt a little light-headed.

"What the hell is that shit, man? Was me not liking the amiza not a strong enough hint?"

He grinned sheepishly. "This stuff is different. Not exactly your granddad's sippin' vodka. We call it reveya'mours. 'Wake-the-dead' in Quarryap. Or 'Awakener of Love,' if you're feelin' romantic."

"'Kay, but what is it? Engine degreaser?"

He scowled at me. "No, dammit. It's a stimulant. Rocket fuel, bottled lightning, whatever you wanna call it. Pulls that last bit of kill out of you when all seems lost. You think you're too tired, too cut up to move, well, a good belt of this shit'll prove you wrong. If we were pussies we'd keep it behind glass. 'Emergency use only.'" He sloshed the flask around at me. "And this is old Grammy Walker's extra-special recipe. High test. Makes the bulk-brewed stuff look like light beer. Use it wisely." He handed it to me, and I took the flask in careful hands.

I went to drop it in a pocket of my army coat but he stopped me. "In the quarries we keep it over our heart," he said quietly, tapping the lapel of his jacket. "It's symbolism, I guess. 'I'll keep fightin' 'til this quits beating,' or some sappy shit like that." Despite his tone I got the sense there was some cultural component to this I was missing, something more personal that him giving me free drugs. I gave him a slow nod and did as he asked. He leaned back, satisfied.

"Great. Like I said, only for emergencies. That stuff don't play around."

"Don't worry, Walker. The smell convinced me."

He abruptly stood, grabbing his wide-brimmed hat off the table. "I'll get the tab. Now get out there and cause some consternation, Sawyer."

As I left, I answered his smirk with a middle finger. "Whatever you say, Clyde."

"Now what-I ask again, what in the fuck-is wrong with the name 'Cly-'" The door cut him off as it shut behind me, and I began my walk to Port Town with a smile on my face.