“Well, Farin Shas.” Willie felt his way along the wall to the closed window and turned the knob on the base of the small battery lamp sitting on the sill. Dim gold light took the edge of darkness off the room, showing up its dirt floor and piles of crates and baskets. “Who paid you to be here?”
“It couldn’t just be a social call?” Farin unhooked a flask from his belt and poured clear liquor into a pair of cups he had found earlier. “Drink?” He shoved one of the cups across the makeshift counter of crates toward Willie. “It’s some of my boss’s finest.”
Willie picked up the cup, inhaled the earthy scent, and drank it off smoothly. He smacked his lips and set the cup down. “Good stuff,” he announced. “But not enough to make me like boys.”
“No.” Farin leaned his forearms against the counter and swirled the liquor around his cup a few times. “But you take an extraordinary interest in young girls, don’t you?”
Willie put his back to Farin and turned up the lamp, throwing their shadows in stark relief on the dirt walls. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re lucky the cops didn’t see you pitch Chena Trust over the railing yesterday.” Farin unfolded himself. He had a good six inches of height and fifty pounds of muscle on Willie, and he wanted the other man to know it. “I did.”
Willie held up his hands and waggled his fingers at Farin. “Ooo, what’d I do, touch your little kitty? How much she pay you to be her first?” He tried to sneer, but only managed to hiccup.
Farin ignored his remark. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. “She’s a friend of mine, Willie, and I want to know where she is.” He stepped closer, getting between Willie and the light.
“So?” Willie backed up, and Farin saw his knees shake. “Doesn’t matter what you want. Who do you think you are? Your granny’s tougher than… tougher than you.” Willie’s hip bumped against the counter and he staggered.
“Much tougher,” agreed Farin, gliding forward a few steps, forcing Willie to back up against his baskets. “Where’s Chena Trust, Willie?”
Willie giggled, a high, ugly sound. “All wrapped up and ready to go. Keep giving us people, they do.”
“Who do?” Farin forced himself to be patient. He’d dealt with plenty of drunks. If you kept them talking, you’d get what you wanted.
“Hothousers. Keep this kid, give us that kid. Make up your damn minds, I say.” Willie sat down abruptly on the floor.
Shouldn’t drink things you don’t recognize, Willie. Farin crouched down next to him. You should also remember what my grandmother does with her time. “Which kid are you keeping for the hothousers, Willie?”
“Lopera’d kill me.”
Farin leaned in closer until his lips almost touched the other man’s ear. “I won’t tell. It’s just you and me here. Lopera’s a damn fool anyway. She doesn’t appreciate you.”
Willie looked up at him blearily. “ ’S right, she doesn’t. Errand runner. That’s all I am. Brought her all the Trusts, didn’t I?”
Farin pulled back and clamped his jaw shut until he was sure he could speak calmly. “All the Trusts? Is that who you’re keeping?”
“Nah, nah.” Willie waved the idea away. “That’s who we’re giving away. Had to let one go to the station. Got to give the other back to the hothouse. Won’t even let us siphon off the eggs from this one.”
Farin shook his head. No point in trying to decipher all that. Just stick to the main point. “So, you gave Chena back to the hothouse?”
“Not yet. Just boxed her up.” Willie burped. “Strong stuff.”
“Oh, yeah.” Farin bared his teeth. “Takes a man to handle this stuff.”
“ ’S right. So what’s she got this man doing?” He slapped his chest weakly. “Babysitting. Ain’t what I signed up for. I ain’t no dorm daddy.”
“Who’re you babysitting, Willie?”
“Ha. Want some of it?” He pumped his fist weakly in the air. “Thought you liked little girls, Far’n, not little boys.” He burped again and slumped farther down the wall.
“You’re babysitting a boy?”
“Boy. A cure. For the cris… div… Diversity Crisis. Built from scratch. Out of the Trusts. Stole him off and handed him to us so the others couldn’t have him.” His head flopped toward Farin. “These hothousers don’t make piss-all for sense, you know?”
“No,” said Farin automatically. “They don’t.” His mind raced ahead. The cure for the Diversity Crisis is a boy? From the Trusts? He must be talking about Helice Trust.