”Double-gate day,” he said, providing all the explanation any ‘eighty-sixer needed.
Ann waved at Marcus and nodded toward Baxter. The bartender nodded back and drew a stein of Bax’s favorite brew.
”How’d it go?” Sven asked, with a long pull at his own beer.
Bax — who had occasionally said dire things about his parents’ decision to name him “Granville” grimaced. “Baggage troubles again. Other than that, pretty smooth. Oh, we had the typical three or four who decide they want to switch tours after they get to the terminal and we had one woman who threw up all over a whole family on the other side, but nothing too rough. Forgot her scopolamine patch. I’ll tell you, though, if my new baggage manager doesn’t get his act together by the London departure, he’s going to go begging a job somewhere else. -Oh, Marcus, bless you.”
Half the beer vanished in one long gulp.
Ann sympathized. One transfer, one promotion, and one family crisis had led to four new baggage managers for Time Tours at TT-86 in the past six months. Bax’s own job might be on the line if baggage handlers screwed up again. Rich tourists tolerated very little in the way of mistakes from hired underlings. Even geniuses were expendable if the right tourist pitched a loud-enough fit.
Marcus set out the rest of the drinks.
”So,” Bax asked, “any problems at Medical with the new arrivals?”
Rachel had just begun to reply when a startling young woman clad entirely in black leather and lace, with short, auburn hair and a suitcase gripped like a set of nunchucks, charged through the doorway on a direct course for their table.