Blood Engines(10)

 

“The only two artifacts I’ve ever even seen,” Rondeau said. “It’s not like you can pick them up at garage sales.”

 

Actually, sometimes you could—she’d found the cloak in a thrift store—but Marla didn’t correct him. She sank down in an overstuffed armchair by the mini-bar and crossed her legs. “So now we wait.”

 

Rondeau looked at her, then at the nonexistent watch on his wrist, then back at her. “Marla, it’s only like seven at night, and this party doesn’t start until ten. You just want to sit for three hours?”

 

She frowned. “There’s a gym in the hotel, but it’s all…shiny.” Marla normally worked out at a boxing club, all duct-tape-mended heavy bags and industrial gray paint, air dense with the smell of sweat. “I could use a workout, but I saw a woman in there wearing a leotard, and if she tried to talk to me about her body-fat percentage, I might do something I’d regret.”

 

“I’m not suggesting you go work out, Marla.”

 

“Then, what? We already ate. You can’t be hungry again, but if you are, there’s always room service.” Marla disapproved of room service—the profit margin for the hotel was too high, and she always felt like a mark when she ordered—but it was better than hearing Rondeau bitch.

 

“No, I’m not hungry, either. But I’ve never been out of our city, do you realize that? I grew up in the streets, and then I took over the nightclub, and I’ve been working for you ever since. Today was my first time on an airplane. Now here we are, in the jewel of the West Coast, and I want to walk around, enjoy the evening, do some sightseeing, eat sourdough bread, and ride a cable car, you know?”

 

“So go.”

 

“Come with me!”

 

She sighed. “I’m supposed to be here working.”

 

Rondeau grinned. “So call it reconnaissance, if that makes you feel better. You told me when you first moved to our city, you spent two weeks doing nothing but walking around, getting a sense of the borders and the order, finding escape routes, putting a street-level map of the place in your head. Why not do the same thing here?”

 

“I’m not planning on living here. Or even staying here.”

 

“But suppose things go spectacularly badly with Finch tonight, and we have to stay longer to work things out. It might be nice to have a sense of the place.”

 

Marla tapped her foot. She was likely to go stir-crazy if she just sat here, it was true. “Fine, let’s go.”

 

Rondeau rubbed his hands together. “It’s not that late yet. Too late to go to Alcatraz or take a cable car tour, probably, but we can maybe hit Fisherman’s Wharf, or—”

 

“Let’s just go downstairs, step out into the streets, and walk. See where that takes us.”

 

Rondeau sighed. “As long as we don’t wind up someplace that sucks.” He put on a black linen suit with a black shirt and declared himself ready to go.

 

Out on the well-lit street, Marla set off confidently in a random direction, walking briskly along the sidewalk. “Hold up, Marla,” Rondeau said. “You got somewhere to be?”

 

She slowed down, stopped, sighed. “I’m not good at sightseeing, Rondeau. Maybe we should try to find Finch right away. Beat it out of somebody.” Every passing hour gnawed at her. She had at least a day before Susan’s spell was ready, probably longer with Hamil trying to contact her and interrupting her meditations, but who could be sure?

 

Rondeau rolled his eyes. “We know where to find Finch. It’s only three hours, and that’s hardly enough time to beat anybody, even if we knew who to beat. A little patience won’t kill you. Tell you what, let me lead.”

 

Marla shrugged, then nodded. Rondeau grinned. “All right, this way. union   Square is a prime shopping district, from what I hear. Maybe a little too yuppie for us, but hey, look at it like an anthropological expedition. And if—when—you totally hate that, we can go over to Yerba Buena Gardens, the Metreon, all kinds of good shit.”

 

“How do you know so much about this place?” Marla said.

 

“Hamil gave me some guidebooks and maps before we got on the plane. I read them all while you were sleeping. Speaking of which, I was surprised that a control freak like you, no offense, managed to sleep on the plane.”

 

She shrugged. “I knew I might not be able to sleep tonight, so it seemed prudent. And if the airplane crashes, I’m dead anyway, so why not relax? Besides, I did have my cloak in my carry-on. As long as I had a little bit of warning, I could have put it on and saved myself.”