Chap 3

Ceres. Four-thirty in the afternoon.

At that time of year, the cold gusts of wind sweeping along Cuzco Avenue drove tiny needles into the skin. The wind fluttered the hem of a man's long winter coat as he strolled along, a cigarette clenched between his teeth.

He didn't have the recognizable gait of a slum resident. If anything, a sense of loneliness and strain seemed to cling to the back of his thin frame. To those accustomed to the muddy, stagnant atmosphere, the foreignness of the man was obvious.

As he passed by, the bystanders opened their eyes a little wider and then quickly looked away. Something about him was very different. The world he inhabited was not their own. Loath to get involved, they left the scene as soon as possible... and, according to his unchanged gait, the man didn't care.

There was a section in Ceres where repeated assault on the buildings had shattered their brick facades, revealing the bones of their metal skeletons. With nothing to obstruct the sunlight, calling this block of the city "Blue Chip" was a bit of a joke.

But although the structures above ground were in sad condition, the subterranean structures were still in good working order. As a result, at some point it had become the gathering spot and demilitarized zone for a number of gangs. Even gang members were willing to admit that fighting all the time got to be a drag. They needed an oasis where they could relax and let their guards down without being attacked. Any asshole who didn't follow that one rule couldn't show his face in the slums again.

Nobody ever believed the rule would keep everyone in line, but year after year, no one dared to make the first move. Nobody wanted to be the first one dishonored, so a successful but tenuous balance remained.

Stripped to the waist, junkies hung out in the nooks of the steel structures and got high beneath the winter sky. Too engrossed in their foreplay to care who was watching, lovers made out hot and heavy in the access tunnels. And somewhere else a foul-mouthed bunch argued to the point of near violence.

The DMZ was also known as the "whatever" zone. Apathy city. Everybody came looking for something, but nobody gave a damn what it was—as long as nobody got killed over it.

The man continued on his way, and he was left alone.

That same day. Blue Chip subterranean Level Three. Soraya Bar. Unlike most days, a strange and feverish air filled the premises. The usual vulgar laughter and crude jokes gave way to an unusually hushed silence. The collective gaze focused like a long-held breath until sweat broke out on the skin.

Within the tightly packed ring of onlookers, the game was being played.

Anybody could play—it was just an old-fashioned card game where victory relied on intuition and concentration. But it wasn't the kind of game played in the Midas casinos. The bets being laid on the table didn't involve money or honor, but virtue. The players laid their bodies on the line with each round.

"Gigolo." And at the center of all this attention in Soraya Bar, Riki and Luke were playing it.

It was a type of sex game, along the lines of a sex Show. The players started off with a kiss to ante up. As the pot increased, so did expectations. The loser settled on the spot. Those holding the cards as well as the spectators shared in the tension.

If someone was challenged to the game, no matter how disgusting the opponent, he hardly ever refused. "I'm in the mood to have my way with you," was how the game usually started. "We're playing gigolo," would be announced in front of everybody, making it that much harder to turn down. And any man who refused wasn't just called a coward—word would get around that he couldn't get it up, both physically and metaphorically, and a man who couldn't do that wasn't any sort of man. Where same-sex hookups were the norm, not having the guts or the ability to perform amounted to the deepest stigma any man could have in the slums.

These spur-of-the-moment challenges amounted to little more than simple sex games—and in the end, laughing at the opponent's loss was usually the most the victor claimed. But they were taken with a seriousness of intent that sharpened everyone's nerves to a point. Since it was a game, one was expected to be a good sport about it in public. That was the theory, anyway. But as with any intimate activity, what went on there never completely stayed there.

Luke had already been sizing up Riki with yearning eyes. Or was it that he wanted to start a fight? Because of this, nobody was surprised when Luke called Riki out with the cry of "gigolo"—Riki included. Nor was anybody surprised that Luke had picked a time when Guy wasn't there.

Riki didn't care what anybody thought of him. But he still knew that he had to settle the score with Luke once and for all.

Between the time when he'd ditched Bison to work his way up, and the time since he'd come back after three blank years—the era, the circumstances, and the nature of the relationships had changed enormously.

Riki had returned to the slums knowing he'd be ridiculed. But contrary to expectations, the sudden upheavals in his environment did not grant him the quiet ignominy of a beaten dog, especially in the wake of the business with Jeeks. Maybe it was a mere accident, or fate inevitably closing the circle once again. But that and his first unknowing tangling with the Jeeks gang had, albeit reluctantly, driven the roots of destiny deeper into Riki's soul.

Even after Bison fell apart, a certain portion of the responsibility for losing their longtime safe house was still on Riki's head. However, hitting the Jeeks headquarters with tear gas in retribution was done without Riki's knowledge.

And yet, all the onlookers felt that Bison was back for more.

Bison's back on its feet.

Riki's getting even.

Excited voices spread the rumors. From one ear to the next, they became all the more heated and distorted with each retelling. Once the rumors had gained a life of their own, they couldn't be expected to reflect the will or wishes of the concerned parties. Neither Riki nor the rest of Bison wanted to get stirred up by all the chatter, but, unfortunately, the fall out of the talk was beyond their control.

With that one incident, the members of Jeeks found their reputations ruined and their lives taking a turn for the worse. Their safe house lost, they turned all the more feral, striking out against anyone. And this wasn't just a problem for Riki and company. The trouble the Jeeks was causing affected the daily routine everywhere in the slums.

Settling the score with Jeeks was the inevitable burden Riki and his boys had taken on. Everybody was holding his breath in anticipation of the battle. With all of this attention, Bison's reputation was growing by the day, and its members were getting as anxious as the spectators.

"Those punks piss me off! Are we gonna fight them or not?"

"What are we gonna do, Riki? We gonna kick some ass?"

Luke's eyes narrowed to a squint. Strangely enough, Guy was pumped up and talking big. Norris made a point of twisting his lips into a sneer. Sid spit out his chew. And lastly—

"They're going down," Riki said heavily. "All of them. If we do it, we do it big. We have to pay them back with interest."

In that moment, it was as if everything inside him silently exploded outward. Beside him, the rest of the gang members were smiling at each other. They wanted to see some action.

After slacking off for a long time, Riki had become a completely different person. With Jeeks haranguing them at every turn, Riki had finally run out of patience and let his temper move things forward. They'd have to destroy Jeeks. With that resolved, the conversation quickly accelerated.

"Before we start, we need intel."

"Then we're obviously gonna need him."

"You mean Jango? God's Grim Reaper? He's not gonna help us."

"We need him."

"He's way too expensive."

"The going price all depends on who he's up against."

Jango was a dangerous man, just as bad as the word on the street made him out to be. Riki had once been block mates with the informant when Jango had been known as Robby. He still had some lingering connections with him, but Luke and the others declined to point this out.

Destroying Jeeks quickly meant going through God's Grim Reaper and looking Robby in the face once again. But, for whatever reason, Riki's expression showed no emotion.

Knowing about the history Riki and Robby shared at Guardian and the roots of their mutual antagonism did nothing for Guy's peace of mind. But the Jeeks rampage had become too much of a problem. Without accurate intel, they couldn't deliver the decisive blow. And knowing that, Guy didn't say anything more than what needed to be said.

All Guy could do at that point was follow Riki's lead. This implicit understanding wasn't simply an ingrained behavior; it was woven into Guy's pride about who he was and who they were.

Riki and Guy walked into the bar and made their way to the private room in the back. The first rule in the information trade was that negotiations were conducted on the sly and away from prying eyes. Even so, the room they found themselves in was better furnished than either had expected.

Robby sat back on a shiny black sofa with his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked at Riki and Guy and grinned. "Still pairing up, eh?"

There were implications in his greeting, and for Riki, they were hard to miss. If it hadn't been necessary—and Riki had to remind himself of this constantly—then he never would have agreed to meet the man again. What had happened between them, no matter how many years before, would never be forgotten.

Everything Guy knew about Robby was from what Riki had told him. The two men had never met before, but Riki sensed the sparks flying as soon as they exchanged glances. Noticing this, Riki refocused his attention to make sure nothing went wrong.

There was one unknown in the equation, though. Robby wasn't alone. He shared the sofa with a kid with a mop of fiery red hair.

Who the hell is that?

Riki gave the redhead a look and quickly averted his gaze.

"Yo." The kid threw them a curt hello and stood. He stopped at the minibar in the corner of the room, picked up a shaker, and deftly gave it a toss.

"He's Thor." Robby took a drag off a cigarette and said nothing else.

The atmosphere was tense and silent. Both groups showed their apathy as signs of courage.

Thor returned with two glasses in hand. He calmly placed them before Riki and Guy. Riki furrowed his eyebrows, unable to derive the meaning of this abrupt little performance.

"It's called Guinevere," Thor said. "It's dry, but it's good."

Thor took a hard candy out of his pocket, popped it into his mouth, and crunched loudly. He carried on in an unaffected manner, but his frank attitude told Riki and Guy that they should either take the insolent kid for granted or recognize his actions as an act and raise their collective guard. Any kid willing to work with a man called God's Grim Reaper had to be bad news. If he wasn't, he had no right to sit next to Robby in that room.

"Drink up. It's not poisoned."

Robby didn't interject. He simply watched the scene unfold with a curious look on his face. Was this how he greeted all of his guests? Unless the drinks were some sort of test. At any rate, until Riki and Guy drank, nothing else was going to happen.

Riki picked up the glass and tasted a mouthful. It wasn't poisoned. Guy could sense what Riki expected of him, so he didn't drink from his own glass. Just in case it was something other than poison—a bad trip or whatever—Guy would be there to get him out.

"Hmm. So it's the leader venturing into the unknown? Isn't it usually the other way around?" Thor asked.

"I'm allergic," was Guy's simple excuse.

Thor openly sniffed at Guy's dodge. But catching some attitude didn't bother Guy in the least. Riki acted; Guy waited. No matter what the situation, that was the strategy they'd always sworn by.

The Guinevere had a unique taste. It hit the palate pleasantly enough, but had a strange aftertaste. The tingling sensation left behind on Riki's tongue struck a dormant nerve. Without giving the utterance much thought, he asked, "Balado?"

Thor's eyes widened. "Impressive," he said before chuckling. "You're good. I never would have believed someone in the slums would know the taste of Balado."

Catching a pointed edge in the praise, Riki shot Robby a glance. Robby shrugged as if to say: Don't ask me.

Balado was a special spice produced on the planet Aquos. Back when Riki had worked the shipping routes, he'd gotten his hands on it fairly often. Balado took its name from the place it was produced, and could be divided into five varieties. Each had its own subtle aftertaste and aroma, and Riki had learned to tell the difference. He wasn't about to pay exorbitant prices for an inferior brand.

Thor had given him a popular variety of Balado called Merida. But even a less popular variety of Balado was still a luxury good, and not the kind of thing ever found in the slums. Using it to grease the wheels before a business negotiation was an informant's way of advertising the value of his merchandise. On the other hand, considering their history together, Riki knew this was Robby's way of saying this was going to cost Riki an awful lot.

Thor laughed and leaned forward. The wave of red hair filled Riki's line of sight. As Thor drew closer, Riki could see that his brown eyes were closer to black.

"You know where this Balado came from?" Thor asked.

"Merida."

Thor smiled, as much for show as delight. "Looks like they don't call you Riki the Black for nothing."

Beside Riki, Guy took a breath and shifted his position.

But even hearing his old slum handle, Riki didn't react, Robby was an information dealer. When Riki had contacted him, he'd expected Robby to know about his past as a courier to an extent.

No matter how much time passed for Riki and Robby, the antagonism from their time at Guardian had never died. But Riki hadn't thought such things would be exposed to some strange boy. Perhaps this was a miscalculation on his part.

"You were scouted out by a big shot in the market, weren't you?" Thor's eyes remained glued on Riki, showing an inquisitiveness more intense than mere curiosity. "Pretty impressive. A slum mongrel making it big in the world out there. How did you snag a chance like that?"

Riki didn't care if Thor was Robby's "kept woman." As long as he could get his hands on the right information, all the rest was moot. Even his past as a courier being outed wasn't that upsetting—they were just wasting his time.

"With a fence like Zach," Thor went on. "you had to pony up some kind of collateral to get that kind of pull, eh? But then you quit, with the brass ring in your hand."

It seemed like Thor was exposing the whole scandalous affair in front of Guy on purpose. It was pissing Riki off, so he decided to end it.

Riki drained the contents of his glass and shot Thor a look. "You a sinker?" he asked.

He lived up to the name "Riki the Black." With three small words, he brought Thor to complete silence. Thor's eyes widened abruptly at the blunt question. Robby's eyebrows twitched subtly, like an invisible thread was tugging at his skin.

Riki said in a restrained tone, "I couldn't say if you were Midas born and reared, or just some waif off the streets, though."

All the self-control Thor had been showing fell away. He immediately became wary and defensive.

"Your hair and eyes," continued Riki, locking his gaze on him. "You get them colored at your own expense?"

Thor hissed like an alley cat arching its back for a fight. His reaction hardly constituted solid proof, but it was clear that Riki's question had hit close to the mark.

Riki had deduced at a glance that the candy Thor was munching on was no ordinary confection, but a type of melanin pigmentation drug called Gazer. Since it was only a popular "fashion supplement," consumed orally to change hair and eye color, it wasn't very expensive. Most brands were legal and didn't have any severe side effects or long-term toxicities.

While the family of drugs was available in all varieties, the legal brands had their good points and their bad. In particular, there was the instantly recognizable mottled or "impure" pigmentation of the eyes that never went away, and the fact that their potency had a limited time span.

If used to make a simple fashion statement, no matter the brand, the results were pretty much the same. But when looking on the black market, customers wanted brands with guaranteed performance and staying power. Gazer was the preferred choice.

The ones Thor was munching would be anything but over-the-counter drugs for the general population. The harmful side effects were greater and differed according to each person's physical constitution; vision impairments, eye deformities, and nerve paralysis were all possibilities. But most of it resulted in blindness, or the eyeballs desiccating in their sockets. In the worst case, the user put his life at risk. Because these were illegal drugs, nobody was liable—and nobody would talk.

Gazer was still very popular despite the risks. Those who used it habitually, reaching a set maintenance dosage, claimed they could "see the unseen." Riki didn't know if that was the truth, or just a slogan invented to inflate sales. But he definitely didn't want to fork over money to possibly see more than he already did.

If Thor was a Gazer user, some pressing set of circumstances must have led him down that path. Riki reasoned that the "refugee" vibe Thor gave off was the key to those circumstances.

To the citizens of Midas, the slum mongrels were objects of scorn and disgust—but the refugees who overstayed their visas and squatted there illegally were seen as no more than insects. Tanagura had the capability to evict all the refugees from Midas, but it had its reasons for not going through with it. Like the mongrels, refugees didn't have PAM ID devices. Consequently, with no traits or characteristics indicating place of birth, there was no way to tell the difference between them and the mongrels. Many refugees took advantage of that and passed as slum mongrels in order to take up residence on the colony.

Riki had become acquainted with the facts of refugee life during his courier days with Katze. But knowing and doing were two different things. Unlike the citizens of Midas, Riki never thought of hunting the refugees down, beating them up, and running them out of town. They didn't lose their IDs and home planets just by overstaying their visas. With this all around him, Riki had developed a sixth sense for refugees mimicking mongrel life in order to settle down in Ceres.

However, there was also a breed of Midas born refugees, hiding out for reasons unknown. They didn't come off as all that different from the slum mongrels since they knew the colony. Thor was possibly changing his eye and hair color to hide his origins. He wouldn't be munching his way through Gazer just to make a fashion statement.

Whatever it was, by being so obvious about it, Thor had gone out of his way to annoy Riki. This turned the tables in Riki's favor.

"Idiot. You don't go gobbling down Gazer in plain sight. If you think us slum mongrels are just a bunch of morons, someone's gonna be handing you your ass on a platter."

At the mention of Gazer, Thor's face went white. Robby had been watching patiently the whole time from the sidelines, but he at last interrupted.

"Come on—don't tease the boy. He happens to be my partner for the time being."

"Then you both qualify as God's Grim Reapers?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Then he's only getting in the way. Show him the door."

With a loud bang, Thor slammed his fist down on the table. He glared and grit his teeth. "Don't fucking push your luck!"

"The kid doesn't know his place, Robby," Riki said shortly, "Tell him to keep quiet."

Thor leapt to his feet, but Robby grabbed his arm, ignoring the snarls aimed in his direction. "What are you stopping me for?" Thor snapped. He looked like a wounded animal; Riki had delivered his finishing blow with his usual precision.

"Nobody's better than this guy at finding someone's weakness; he's been able to do that since Guardian. Just drop it, all right? Shoot your mouth off in this game and you won't get a second chance." Robby looked at Riki, a meaningful smile dimpling one cheek. "Wouldn't you say?"

Like code exchanged between spies, only Riki and Robby understood the nuances in those words. Even Guy felt outside his territory.

"I'm not here to baby-sit. You wanna deal or not?"

"Fine," Robby said. "Here I am with the infamous Riki of Bison, who got a little carried away. We'll consider the introductions over with."

Thor couldn't hide the grudging expression on his face. He audibly grunted in dissatisfaction.

"You've gotten pretty scary, Riki," Robby said. "Even with you dragging your butt around like a beaten dog, you've still got a few aces up your sleeve."

"Don't get on my case. When did you hook up with this sinker kid?"

"He happened to be the only one with the balls to take on God's Grim Reaper as a pairing partner."

Pairing partner? Those were the last words Riki had expected to come out of Robby's mouth. "Really?" Riki cemented. "I thought you had better things to do with your time."

Riki knew how attached Robby had been to Schell.

I lost Schell because of you—but you're the one smiling. There's gotta be something wrong with the world, huh? Whatever I lost, you're gonna lose just as badly!

Riki could remember the black lump of violent emotions Robby had hurled at him that day in Guardian. But rather than guilty, Riki had felt more impetuous and annoyed by Robby's outburst. He and Robby had never gotten along since.

In Guardian, attachments became obsessions. Intractable emotions turned unnaturally pure. And the reality that love itself couldn't accomplish anything became painfully true. The only happiness possible came from inflicting pain on others. Children in Guardian learned to keep from being alone and ostracized, but also not to confuse dependency with trust. This suffocating and inescapable atmosphere suffused the "paradise" that was Guardian. All that was gained and lost there produced a defining sense of self that couldn't be compromised, no matter the cost.

Riki, Guy, and Robby all knew that. They were the children at Guardian who knew what really mattered. Adults were wont to call children like that "precious." It was why Riki didn't buy into the notion that Robby couldn't love anybody but Schell. But he hadn't wanted to contradict him, either. Robby being Robby, Riki had figured he was capable of getting over Schell's death.

As if he understood the thoughts going through Riki's mind, a small smile creased the corner of Robby's mouth.

Thor continued to sulk as he retrieved a computer terminal from beneath the table. He turned it on and began typing with the ease of someone experienced.

"OK," Robby said shortly. "What do you want to know about Jeeks?"

"You came prepared," Riki commented.

"That's the only reason you came to see me, right?"

Riki said nothing, despite his desire to ask why Robby had been wasting his time with introductions.

"We need all the intel you have about what Jeeks has been up to lately," Guy said, rising to take care of the actual business. "In particular, who's really running the show and what he's thinking these days."

"I can give you profiles of all the current members, and a head count confirmation. Saved to disk."

"Fine."

Robby talked through the deal, and Thor hardly uttered a syllable as he rapidly worked the keyboard. They seemed to make an effective combination. "So you're finally getting around to having Jeeks for lunch. I almost feel sorry for them."

"We've been watching our diet."

"Either way, you're Riki the Black of the slums."

Riki furrowed his brow in obvious distaste. Why would you say something like that now? he wondered. Instead, he said, "You're passing on bogus info, Robby."

That was enough to make Robby pause. More than any of the particulars about his past or his rotten core, when it came to information peddling, he was the best. Robby's rep was whispered all over the slums.

"You think I'd do something as stupid as faking info? I don't have a death wish." Far from his off-the-cuff sarcasm, he spoke in a strangely subdued tone.

Thor suddenly paused his typing.

"What now?"

Thor looked up at Riki from under his eyebrows and finally spoke. "I heard that you and Robby were block mates at Guardian," he said. "Did you really pop his cherry?"

Riki was dumbfounded that Thor could ask that question with a straight face. Where had that come from? No matter how perverse the point of view, the question made no sense. Riki and Robby inadvertently found their eyes meeting; they just as quickly grimaced and averted their eyes.

The looks on their faces must have triggered something in Guy. He stifled a laugh.

"There are some things even I won't eat," Riki blurted.

"That's my line," Robby rejoined.

Even as a joke, the idea of their first time being together was too grotesque for either of them to imagine. Yet Thor had forced them to.

Ready to get back to a less nauseating subject, Robby asked, "Will you be taking this opportunity to signal Bison's comeback?"

"What's the use of digging up those ghosts now?"

"You quit while you were ahead, with an unbeaten winning streak. The name Bison still has cred on the streets. Once upon a time, Jeeks considered you a pain in their collective ass. It's obvious they want to start with you."

That's the kind of information you're supposed to be giving us. But Riki knew rumors were only rumors. Only the people personally involved knew for certain what the truth was.

Keep your ears open. Don 't avert your eyes from reality no matter what happens. And keep your mouth shut.

The three fundamental rules for success in the black market. Three tried and true rules for self-preservation. Riki hadn't forgotten them.

"Their whining's just gotten annoying, so I'll take care of them now to save me the trouble later. End of story."

"If that's your plan, I don't exactly see spectators going along for the ride."

"Which is why I'm trying to keep the bullshit to a minimum," Riki replied, a touch of menace in his eyes. He was here to buy legitimate information, not gossip.

"I'm with you on that. Don't go starting trouble if you can't finish it."

There was a nuance in his voice that rubbed Riki the wrong way, but he didn't feel the need to add more to the conversation. He didn't want Robby's red-haired partner or Guy getting the wrong idea about what this was all about.

With Robby's information in hand, he was going to crush that miserable bunch of brats without mercy. He didn't give a damn how young and inexperienced they were. When he brought the hammer down, it'd be for good.

The members of the headless gang had been driven out and scattered, leaving them vulnerable to attack. That was true justice—a reflection of the kind of enmity that the Jeeks gang had been working up everywhere they went.

The rumors of Bison's rebirth were not likely to gain strength just because Jeeks had been dealt a decisive blow. The original members of Bison understood that fact better than anyone.

This time around, though, the stark reality was that something had pushed Luke into action. And the expression of those stagnated emotions was a game of gigolo.

Riki let it lie. Leaving it to the cards was probably the best way to make sure it didn't happen again, anyway. If he lost, he'd deal with it—after three years of being "educated" as Iason's pet, doing such things in public hardly bothered him. Besides, once challenged to a game of gigolo, there wasn't much difference between winning and losing. As long as a return match wasn't sought, he wouldn't have to deal with this again.

The game lasted three rounds; it ended when the challenger lost or his opponent took it up the ass. Common sense dictated that penetration was the only worthwhile bet on the table. The challenge could be made only once. Though a game had three rounds, one loss could end it if the challenger wanted. There was no value in not going for everything right from the start.

So when Luke started out the betting with a kiss, everybody groaned. He needed a lot of confidence in his card game if he wanted to go all three rounds.

Unexpectedly, Riki lost.

A stir of voices erupted, accompanied by shrill whistles and catcalls. A complacent look on his face, Luke urged on a deep French kiss with Riki. Around them came the sound of throats swallowing hard.

In the midst of this breath-stopping kiss, their bodies glued together, Luke pressed forward with his thighs, pumping his midsection against Riki's. Riki lowered his eyes slightly. At the periphery of his vision, Norris and Sid gazed at them anxiously.

With their thighs chafing against each other, the obvious stimulation directed to the groin, it would have been a lie to say he felt nothing. The male mechanism was never completely under a man's self-control, a fact Riki understood to a nauseating degree.

Still, the fact that the thought flashed across his mind was all the more reason he wanted to keep control of the situation. Riki remained tranquil within that pocket of excited noise. He couldn't say himself whether this made him powerful or pathetic.

Wanting to go all the way with him, Luke once again dealt the cards. The dispassionate Riki had always made his loins stir, and he was eager to see how passionate the other man could be. The spectators held their breath, focusing their eyes on the card game as they rooted for Luke to win.

Flipping over his final card and pleased with his hand, Luke smiled. "Two pair," he said in triumph "Jacks and Sevens."

Riki asked for two cards. Wordlessly, Riki laid down his cards one at a time. All attention focused on his hand. Three kings. The air went out of the disappointed rabble in a noisy, collective sigh. And yet the faint smile on Luke's face didn't fade, but became an ironic smile not quite of self-derision. It didn't look like the grimace of a loser, either.

What the—

Something inside Luke had clearly snapped. Riki grasped that much. Slightly furrowing his eyebrows, he rose from his seat. As he did, the crowd stirred itself in a manner different from the tense atmosphere of earlier. In a single breath, the air in the place released all of its tension.

Suddenly, a man pushed his way through the wave of people. "Riki!" he called.

In the dim light, the undisguised scar on his left cheek was plain to see. Turning toward the sound of the voice, Riki suddenly stopped. The figure of the man loomed up in his vision. For a second, the shock of recognition made his shoulders tremble.

Katze?

Katze's unexpected appearance struck Riki like a blow to the back of the head. His pulse pounded strangely as his throat went dry. The world reeled before his eyes. Though he knew he should run away, he couldn't budge from the spot.

"I need to talk to you. Can you spare a minute?" Katze not only took no notice of the feverishly speculating throngs, but he even ignored Riki's obvious confusion at his appearance. "I'll be waiting outside."

He turned on his heel and strode away as the crowded bar gossiped behind him. The sudden incursion of the stranger—whether he was a good guy or a bad guy—had the place in an uproar.

"Who the hell was that just now? Did you see his face?"

"What a waste. He wasn't bad-looking—scary as hell, though."

"Seems like him and Riki know each other. Old partner, y'think?"

"The only partner he's had is Guy, dumbass."

Riki sighed to himself. Still, there was nothing he could have done to prevent those heavy-laden footfalls. As he exited the garishly decorated doors, he noticed Katze outside, the man's mouth softening into the tiniest smile. Perhaps he hadn't fully expected Riki to come.

"It's been four years."

"You sure knew where to find me." There was no way Katze had simply wandered around and asked about Riki's whereabouts. Rather more importantly, that wasn't the kind of thing Katze would do. The thought made Riki draw his eyebrows together in confusion.

Katze took his beloved cigarette case from his breast pocket. No, not a cigarette case. Without a word, Katze opened the case and showed Riki what was inside.

And Riki knew he'd been had.

It was the latest model of tracking devices. Projected on the screen inside the case was a digital map encompassing Cuzco Avenue to Blue Chip. A location that was probably Soraya Bar was marked with a blinking orange dot.

Riki stared at the blinking dot. Now I get it, he thought.

Back when he was known as Riki the Black, Katze had given him a butterfly knife that had a cell phone built in. Even now, it was tucked into the pocket of Riki's jacket. He took it out. "This thing still works?" he asked, turning it over in his hand.

"I suppose I should be the one saying that," Katze said unapologetically. "I figured you would've thrown it out long ago."

"I hadn't thought about this thing in a long time."

"Well, it saved me a lot of trouble." Katze switched off the display and returned the case to his pocket.

"What do you want?" Riki asked. "You didn't come just to talk about old times.

Riki knew that Katze, the infamous black marketeer, rarely stirred from his underground vault—and he doubted that Katze had changed much in four years. He had to have a serious reason to show off his scarred face in the old haunts.

"Is there someplace we can sit and have a conversation?"

"If you have that much to talk about, we'll go to my place." Riki was once again relieved that he hadn't taken Guy with him that afternoon.

The following day, Guy would know everything. Luke challenging Riki to gigolo, Riki leaving in the company of a scar-faced man of dubious intent... but that was for the following day.

Riki and Katze left Blue Chip together.