“Shut up! God! give me a little understanding! Where was your advice when it could have done some good?”
“I don’t recall I was consulted. Cajoled, entreated, asked for illegal acts, but consulted…”
“How is he in bed?”
“Who?”
“My half-brother, dammit. How good?”
“We are suspicious, aren’t we?”
“He’s dangerous as hell. A Family Boy? All full of conscience? All full of principles? My father’s off his head. I’m not! I’ve nothing against Hawkins personally. But nobody sees, nobody sees a damned thing dangerous in him!”
“And we can’t find him,” Capella said. “I don’t see Austin disturbed. I see the captain quite, quite calm—considering the gravity of the circumstances. Possibly because he’s not speaking to you. Or—possibly—”
That veer sideways took a second to think about. Two seconds. “The son of a bitch ran for the ship? And Austin didn’t say?”
“It is a place we haven’t searched,” Capella said. The sandwich and rum arrived, which meant a brief distraction to sign the tab.
“He wouldn’t,” Christian said.
The waiter left. Capella took a bite of sandwich and swallowed. “I don’t know. It’d be the smartest thing elder brother could do, in his situation—supposing he’s noticed the passport’s fake.”
“No. Surely not.”
“We are down to surely nots. Aren’t we?”
“Point.”
“Doesn’t cost anything. “ Another bite. Then Capella’s eye strayed. She swallowed, belatedly. He looked, in the chance the distraction was named Hawkins.
Negative. He saw nothing to attract Capella’s attention. Bar traffic, nothing but.
But Capella took the paper napkin and wrapped the sandwich. Tossed off half the drink at two gulps.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Somebody I don’t want to meet. Just sit still. Don’t attract attention.”
“What somebody?”
“Chrissy. Just listen. Stay calm. In a moment I’m going to get up and go, and you sit here long enough to see if anybody follows me. Then you get up at your leisure and go left outside, go left, just keep traveling. I’ll watch for you and intercept.”
“What in hell’s going on? Pella? Is it cops?”
“Just do it, dammit. Man in a grey shirt, blue glitz, dark hair, can’t miss him. “ Capella’s eyes tracked something past his shoulder, cold as deep ice. “If he follows, don’t let on, just keep walking. I’ll be watching. Just wait till I’m clear plus some. If he follows me… still, you follow. We steer this to a venue we like. Got it?”
He didn’t. Hadn’t. Not the fine details of what Capella proposed to do about it.
But Capella slid out of her seat and walked, quietly, for the door, while he tried to pick out the newcomer she’d described, and did. He was giving an order at the bar, meaning he planned to stay; or asking a question, which might send him to their table: Capella wasn’t exactly inconspicuous in an establishment. At least the guy didn’t look in his direction.
Until the bartender pointed at his table.
Immediately the guy and two others started over. It wasn’t in the instructions. Neither was this guy bringing help with him.
He sat still. Hell, he was a Corinthian officer, not open to hassle or harassment without involving more ante than any other ship might want. So he looked them up and down like germs and stayed his position.
“Looking for Capella,” the first guy said, him in grey and blue; and leaned a knuckle on the table-surface. “Where’d she go?”
“I dunno. Back to the ship. “ That was a right-hand turn from here. “She was going to check something. Why?”
Blue-and-grey made a flip of the hand at the muscle behind ‘ him. One left, presumably on Capella’s track. That tore it.
“Wait a minute,” he said.
“Just a personal matter,” blue-and-grey said.
“With my wife?”
Blue-and-grey stepped back, looking shocked, and laughed outright. It was an unpleasant face. Somebody a woman might have been interested in, maybe, but this was a man that’d knife you, this was a man who still wore open shirts when the waistline was getting a little much for skintights.
This was a man he didn’t like, on instant instinct.
“You?” blue-and-grey asked, still laughing. And started to walk out.