“Vosch, then.”
“I’m sorry—who did you say?”
“Vosch,” I said louder. “I don’t know his first name.”
“One moment please.” Music began to play in my ear. I had snuck out of the room without a jacket—mostly because I didn’t have a jacket. I shivered. The line popped and I heard her say, “Sir, I’ve checked the company directory and there’s no listing for a—”
“Check again. This is Alfred Kropp.”
“Kropp? Is that with a C or a K?”
“With a K.”
“One P or PP?”
“PP.”
The music came back on. I stamped my feet and shifted my weight from side to side and blew on a cupped hand, then switched the receiver to blow on the other.
“Mr. Krapp?”
“Kropp.”
“One moment please for Mr. Vosch.”
A series of clicks and pops as she routed the call. I looked up. The sky was cloudless and brilliant with stars. I’d never seen so many stars.
“Kropp,” Vosch said.
“Vosch. I’m ready.”
“Where are you?”
I told him.
“Stay there. I’ll make the arrangements.”
“I’m going to wait inside the store,” I said. “It’s cold. And Vosch? Is it too late for Mr. Needlemier?”
“No, Alfred. You’re just in time.”
I waited inside the store, sipping my Big Gulp. The clerk was glaring at me, so I bought a Snickers. I thought about buying another corn dog, but two was the lucky number. I kept glancing at my watch. Every second that passed was a second where Ashley might change her mind or Nueve might arrive and change it for her. I wondered if Sam would kill Nueve or if Nueve would win that battle. They were both Op Nines at the top of their game; it would be a close match. I watched the deserted lot through the plate-glass windows.
“Get hold of your dad?” the clerk asked.
I nodded. “It won’t be long now.”
A black Lincoln Navigator pulled up next to the building. The front passenger door swung open and Vosch stepped out, snapping the collar of his fashionable tan duster. He did a slow turn, surveying the lot, right hand inside the pocket of the duster.
I told the clerk bye and she said, “Hey, let’s do it again real soon,” and then I was standing outside in the cold before Vosch.
“I’m alone,” I said.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, Alfred.”
“I’m the son of a knight. Honesty’s in our blood.”
He laughed like I had gotten off a good joke, opened the door for me, and I slid into the second seat. I was sitting beside a small, weaselly looking guy with a sharp nose and narrow shoulders, who smelled like peanut butter. He said, “Don’t move,” and then he frisked me. Vosch rode shotgun next to a big, flat-faced, slitty-eyed goon who could have been a clone of the big, flat-faced, slitty-eyed goon I took out on the highway. Like pretty girls, I guess, big, flat-faced, slitty-eyed goons were a dime a dozen.