“This is all good experience we’re clocking up, Sol,” Casey agreed. “It’ll double the ticket I can go hawking around. But do you really think we’re going to get big packers with wads lining up for them? I mean, it’s not just a question of the iron and the specs. You have to know names, and they have to know you. It’s as much a social thing too, know what I mean? You have to have the contacts.”
“There’s ways,” Leppo insisted. “Maybe we don’t even have to look further than Mahom. He knows political people, military people, lots with money, some you don’t wanna talk about, others you never imagined. They talk to each other. See how it works? All you have to do is get a toe in the door here and there, do a good job and show ’em something that’ll make their eyes open, and before you know it they’ll be coming to you.” He pressed a button to dispense a coffee from the battered autochef on its shelf by the laser needle-drill. “Especially when some of them are rivals like the pirate narc and med dealers, or maybe the security agencies’ big-name clients. When one decides to upgrade on equipment”—he gestured in the direction of the Angel—”then pretty soon all the rest will have to too, right?”
Casey regarded the rear body section as he chewed. It was opened to expose the just-installed six-shot reloading mechanism. “The tail baffles need adjusting for more clearance,” he commented.
Leppo went on, “I mean, do you think I plan on crawling about in grease traps like this place for the rest of time? That’s not what gets the classy chicks interested, Case. The secret is living with style. . . .” Leppo paused to sip from his mug, then added absently, “Some guys like that showed up at the lot the other day.”
“Guys like what?”
“With style—you know, living a cool act, man. Looked like they hang out in the best places, probably with chicks everywhere just itchin’ to be a part of the scene. They showed up in a big shiny Metro—suits, manicures, clips and rings loaded with ice. One of them stopped by the shop.”
“What did they want?” Casey asked.
“They were looking for some guy—said it was business, but I think something heavier was going on. He’d been in Wuhan a couple of days before with a big black dog, driving a rented Kodiak from the firm. That was why they came there.”
Casey thought back, then turned his eyes toward Leppo curiously. “Big guy? Lean, tough-looking. Friendly smile, but could probably tear you apart if he had to?”
Leppo looked surprised. “That’d fit. Why?”
“I saw him. He came out to Stony Flats, it must have been, aw . . . about a week ago. Had a dog like that with him. Dark-colored Kodiak—kind of a funny purpley blue?”
“That’s it.” Leppo was interested. “What was he doing out there?”
“He came out to see some scientists who were fitting out a rig for a surface trip somewhere. I don’t know what it was about. Then he showed up again just before they were due to go, and left with them—didn’t have the dog that time, though. Somebody said he was some kind of doctor.”
Leppo blinked. Life didn’t come up with breaks like this every day. “A surface trip?” he repeated. “You don’t know where they were going, do you?”
“No. But I could probably find out by making a call. Why the big interest?”
“Oh . . . I just promised the guy I’d let him know if anything turned up,” Leppo replied vaguely. “And yeah, Case. I’d appreciate it if you would make that call.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, as Casey began preparing brackets to mount the firing circuit control, Leppo said there was something he needed from his car parked in the alleyway outside. He went out to it, got in and closed the door, and used his comset to call the number on the calling card that he retrieved from his wallet. A man’s voice replied unilluminatingly, “Enterprises.” Leppo recognized it.
“Mr. Mullen?”
“Who wants him?”