Chapter 5
Helmut Glass—The Coor—reclined on a couch in his apartment, one hand touching a frosted drink on the floor beside him. An atmosphere of Romanesque indolence hovered about him. Part of it was the way he spoke to the two men standing about ten feet from the couch; spoke to them, but never looked at them while he spoke.
“So you missed him.” It was a statement, not a question.
One of the standing men stirred. “He walked around the corner from the Warren and when we got there this car was just pulling away. We couldn’t catch the number of it. Something was over the number.”
“And you didn’t recognize the people in the car?” The Coor lifted his head, took a sip of his drink, still not looking at the two men.
“Couldn’t even see them.”
Glass replaced his drink on the floor, wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “What happened when he came to the Warren?”
The man who had been speaking, looked to his companion, back to The Coor. “He met a woman.”
“He what?” How Glass looked at his men. He sat up. “And what did he and the woman do?”
“They made love,” said the man. “We had a peeper on the apartment, a little portable job, so we couldn’t make out their whispering, but they got on the bed and . . .”
“Spare me the details,” said Glass. “Did you have the woman followed or is that too much to hope for?”
“Ourran trailed her, but he lost her in the Lascadou District. He said he thinks she ducked into the tunnels.”
“That’s Ourran’s excuse for inefficiency,” said Glass. “Did you recognize the woman?”
“She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.” The man looked at the floor.
“And I presume you had no camera to get a picture of her?”
“It wasn’t that kind of assignment.”
Glass showed signs of restlessness, chewed at his lip. The nervous tie rippled across his cheek. “A badly bungled job. All I asked you to do was to pick him up, hold him overnight and send him off to the ALP in the morning. It seems you can’t do a simple little job like that.” He drained his drink.
The men shuffled their feet. “I think he has friends in the High-Opp,” said the one who had been doing the talking.
The Coor rattled the ice in his glass. “Yes, that’s a possible explanation.” He looked toward his bedroom where someone could be heard stirring about. “Put a watch on the Warrens. Get Addington to send out search squads.”
“We’ll keep an eye on the transports, too, sir.”
“Do that.” Glass suddenly glared up at the man who had been speaking. “And listen to me, Pescado! No more bungling!”
The man lowered his eyes. “Yes, sir. What’ll we do with Movius when we find him?”
Glass lifted himself to his feet, again looked toward the bedroom. “Kill him.”
“You don’t want us to question . . .”
“Good night,” said The Coor. “I have some business which requires my attention.”
“Kill him it is, sir.”
Glass escorted them to the door, returned, mixed two drinks at a portable bar, took them into the bedroom.