Montezuma Strip Read Online Free PDF Page A

took it for granted this room was smothered.
     GenDyne Security would’ve seen to that.
    Mermaid was stuffed with notions, ideas incomplete, concepts partly rounded, files that dead-ended, rotating neural highways
     and biochem cylinders. Most of it was far above a cop’s venue, but so far he hadn’t encountered anything he couldn’t recognize
     as incomplete. Even so he found himself glad they’d pushed Hypatia on him. If anything slipped past his notice she’d pin it
     for him. He didn’t have to ask. Having been allowed inside another Designer’s private sanctum, she was studying eagerly. But
     so far she gave no indication they’d stumbled into anything unusual or out of the ordinary.
    Nothing worth vacuuming a man for.
    “Hey?”
    “Hmmm?”
    “C’mon, Cardenas. Give it a rest. You’re starting to put down roots.”
    He blinked. He hadn’t been asleep, not really. Just dozing, his mind lazy and open to the steady flow of verbosity from the
     wall. He sat up and saw Charliebo resting his head in her lap. A glance the other way showed it was dark outside. He checked
     his bracelet. Tiny lights flashed accusingly at him. It was after nine. He’d been sponging for eight straight hours.
    “I’m not tired.”
    “The hell you’re not.”
    Slowly he eased out of the chair. His muscles protested. His bladder was tight as a slipknot.
    “Where’s the…?”
    “Down the hall.” She stood, grinning at him. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
    “Show me what?”
    “Just the door, man. Just the door.”
    She took him to a French restaurant. Cardenas had never been to a French restaurant in his life. Spanglish was near enough
     to French to enable him to read half the menu and Hypatia translated the other half. Ten minutes later he gazed helplessly
     across the table.
    “Isn’t there
anything
in this place that doesn’t have some kind of sauce on it?”
    “I’ll take care of it.” She ordered for both of them. The place was fancy enough to afford live waiters. Cardenas waited until
     the man left.
    “What am I getting?”
    “Poulet. Polio. Plain. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t poison you with Bernaise or worse.”
    He pushed the menu aside. “The only thing I’m worried about is the bill.”
    “Don’t. This was my invite so I’m paying.” He went through the motions of protesting. “Look, my salary’s five times yours.
     Don’t go ancien-macho on me.”
    “Not a chance. Why the largess?”
    “Suspicious little northie, aren’t you?”
    “Consider my profession.”
    “I’m doing it because you didn’t ask me. Because even though you didn’t want me around back in Crescent’s office you still
     talked to me. Civil. Because you didn’t make a pass at me. Because I like your dog. Enough reasons?”
    “I’m too old to make passes at girls.”
    “That may be, but then I’m no girl. I haven’t been a girl for a long time. Also, you spoke to my face instead of my chest.”
    “I wanted answers from you.”
    She giggled. It was an extraordinary and utterly unexpected sound, fluting up from the depths of that mature shape, as though
     for a few seconds it was suddenly home to a wandering seventeen-year-old.
    “That’s not what most men want.”
    Not knowing what to say next, he found himself looking toward the entrance. The curving plastic tunnel led up and out to the
     street above. They were down in fancy undersand, where corporate execs came to do business, where the flash-men sat selling
     and stealing, and sylphs sold themselves to worms from Asia and Europa. Occasionally the patrons ate.
    “Worried about your dog?”
    He looked back to her. “I could have brought him in with us. Claimed impaired vision. That’s what Charliebo’s trained for.
     Sometimes I do it.”
    “Unnecessary. He’s fine in the checkroom. I told the girl there to filch him some kitchen scraps. She said she’d be glad to.
     Charliebo’s a lover. He’ll probably enjoy this dinner more than you will.”
    His