"NINE!" "TEN!" As the whistle and shot clock sounded, the Reaper lashed out with a clawed foot and opened a man up across the kidneys.
"Ten is the official count," the loudspeakers said. "Ten paid three to one. Check your stubs, ten paid three to one."
"About average," Rooster said. "Sorry you didn't get a better show, Stu."
The dripping Reaper folded itself onto the mat.
Eleven died anyway, screaming on the blood-soaked canvas.
Moyo said his good-byes. He looked exhausted as he drained the glass of whiskey he'd been nursing.
"How about a nightcap?" Valentine asked Rooster, who emptied his glass at the same time his boss did.
"Night's still young, and so are we, O scarred Stu." He refilled his glass.
"I've got a bottle of JB in my boat."
"Naw. Better liquor at my place," Rooster said. "You haven't really partied Memphis-style yet."
"Or we could hit some bars."
"I got something better than that."
"Better than the Midway?" Valentine asked.
"Better. I need to stop off at the security station first and check out some inventory. Meet at the big stone statue out front? Say in fifteen minutes?"
"How about I come with you?"
"No, you don't have the right ID for the security section. I'll be fast."
"See you there."
* * * *
Valentine rode the elevator down-a more alert-looking guard worked the buttons after hours-and collected his pocketknife. He had to shrug off prostitutes-three women and a man, all with makeup headed south for the evening-on the way to the statue. The night had cooled, but only a little. The concrete seemed to be soaked with heat like the bloody canvas within.
Please, All, be coherent when I get back.
He caught sight of Rooster, leading a little procession of three individuals in oversized blue PYRAMID POWER T-shirts. All female, all teens, shackled in a manner similar to the twenty culls within.
"Got you a little souvenir, Stu." Rooster tossed him a black hood with the number ten on it. Valentine smelled the sweat on it.
"I had them tag it with the date. The one with the number the Marvel took is collectable."
Valentine wadded up the thin, slick polyester in his hand. "Who are these?" he asked, looking at the string of young women. Rooster held a leather lead attached to the first. A foot and a half of plastic line linked each set of ankles.
"I'm-" one began.
Rooster lifted a baton with a pair of metal probes at the end. "You wanna get zapped? No? Then shut it!"
"I just need to get a bag from my boat," Valentine said.
"Okeydokey," Rooster said.
"What's the plan for these three?" Valentine said as they walked.
"Inventory Inspecshun," Rooster slurred. "Fresh stuff, just off the train, that I picked out this week. Privileges of position and all that. They go back in the inventory hopper Monday morning." He glanced over his shoulder. "Provided I don't get a lot of lip," he warned. "Then it's back with the deposits."