“And there’s nothing before that time that could suggest to you why someone might want to kill you.”
Bancroft was still leaning on the rail, looking out, but I saw how he smiled.
“Did I say something amusing?”
He had the grace to come back to his seat.
“No, Mr. Kovacs. There is nothing amusing about this situation. Someone out there wants me dead, and that’s not a comfortable feeling. But you must understand that for a man in my position enmity and even death threats are part and parcel of everyday existence. People envy me, people hate me. It is the price of success.”
This was news to me. People hate me on a dozen different worlds and I’ve never considered myself a successful man.
“Had any interesting ones recently? Death threats, I mean.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. I don’t make a habit of screening them. Ms. Prescott handles that for me.”
“You don’t consider death threats worth your attention?”
“Mr. Kovacs, I am an entrepreneur. Opportunities arise, crises present themselves, and I deal with them. Life goes on. I hire managers to deal with that.
“Very convenient for you. But in view of the circumstances, I find it hard to believe neither you nor the police have consulted Ms. Prescott’s files.”
Bancroft waved a hand. “Of course, the police conducted their own cursory inquiry. Oumou Prescott told them exactly what she had already told me. That nothing out of the ordinary had been received in the last six months. I have enough faith in her not to need to check beyond that. You’ll probably want to look at the files yourself, though.”
The thought of scrolling through hundreds of metres of incoherent vitriol from the lost and losers of this antique world was quite sufficient to uncap my weariness again. A profound lack of interest in Bancroft’s problems washed through me. I mastered it with an effort worthy of Virginia Vidaura’s approval.
“Well, I’ll certainly need to talk to Oumou Prescott, anyway.”
“I’ll make the appointment immediately.” Bancroft’s eyes took on the inward glaze of someone consulting internal hardware. “What time would suit you?”
I held up a hand. “Probably better if I do that myself. Just let her know I’ll be in touch. And I’ll need to see the re-sleeving facility at PsychaSec.”
“Certainly. In fact, I’ll get Prescott to take you there. She knows the director. Anything else?”
“A line of credit.”
“Of course. My bank have already allocated a DNA-coded account to you. I understand they have the same system on Harlan’s World.”
I licked my thumb and held it up queryingly. Bancroft nodded.
“Just the same here. You will find there are areas of Bay City where cash is still the only negotiable currency. Hopefully you won’t have to spend much time in those parts, but if you do you can draw actual currency against your account at any bank outlet. Will you require a weapon?”
“Not at the moment, no.” One of Virginia Vidaura’s cardinal rules had always been find out the nature of your task before you choose your tools. That single sweep of charred stucco on Bancroft’s wall looked too elegant for this to be a shoot ‘em up carnival.
“Well.” Bancroft seemed almost perplexed by my response. He had been on the point of reaching into his shirt pocket, and now he completed the action, awkwardly. He held out an inscribed card to me. “This is my gunmaker. I’ve told them to expect you.”
I took the card and looked at it. The ornate script read Larkin & Green—Armourers since 2203. Quaint. Below was a single string of numbers. I pocketed the card.
“This might be useful later on,” I admitted. “But for the moment I want to make a soft landing. Sit back and wait for the dust to settle. I think you can appreciate the need for that.”
“Yes, of course. Whatever you think best. I trust your judgement.” Bancroft caught my gaze and held it. “You’ll bear in mind the terms of our agreement, though. I am paying for a service. I don’t react well to abuse of trust, Mr. Kovacs.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” I said tiredly. I remembered the way Reileen Kawahara had dealt with two unfaithful minions. The animal sounds they had made came back to me in dreams for a long time afterwards. Reileen’s argument, framed as she peeled an apple against the backdrop of those screams, was that since no one really dies any more, punishment can only come through suffering. I felt my new face twitch, even now, with the memory. “For what it’s worth, the line the Corps fed you about me is so much shit on a prick. My word’s as good as it ever was.”