Valiant was only a few blocks away, but it was in a much rougher area. I was quickly reminded why I usually hit the Nino's in Brokenbark. The lights got very thready, and while the buildings were real structures, they were in far worse shape than on Hyades. The tenements and dingy stores were made of crumbling brick or moist, rotting concrete, coming apart like the ash on a cigarette. The sidewalk was pretty much gravel. Alba was a mess, too, but it was vital, shot through with life. This place just felt decrepit, and being a couple streets away from a three-block dark zone didn't help. The people I passed were hunched, moving quickly. A couple of muggers glanced at me before deciding there were easier targets.

On my way, I decided I couldn't avoid Sawada any longer. He liked Nino's almost as much as I did, and if I didn't bring him some I'd be admitting to myself I was actively avoiding him. To be honest, though, I felt a little better about facing him now. After last night I'd had no idea how to feel. After this, I felt...better. Ambivalent, like it was something I'd heard briefly on the news broadcast without paying much attention. It had happened, I had killed them, and I was...okay. Not on top of the world, surely, but not tearing my hair out. Probably something was wrong with me, but I just couldn't make myself worry about it any more.

Nino's Pizza was easy to spot. Its brick walls were in slightly better repair than the rest of the neighborhood's, and the building was fronted by a huge animated plasmagram of Nino the pizza slice, flipping passerby the double bird and looking pissed enough to spit nails. I saw Walker through the window, sitting in a booth and typing furiously on his slab. Surprisingly, he actually had a slice of pizza in front of him.

I headed inside. The place was empty except for Walker, who kept typing.

"I'm honestly shocked, Walker," I said when I sat down, setting aside jacket and saw with a clunk on hollow plastic bench.

He finally looked up. "Eh?"

I pointed to his plate. "What the hell's that? I thought you lived on caff and nasty cigarettes."

"I try," he replied without a trace of sarcasm. "But partway through the third day I just crash. Hundred to zero. Off switch goes 'click' and I'm horizontal for at least twelve hours. So I make sure I eat before then."

"You actually worked that out? Scientifically?"

"'Scalled bein' a functional addict." He took a huge bite of pizza. "Whyon't you gef suh fooh" - he swallowed- "awhile," he said. He passed me another chit card then started typing again. "I gotta ride herd on these dumbasses for a few more minutes. I swear, some'a these guys couldn't pour piss out of a boot with instructions on the heel."

I didn't envy said herd-ridden dumbasses, nor did I understand why you'd fill a boot with piss in the first place. They just did things different in the quarries, I guess. So I did as suggested and went up to the counter.

There was a clatter of utensils as someone came powerwalking out of the kitchen to take my order. "Hi there! Welcome to Nino's and what can I get for y-"

This energetic recital cut off when its reciter came through the doorway and saw me. Standing there in khakis and a red company polo was Dezhda, freckles and all. She looked fucking terrified and I couldn't really blame her.

She began slowly retreating into the kitchen, stuttering like "Sh-Sh-Sh-".

Immediately I threw my hands up and backed away from the counter. I even crouched down some, doing my best pantomime of 'non-threatening.' I had no idea what she was doing here, but I wanted to apologize before she tripped and hurt herself or jumped through a window.

"Dezhda, Dezhda, wait! I'm not gonna hurt anyone!" In here, right now, I added to myself. "Or go crazy, or break your stuff, or...do anything else stupid. I want to apologize."

She bumped into a set of shelves and frantically glanced backward, but stopped moving. "A-apologize?" Her voice quavered, and she looked back and forth like she wanted to be sure I was talking to her.

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry for making trouble in your restaurant, for making you see that. And for getting you fired, I guess."

"W-well, thank you for saying that, Sharkie. But what you did was wrong!" She jabbed a finger at me. "I understand you were trying to do something nice for me, but you shouldn't hurt people just for being rude!"

I straightened and rubbed the back of my neck, embarassed. "To be honest, Dezhda...while it's true I didn't like him treating you like crap, I mostly hit him 'cause...Well, cause I was pissed off and wanted to punch something." I shifted back and forth, uncomfortable. Sometimes you had to eat crow, and the best thing to do was put on your bib and just get it done. "It was selfish of me, and I'm sorry for that too."

"I..I guess I understand." She took a couple steps toward me. "But maybe you don't need to hit people! When I feel that way, I run up and down the steps in my building until I'm too tired to be angry. You should try that!"

Coming from anyone else, I'd assume they were mocking me. But Dezhda looked so earnest and concerned..."I'll think about it. Thanks." I was supposed to be making her feel better, damn it. Why was she so nice?

"Anytime! Life is hard, so we've got to help each other, right, Sharkie?" She beamed at me, her earlier fear already gone. I could almost feel tears in my eyes. Too good for this world, she was. "And, while we're being honest, I wasn't just scared of you, when you...hurt that man." She looked at the floor, smile fading a little. "I was scared because, deep down, I was kind of glad you did it..."

Now that was a feeling I was familiar with. I got closer to the counter and spoke quietly. "You don't need to feel bad about that. He was treating you like garbage, and besides, you aren't the one who actually did anything. I just feel bad it involved you in the first place." I covered my face with a hand. "I can't believe I got you fired..."

"Huh?" She leaned back, confused. "But I didn't get fired! I thought Milo might do something like that, but he's a good boss. He told me it was all the-well, he called you a few mean things, but he meant your fault, and I didn't have to worry about it."

I was confused, too. "But if you're still working for Orrech's, why are you here?"

"Oh, I work here on nights Milo doesn't need me!" she said brightly.

"But...why?" Valiant was such a sketchy neighborhood that working here would be my last resort. Or maybe my second or third to last. There was always something worse you could be doing.

"Well..." Dezhda looked up at the ceiling, counting things off on her fingers. "My dad has the green lung, so the foundry fired him and he needs medicine, and my mom can't sew uniforms anymore since the lease on her nice hands ran out, and Dyedushka needs a new walker, and my sister Ved joined the Guild to be a dancer and she won't come home because Mom won't talk to her, and my brother Lyosha wants to work but I want him to stay in school, so it's up to me to provide for them!" She took a triumphant stance, arms crossed. "They’ve all helped me in the past, so now it’s my turn to help them!”

This was just...wow. If I was religious I'd think she was a saint. But wait a second..."What about Dag-er, Uncle Dagmund? Can't he help out?"

She deflated, looking sidelong at the floor. "Well, he says he has plenty of expenses, and he'll end up in the red if he's not careful..."

"Oh, that's bullshit." Dag had more than enough shady deng flowing through his shop to keep a few people in food and meds. He was just a cheap asshole. "You've seen his books, for Kings' sake!"

"I...I know." She wound a strand of brown hair on and off her finger. "It's not that bad here, though! Qeyyam's a good boss" -she jerked a thumb at a bearded fat guy sleeping on a chair in the kitchen, who looked like he hadn't moved in some time and wouldn't for even more- "and we've only been held up four-no, five times since I started."

"How long is that?"

She started twisting her hair again. "...maybe four weeks?"

"Ah." I looked over my shoulder a Walker, who was now talking, or maybe yelling, on his slab in rapid-fire Quarryap. I had the inkling of an idea. "You know, Dezi? I want to make things up to you. So give me a minute to talk to-what?"

She was staring at me, eyes wide and a weird look on her face. "Did you call me Dezi?"

Aw, shit. "Yeah, I'm sorry, I should have asked. I'm not tryin' to be rude or anything-"

"No, it's fine!" She laughed. "It's the same thing Dyedushka calls me! It just surprised me when you said it. It was cute!"

She was just so...what was the word? Precious, yeah, that was it. It kept catching me off guard. "Uh, thanks. Dezi."

"Ehehe!"

"What I was gonna say was, let me talk to my boss over there, and then I might have something to ask you."

Behind her glasses, those big green eyes darted back and forth between Walker and I. "You work for Mr. Walker now?"

"Yep. You know him?"

"Yeah! He comes in at least twice a week. He acts like a gentleman and he leaves big tips. But..." She leaned close to me and spoke in a stage whisper. "I think he might be a gangster."

Oh, my. Did I tell her? It's not like he bothered hiding what he was. His tats were in plain sight, and if you typed "quarry crim" into dictionary software, whatever picture they had in there wouldn't hold a chemlight to Walker.

I lowered my voice. "Uh...I know. I guess I kind of am too, now."

"Really?! I hope you're being careful!" She actually looked worried.

"I'm...doing my best. But it looks like he's done with his slab. You mind grabbing me a couple pizzas?"

"Oh yeah! Of course! Two slices? What of?" She rattled around behind the counter, grabbing plates and a cutter.

"Ah, I meant two pies. One to go. Pepperoni or cheese, whatever's ready, and I don't really care if they're cold or not. And a jug of Ripjaw, please." I broke some chits off Walker's card and handed them to her.

Dezi looked a little mystified, but to her credit didn't ask if I really was that hungry. She fed the deng into the register, grabbed the soda, then boxed up a pizza for me. "I have to go make the other one. It'll only be a few minutes, I promise!"

"Please don't rush around on my account, Dezi. I feel bad enough as it is."

"What if it's not on your account, Sharkie?" she asked primly, hands on her hips. "What if I just take pride in my work?"

I put my hands up in a placating gesture, rather taken aback. "Sorry, sorry. Selfish of me. Rush away."

"Hmph!" She nodded once and smiled, looking proud indeed, then rushed back into the kitchen and began making a great deal of noise. I didn't think I'd ever understand that girl. And what did that say about me? Nothing flattering, probably.

I went over and joined Walker, who was leaned over with his elbow on the table and his head in his hand. I ate three pieces of pizza in an unsettlingly short time-I really was starving-then sat back.

"What was all that about?" I asked, pointing at his phone. "Not me, I hope."

"Would you believe me," he said without raising his head, "if I told you that out of four rag-tag, hard-ass, quarry-born iron-slingers, not one of them knew how to change a flat tire on a bulk truck?"

I cringed a little. No wonder he looked so defeated. "Probably not."

"So I won't. Tell you, I mean." He flopped backward, slouching on the bench. "Whoof. I need a drink. Good thing we got an excuse to have one, right?" He pulled a flask out of his jacket, the thin chrome plating mostly worn down to brass. "Aw shit, your arm alright?"

He was looking at my bandaged forearm, where the guy had cut me last night. To be honest I'd forgotten about it completely; it hadn't bothered me all day. "Yeah, yeah. That didn't happen tonight."

"Glad to hear it. Congrats on your first op, Sharkie! Old Alton already dropped me a line, said you did good."

"Yeah, I ran into him on my way out. Seemed like a nice guy. Just a little weird."

"Alton's great. Reliable, which is a big compliment. And it ain't like normal people do this job anyway, no offense." He unscrewed the cap on the flask, and I could smell the alcohol from over here. He took a drink then held it out to me. "Cheers! Salud! Za vas 'n all that! Have a knock of this shit."

I accepted the flask and toasted him with a "Ganpai!" like Sawada always did. Then I took a drink and almost choked. It was stupid strong, at least 120-proof, with a taste like whiskey but more herbal, almost spicy. The gulp I took burned down my throat and sat in my stomach like an ember.

"What the hell kind of paint stripper do you drink in the quarries, Walker?" I passed him the flask. "What was that?

"Paint stripper?" he said all mock-offended. "That's Fehu white, girl! Smooth as it gets!"

"Smooth as what gets?"

"Amiza. Afternoon tea, 'scalled." He grinned, silver flickering in the flourescents. "You know when it gets to be two or three in the afternoon, you start slowin' down, gettin' sore, feelin' like naptime? Couple hits o’ that and you'll break rocks for another five hours."

"Yeah, but what's in it?" Even having eaten that pizza, I was feeling a little tipsy. Stuff had a kick. "Tastes like whiskey and hot sauce."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Every stiller's got their own recipe, and they wouldn't tell you if you were Kitty LaGrade with a gun to their head." He took another sip and coughed a little. "But it's usually whiskey straight out the cask, some caffiene, a few other very special herbs. Just what a miner needs to get through the workin' day."

"The miners can keep it, no offense." I'd stick with vodka.

"No offense? What's that 'sposed to mean?" said Walker, looking absurdly hurt. "I can't believe you'd just scuff my whole culture like that... man, maybe this ain't gonna work out after all..."

"Wait-Walker, I'm just sayin' I didn't like the drink!" I sputtered, hands up. "Your culture-well, I don't know that much but I'm sure it's great-"

"Prove it then," he said, immediately looking up. "Have another drink." He still looked deadly serious.

"Alright, fine, fine!" I grabbed the flask and saw the corner of his mouth twitching. "Oh, you fucker."

Walker busted out laughing. "Too easy, Shark my girl! Too damn easy! Now come on, you said you'd do it."

I had another knock and coughed like a kid. "Whoof..."

"Any better the second time?"

I passed back the flask. "Worse. I knew what was coming."

"Oh, pshaw." He flipped his hand dismissively. "It's an acquired taste. Hang out with us and pretty soon you'll be chuggin' it like a pit boss."

I gave him a flat look as he drank some more. "Maybe this ain't gonna work out after all."

He coughed and spit out his liquor, laughing. "Damn it! Alright, no more amiza for you. Fine. But tell me how this op went. Let's lab this shit out."

I gave him a play-by-play of my raid on Grayson's, telling it as well as I could remember it. He might be trying to corroborate whatever I said with Alton's report, to see if I was honest.

"Sounds like it went smooth," he said when I was done, "'cept for paying that tva to point you five feet sideways. It's all about situational awareness. If you're gettin' surprised you probably fucked up."

"I know. I gotta keep my head on a swivel."

He nodded. "But lemme see this heater Vandermaas sold you. I never even heard of such a thing. Come on, you won't offend nobody," he continued when I looked nervous about whipping out my gun in the middle of a restaurant.

"If you say so." The Slukh clunked onto the table as I set it down, small but dense. "Careful, it's loaded."

Walker made no move to touch it, instead staring at it for a couple seconds. "You'd better not shoot anyone with that thing," he said gravely.

"Why not?" I asked, mystified.

"'Cause if they notice, they'll be mighty pissed with you!" He busted out laughing, almost sliding off the plastic bench.

I felt oddly protective; the poor little Slukh didn't deserve this. "Don't make fun of it! It did the job just fine."

"Whoo!" Walker wiped an imaginary tear away with his finger. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. But it's so small, and you're so-" He cracked up again.

Arms crossed, I waited for Walker to finish while I fixed him with what Sawada called my "disdainful schoolteacher" look. I'd only heard jokes about my size, oh, about a million and a half times. Rather than let it bother me, I just stood above it all. Ha-ha.

Finally, he got it together. "Okay. Sorry. I'm really done this time. It really shouldn'tve been that funny, but that's sleep-dep for you." He shook his head just like at the Red Gila earlier. "What I ought to have said is that as useful as that little guy is, it just ain't a fighting gun. Four shots ain't enough. Even my buddy Kaunaz has six in that big stupid wheelgun of his."

"Only needed one tonight," I replied, a little defensively.

A serious expression formed on his face. "When there were only four guys, and you only needed to shoot one, and you surprised him anyway. It will not always be that easy. Sometimes a gunfight's unavoidable, and all I'm sayin' is in a shootout that piece'll put you at a disadvantage." He picked up the Slukh, hefted it, aimed down the sights at the grimy tile floor before putting it back on the table. "By all means, keep carryin' it. But if I was you I'd pack somethin' more substantial too."

I put the gun away and sighed. "You're right. I'll think about it." It wasn't that I didn't want another gun, there were just other things I'd like to spend my pile of cash on. Speaking of...

"Hey, don't look so down. You got an excuse to buy more guns!" His hand clapped suddenly into his forehead. "Shit! Which reminds me..." He dug around in his leather jacket and pulled out a stack of green and white chitcards held together with a rubber band. Five thousand denars. "For services rendered." He held it out and I took it. In my hands I now held more money than I'd ever had at once, and all of it for a few minutes' work. Wow.

"Thanks, Walker." To be honest, I'd been worried I was getting swindled until the cash was in my hand. Maybe there was honor among thieves.

"No need." Again his hand waved dismissively, as if fanning the thought away. "You don't thank your boss for your paycheck, do you? It's just a deal, and a deal is a deal is a deal. Like I said earlier, actin' like a bunch of dicks only hurts us long-term."

I couldn't help counting the stack once more before hiding it away. "Still. Thanks." I held out my hand and he gave it a solemn shake. For a a minute or two we both ate in silence.

"By the way, how'd that go with Vandermaas yesterday?" The question took me by surprise.

"Mm?" I swallowed. "It went well. Tanje seems like a good guy. Real helpful."

Walker cocked an eyebrow. "Tanje, huh? Sounds like you're pretty friendly."

I met his eyes coolly. "Yeah. Friendly. And that's it."

His hands went up like I'd stuck a gun in his face. "Hey, hey, I wasn't implying anything. It's just, well, old V's usually real cold with people he don't know. Took me five visits to get more'n five words out of him at a time." He finished his pizza and immediately began lighting a cigarette. "Just wanted to make sure he wasn't too rude to you, but it sounds like you got along just fine."

Hmm...Tanje'd been perfectly nice to me, though his mannerisms were a little odd. But maybe I'd caught him off guard talking about books and he'd opened up. He definitely didn't come across like he hung out with the D-block crowd.

"What's his deal, anyway?" I asked Walker. "Doesn't seem like he fits in around here."

"Ain't my story to tell," he replied as he puffed away. "Though really I don't know much more than you. Suffice it to say he's got connections and he's willing to sell to the Bones, so as far as we're concerned he's an ally."

"He's a freelancer?" I hadn't though about it until now, but Tanje lacked tattoos or affiliation marks of any sort.

Nodding, Walker continued. "Yup. We offered him a spot, but he 'declined with all due respect and gratitude.'" The last few words were delivered in a very twangy imitation of Tanje's accent. "The Blues asked him too a while back, and tried to make him say yes when he gave 'em the same answer. But they backed off all of a sudden-don't ask me why 'cause I got no clue-and now he don't sell to 'em anymore."

At that moment, Dezhda jogged up with my other pizza, ponytail bobbing. "Aaaand there you are," she said cheerily.

I smiled at her. "Thanks, Dezi. Looks great."

"I hope you enjoy it!" She grinned back at me then darted away into the kitchen.

"I don't know how that girl does it," said Walker. "Don't think I've moved that fast in twenty years. You know her?"

"A little bit, but I honestly couldn't tell you where she gets it from." I replied. "I think she's just a unique case." I rubbed my chin, wondering how best to ask my question. "Walker, I know it's pretty early to be asking you favors, but would you happen to need any help bookkeeping?"

Walker leaned back, regarding me. "Why? You good at math?"

"No. But she is." I jerked a thumb toward the kitchen.

"Really..." He rubbed his chin in consideration. I was pleasantly surprised he was taking it seriously. "She's done accounting before?"

"Yeah. Used to work with me at a chopshop." Technically true, even if our employment had only overlapped for a few days.

"Keepin' books is one thing, but to let you in on a little secret..." He beckoned me close. "...we're criminals and we ain't exactly honest about money. She'd have to be able to cook 'em too."

I thought about it. Dag's business was about as far from straight and narrow as it got. If Dezhda could make sense of his finances..."Walker, as far as I know she can broil, bake, sautee and stir fry 'em."

"Heh. Hmm." He blew out a slow, heavy cloud of smoke. "Sanverth did say somethin' about an assistant...No guarantees, but I'll look into it. Probably have an answer sometime tomorrow. I guess she put you up to this?"

"No. I, uh..." I glanced at the table, sheepish. "I didn't ask her yet."

Walker stubbed out his cig. "And you're getting her a job outta the goodness of your heart? Just for fun?"

"Let's just say I owe her one."

He watched me, then nodded slowly. "I can respect that. Certainly. Just, ah, mention it to her before you leave? Speaking of-"

The glass door exploded as someone put a boot through it. I saw a skinny guy yank his leg out of the glass, ignoring the cuts it left in his calf. He shoved slapdash through the door, moving fast and jittery as a hunting dogroach. Too-large bionic eyes bulged above a filthy foundryman's respirator, twitching wildly between us. I fumbled in my pocket but couldn't find the Slukh's grip.

"Fuckin' slice you up, cowboy!" he growled, and by the time I noticed the machete in his hand he was already swinging it at Walker and I.

Time seemed to slow down. This was it, I guess. Was this how those guys in the gambling hall felt? Shocked stupid by a maniac with a length of sharp metal in their hand? No fucking way I was going out like them. I could try to catch the blade on one arm, hit him with the other. Yeah, that would work. Raising my left hand, I braced for pain. Wrote it off. Pretended it was already-

Deafening bangs, three in rapid succession, shocked me out of my death trance. The machete artist turned a drunken pirouette then hit the floor with a wet splat. Walker had a big blued-steel pistol in his hand, its barrel smoking. Brass gently sang as it rolled across the tiles. While I'd been preparing myself to stop counting past fifteen, he'd drawn and shot the dude from the hip fast as you please.

All he said was "Sheeit." Not scared, not amped up, just...disappointed. He safed his gun, carefully reholstered, and lit up a fresh burner. My heart was pounding, but still I caught a glimpse of the rollmark on the slide before he put it away: UZ 99T CAMPIONE. Well, crap. A UZ target model was about as nice as slugthrowers got. No wonder he laughed at my poor little Slukh. I resolved to practice my draw stroke about a million times later, The Spurned training montage-style.

I was about ready to sink into the bench after that little scare-my budding criminal career nearly ended by a junkie with a sharp chunk of metal!-but Walker thankfully had the presence of mind to go up to the counter.

"Y'all back there, everything's okay! Ain't nobody hurt 'cept for the crazy motherfucker tried to kill me!"

I shakily got up to join him, just in time to see Dezhda come out and go white with horror. Oh, shit. Poor woman. I wasn't feeling confident enough myself to say anything, so I reached over the counter and patted her on the shoulder. Hopefully it was reassuring and not weird.

Rather than freak out, she relaxed a little and gave me a grateful look. Behind her, I saw that the fat guy-Qayyem?-was still asleep in his chair. Or dead. Hard to tell when someone's posted up that hard.

"Mr. Walker, um...what the heck happened?" asked Dezhda.

"Yonder chemhead kicked in your door and tried to cut me up," said Walker, as if it happened every day. Maybe it did. "As you can see, he did not succeed."

"O-of course," she replied faintly. "On behalf of Nino's Pizza, I'd like to apologize for the, ummm...lapse in security? I guess?"

"Pshaw. Ain't your fault. He was gunnin’ for me, so I'll take care of the cleanup." He shook his head and laughed ruefully. "Irgen's gonna rip me a new one when I call him about this," he muttered.

Dezhda had a pained look on her face. "As a representative of Nino's Pizza, I must insist that-" Her voice was cut off by a viscous squelch as Walker used the toe of his boot to flip the corpse face-up.

"Pizdets n'khui!" Dezi hissed a vile curse in Sov. "Fuck it! You take care of it!" I looked at her in shock and she immediately clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. Walker at least had the good grace to wince. "I-I'm sorry about that!" she stuttered. "I meant to say, ah-"

"I'm the one that's sorry, ma'am." Walker returned to the counter. "This here mess, well, that gentleman was probably looking for me. My fault. Your tip'll be generous tonight." His hand dove into his jacket and emerged holding the flask of amiza. "Get some of this down you, if you like. Take the edge off."

Dezhda nodded, clearly overwrought, and took the flask. I braced myself for an explosion of coughing, but she just took a deep belt and passed it back, drama free. This girl sure was something. "T-thanks, Mr. Walker. That was good. What's in there?"

"Oh, this 'n that."

"Like I said, it was nice." She glanced behind her at a stool sitting near the kitchen door. "Would either of you mind if I sat down for a few minutes?"

"Of course not!"

"Go right ahead." Walker and I responded at the same time, then glanced at each other. Our feeling were united on Dezhda, it seemed. Protect at all costs.

Walker went back over to the corpse. I trailed along and gave the guy a once-over. He had cheap bionic optics, definitely too large. They bulged out from inflamed sockets, red and dry. Below the left eye a couple of teardrop tats stood out, done single-needle jacker style in ink made from soot. Trackmarks inched down the one forearm I could see. All in all, your typical D-block denizen. So what was he doing coming at a heavy like Walker?

"Those fuckers..." Walker muttered beside me. "Dirty as all hell..."

"What?"

"Kingsdamn Blues are trawlin' for me."

Trawling? "Isn't that, like, when there used to be fish in the ocean?" I asked him.

"They'd pick them up in nets or something?"

He pulled hard on his burner. "They pick something up, alright. Trawlin' for desperate dumbasses. Blues put out a bounty on me, small enough it don't cost 'em but big enough jackoffs like this think the risk is worth it." He spat. "Usually it ain't, as you can see. But sometimes it works. Even if it don't, well, it's not like this is how I like to spend my evenins'."

He stared down at the deader for a few seconds, then ashed his cig over the guy's chest. "Waste of fuckin' ammo. You wouldn't believe what ol' Vanderscalp charges me for these damn disappearin' bullets."

"Oh, I might."

He grinned up at me. "What, you don't get no best friends discount?"

"Yeah, right. He strikes me as the kind of guy who wouldn't give his mother a discount on a hug."

"Sh-shit!" He tried to laugh in the middle of taking a drag and failed miserably. "You got that right. Whew! I smoke too fuckin' much."

No arguments there. I shuddered to imagine the expense, let alone the shape of his lungs.

Walker's laugh petered out into a long sigh. "Think I'll wait here for Irgen and his boys. Least I can do. You-well, you're free for now. Take that cash and buy somethin' stupid with it. Leave responsibility to the old burnouts like me. Oh-an' Sharkie?"

I couldn't help twitching a little. "...Yeah?"

"That favor you asked? I'll push for it."

I was touched. Still distrustful, but touched. "Thank you, Walker. Seriously." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "You better not me leading me on with all this, ‘cause I think I might like it."

He gave me a smile, surprisingly gentle. "That ain't how the Holy Bones do things, little miss. Once you're in, it's ride or fuckin' die. No dickin' around. Now go ask Miss D if she wants a new job already."

I nodded, feeling absurdly worked up after all the evening's excitement. Before I went and talked to Dezi, though, I took one last look at the would-be assassin. Three entry wounds marred his chest in a tight circle. Walker had shot rapidly, from retention, right after drawing, and in an awkward position to boot. Regardless, he'd put three shots into the guy's center mass in smaller than a two-inch group. I wondered just how he'd achieved whatever position of power he had within the Bones. Friendly as he was, man was fucking dangerous.

Still thinking about this, I ambled over to Dezhda, who was still on her stool. She looked up with a bleak smile as I approached, and I wondered how best to phrase this.

"Dezi," I said to her. "You interested in a new job?"