Metrophage

'About leaving?' Jonny asked. 'No way. I'm a business man. Got deals to make. Grande deals. Enorme deals.'

'In that case,' said the bartender, 'I think somebody over there wants to talk to you.'

Jonny turned in his seat and saw Nimble Virtue, the slunk merchant, waving to him from a corner table. 'Thanks,' he said to the bartender.

'It's your movie, man,' said Random. 'Be careful.'

Jonny picked his way through the crowd to the corner table where Nimble Virtue sat by herself. She was dressed in a loose-fitting kimono patterned with water lilies and delicate vines done in gold and turquoise. Dropping into a seat across from the smuggler lord, Jonny had a perfect view of a couple of her men, two tables away, drinking iced vodka with some of the local Yakuza. Jonny smiled and waved to them. One of the Yakuza men laughed and made a made a circular motion with his finger to indicate madness.

'Dear Jonny-san,' began Nimble Virtue, 'First, allow me to apologize for the uncomfortable circumstances under which we last met. If I had any inkling as to Colonel Zamora's true intentions, I can assure you that he would never have gained a single syllable of information from myself or any of my people.'

Nimble Virtue was small, a skeletal, middle-aged woman with a flat nose and pale skin through which you could see the blue veins around her skull. The way Jonny heard it, she had been born into prostitution on one of the circumlunar sandakans that had serviced the mining trade from the moon; it was not until the Alpha Rat's invasion had destroyed the lunar mining business that she ever set foot on Earth. Once there, she became the mistress of a powerful Yakuza oyabun and thereby escaped the sandakan.

Having spent much of her life in zero-G or reduced-G environments, on Earth Nimble Virtue was forced at all times to wear a titanium alloy exoskeleton. This helped her move about, and a ribbed girdle-like mechanism worked her diaphragm, her chest cavity having grown too small for her lungs to breathe the thick air of Earth's surface. It was also rumored that she never went anywhere without a velvet lined case bearing the fetuses of her two still- born sons.

'You're a liar,' Jonny said. 'You'd sell your grandmother for sausage if you thought you could hide the wrinkles. The only thing I don't understand is why nobody's ever put a bullet through your brainpan.'

Nimble Virtue covered her mouth with pale metal-wrapped fingers, and giggled. 'Some have tried, Jonny-san, but, as you can see, none have succeeded. Many people find it more pleasurable to work with me rather than against me. Could you not?' Nimble Virtue lifted an empty wine glass and waved it at the table where her men sat.

One of them got up and went to the bar. 'Have a drink. They keep Tej here for me. Have you ever tried it? It's an Ethiopian honey wine. Wonderful.'

'I don't drink with people who sell my ass out from under me,' said Jonny. 'But since you got me over here, you can at least tell me why you turned me to Zamora.'

Nimble Virtue ran her index finger around the rim of her glass and licked off the remains of the wine. In the second of silence between the pre-recorded songs, Jonny could hear the insect humming of her exoskeleton. 'I gave you to him as a gesture of goodwill. I thought the Colonel and I had a deal, but things have not worked out for us.' She gazed after her man at the bar. 'A bit of free advice, Jonny. Never develop a sweet tooth. It is much too expensive a vice in a city like this.

'What's this goodwill business you're talking about?' asked Jonny.

'I thought you would be the expert in that.'

'Don't be cute,' said Jonny. 'I could snap that skinny neck of yours before any of your boys even draws his gun.'

Nimble Virtue smiled at him. 'And then we would both be gone, and wouldn't that be a waste? No, much better that you should hear me out,' she said. 'I have a business proposition for you. It's very simple: I want you to forget the Colonel. Come and work for me.'

Jonny leaned back on his chair. 'What could I give you that you can't buy already?'

'I know that Zamora had you picked up because he wanted information about Conover. I also know that the Colonel is planning a massive raid against all the smuggler lords. It only stands to reason that you two have made a deal. That's why he let you go. Correct, Jonny-san?' She paused and took several deep, ragged breaths.

Talking, it appeared, put her out of synch with her breathing apparatus.

'You are a dealer and can move freely among the lords. You are gathering information about us for the Colonel: our strength and our movements. I, too, wish to bid for your services. Work for me. All I need is the date and time of the raids. For that information, I will provide you with ample protection, as well as a permanent place in my organization when we cut the Colonel down.'

'I don't know anything more about the raids than you do,' said Jonny. 'And I'm not working for Zamora, and if I was, I sure wouldn't give you any information.'

One of Nimble Virtue's men arrived, carrying a heavy green bottle from which he poured a clear gold liquid. The man set down a second glass and poured Tej for Jonny before heading back to the other table.

'Thank you, my dear,' Nimble Virtue called after the man.

She took a sip of the syrupy liquid and looked at Jonny. 'Really, Jonny-san, these threats and the names you call me mean nothing, but do not insult my intelligence. I know that you have spent these last weeks at Conover's mansion in the hills. Gathering evidence, yes? I know all about Conover's hologram dome, and I know in my bones that you are working for Colonel Zamora.' She paused again to catch her breath. 'In truth, I admire the subtle way you set up the Croakers for the Colonel. Groucho is not a stupid man. You are to be congratulated for taking him so thoroughly.'

'Keep talking. You're digging your own grave, asshole,' said Jonny.

Nimble Virtue crossed her hands on her lap and gave him an indulgent, matronly look. 'Do you know the expression 'Little Tiger', Jonny-san?'

'I've heard it.'

'You are the Little Tiger,' she said. 'You make loud roars, but you have little strength and no cunning. I like you because you make me laugh. But circumstances force me to limit the amount of time I can expend on any one enterprise.'

'Don't let me keep you,' said Jonny.

She waited a moment. 'Then you are committed to the Colonel?'

'I'll deal with Zamora in my own way,' he said. 'I don't work for him and I won't work for you.' Jonny started to get up, but Nimble Virtue laid a hand lightly on his arm.

'I would think twice about leaving here if I were you,' said the smuggler lord. 'After betraying the Croakers, you have very few friends left in L.A. I could make it ever so much hotter for you-'

Jonny swept his arm across the table, knocking glasses, bottles and wine to the floor. 'You sell me like your goddam slunk and then you want to make a deal with me? Fuck you, old lady.' Nimble Virtue made a fluttering gesture with her hand. Jonny turned and found three of her men pointing Russian CO2 pistols at him, assassin models, chambered for explosive shells. The men were young and handsome, wearing tight black jeans and sleeveless t-shirts with coiled dragons on the front. They were cool and expressionless, mechanical in their movements and stance. But they were not ninja.

'If they were, Jonny knew,' he would be dead by now.

Nimble Virtue got to her feet and waved for her men to put their guns away. As they did so, she turned and gave Jonny a small bow. Her face was flushed and she was breathing heavily. 'I will be going now. I wish you luck, and time to grow wise, Jonny-san. It would be best if you stayed out of my way,' she said.

He watched them as they left. Taking Tiger Mountain appeared on the stage to indifferent applause. As Saint Peter kicked them into their first number, Jonny pushed his way out the heavy fire door at the rear of the Pit.

If he pressed his back against the wall of the alley, Jonny could get a pretty good look at Sunset Boulevard and the entrance to Carnaby's Pit. The repair job on the front of the bar had been a sloppy one. Smears of resin and cheap construction foam covered the bullet holes in the Pit's facade. The charm was definitely wearing off the place, he decided. Hot wind brought the smell of frijoles and burning carnitas down the alley from the mercado.

A scrape. A corpse's whisper: Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.

Jonny started to move. Metal, cold and sharp, bit into his neck.

'Now, now,' said Easy Money. 'Long time no see, Jonny, old pal, old buddy.' Easy and spun Jonny around.