on.
“You,” Mradhon said. “Man.”
The youth whirled, hand to belt, with the quick flash of steel in the blackness.
“Friend,” Mradhon said. He had his own knife, in case.
If the young man’s mind had been fumed, it was shocked clear now. He had set
himself in a knifeman’s crouch and Mradhon measured it as too far for any simple
move.
“Jubal,” Mradhon said ever so softly. “That name make a difference to you?”
Still silence.
“I’ve got business to talk with you,” Mradhon said. “Suppose we do that.”
“Maybe.” The voice came tightly. The crouch never varied. “Come a little
closer.”
“Why don’t you open that door and let’s talk about it.”
Another silence.
“Man, are we going to stand here for the world to watch? I know you, I’m telling
you. I’m by myself. The risk is on my side.”
“You stand there. I’ll open the door. You go in first.”
“Maybe you’ve got friends in there.”
“You’re asking the favors, aren’t you? Where did I get you on my heel? Or were
you waiting on the street?”
Mradhon shrugged. “Ask me inside.”
“Maybe I’ll talk to you.” The voice grew reasoned and calm. “Maybe you just put
away that knife and keep your hands where I can see them.” The youth inserted
his knife in the seam of the door and flipped up the latch inside, pushed it
open. The inside was dark. “Go first, about six steps across the room.”
“Let’s have a light first, shall we?”
“Can’t do that, man. No one in there to light it Just go on.”
“Sorry. Think I’ll stand here after all. Maybe you’ll change your living after
tonight; maybe you’ll slip me after this. So I’ll have my say here-“