I adjusted the clip-on tie and stepped back, looking at myself as best as I could in the bathroom mirror and checking things off. Black shirt, black pants, black jacket, and a deep red tie. The suit still looked good. I wore the ballistic-weave dress shoes Dezi gave me, and had my hair pulled up into a high tail. “Not bad…” I said to myself. I always looked kind of scary, but now I was ‘my clothes are worth more than your life’ scary, not ‘giant crackhead’ scary. Not that I’d actually kill someone over clothes, of course. I couldn’t help wondering what Pengyi would think of me dressed like this.

That done, I went ahead and strapped on the saw. Yesterday I’d come home to a package sitting outside my door (only in a gang-owned building would it not have been stolen). Inside had been the sheath and harness I’d ordered from Tanje a little while ago. His buddy in R-block had outdone himself. The whole setup was made of aramid webbing, steel buckles, and custom-molded composite. For now I set it up like a belt and suspenders under my jacket, the big three-foot sawblade hanging down like a sheathed sword. I buckled on my various other weapons and headed downstairs to meet Walker, who was giving me a ride.

I only waited a minute or so before he rolled up. I didn’t recognize him until he rolled down the window, though. “Holy shit…” He pulled up in a vantablack Volquartsen coupe that had to be older than I was, dark as a hole in the world. Miracle of miracles, it was clean, undented, and had the same blacker-than-black paint all around.

I tossed the saw into the backseat and hopped in. “Kings, Walker! You’re really stepping it up tonight. I hardly recognized you in this thing.”

He grinned, silver teeth sparkling. I wondered if he’d had them polished. “Well, Rik damn, little miss! I could say the same for you. Nice duds.”

“Thanks, man. So where are we headed?” I wrinkled my nose as he puffed on one of his awful cigs and pulled away, the exhaust a low piston-engine rumble.

“Riverwalk Hall, just on the edge of Port Town. The owner’s a friend of ours, lets us rent the whole damn thing.”

I knew the building he was talking about. “For real? There’s gonna be that many people?”

“Oh, plenty,” he drawled, the burner hanging from the corner of his mouth. “The other Runes’ll have their people along, and most of ‘em bring more than one. It’s usually a good time, s’long as you ain’t part of the meetin’ itself.”

“And I’m not.”

“Not really. Just stay close to sober for me, wouldja?”

“You got it, bossman.” I laid back in the seat and smiled. “Man, this is a nice ride. You sure you’re Clyde Walker?”

“Aw, shut up.” He slowed down for a red light, watched a horde of rattlecan-toting street kids sprint across the intersection. “I know how to step it up when I gotta. Seems like you do too.” He pulled out, shot me a glance. “Seems like you got some extra pep in your step tonight. What’s goin’ on?”

“I dunno, Walker. Just feeling good.”

“Hmm. I figured you’d be draggin’ your feet, is all.” He squinted at me again. “…Wait a minute. You got some action, didn’t you?” I don’t know what kind of look I had on my face then, but it must have been pretty funny from the way he reacted. “Ha! Knew it!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Didn’t say no, either! Oh, man, Marie’s gonna love this!” He rolled down the window and flicked away his smoke, still chuckling.

“Why do you have to tell her about it, man?”

“No reason, no reason. Just chitchat is all. But man, I gotta say. It’s about time.”

“The fuck does mean, Walker?” I snapped.

“Nothin’ bad, I swear. Just, ever since I met you, you had a tendency to, well…”

“…Well what?”

“…to rub your eyeballs all over anything with an ass.”

I fell back into the seat, mortified. Partly because he wasn’t wrong. My picture probably showed up on the Lexicom definition of ‘ogle.’ “Walker, why are you even talking to me about this shit?”

“I dunno. Maybe I better just stop.”

“Please.” The rest of the car ride passed in awkward, blessed silence, until Walker parked us alongside a series of empty-looking tenement halls somewhere in the south of Valiant. The lifelights buzzed mournfully, their elements patchy and aged. “I thought we were going to Port Town,” I said.

“We are, but the other Runes’n me decided to park spread out. Bunched up we’re just beggin for a vee-bead. A car bomb, I mean.”

“Oh. Makes sense.”

“Yep. We got ten minutes of walkin’, give or take.” He hopped out, pulled his hat on, and showed me a nasty smile that flashed through the deep shadows. “It ain’t the nicest neighborhood, I know, but that’s why you’re here.”

I joined him on the sidewalk and pulled my saw out of the back seat. Outside of the vic’s pitch-black interior, I could see he’d cleaned up a bit. His jeans were clean, his boots and jacket shined and oiled, and the khaki button-down he wore looked ironed. He even had on one of those weird stringy ties, with a lump of shiny bismuth crystal for a clasp.

“Aren’t you worried about the vic, though? Around here it’ll get jacked before we make it ten steps.” He gave me a weird look. “What? Am I wrong?”

“No, no, no.” He shook his head. “Don’t worry about the car. It’s not like it’s mine, anyway. S’registered to some middle-managerial asshat from K-block.” He started walking and I followed beside him, shoes crunching on the blasted sidewalk.

“Wait, you stole it?”

“No. I had someone else steal it.”

“Ah. I see.” A thought struck me. “Why bother stealing the nice car if you can’t roll up to the door in it, anyway?”

“Oh, don’t you start with that too!” he snapped. “Monta spent the last two damn days bustin’ my balls about it. Askin’ me if I want gold chains for under my shirt and shit.”

“You kind of deserve it,” I laughed. “You gonna give the car back?”

“Fuck no. I’d rather see it burnt n’scrapped than go back to a K-blocker.” He kept looking at me strange and shook his head.

“Seriously, what?”

“I’m just thinkin’ that you’re gonna make me look like shit when we walk in there.”

“Hey, thanks, Walker.”

“Heh. Sure. Where’d you even find that getup?” asked Walker as we went south. “I’ve met corpo mine bosses that can’t get a suit to fit like that.”

“Kwan et Molieres, man. The used clothing store.”

“No shit!” The exclamation echoed off the concrete wall of the housing block beside us.

I nodded. “Yup. Nemmy Kwan’s a wizard with needle and thread and all that, man. She could probably hook you up too.”

“Now, what in the world are you tryin’ to say there?” He laughed. “You might look better, but that don’t make me a pile of-“

“Hey! S-stop! Hands up!” The nervous shout came from a few yards ahead, where a jittery-looking man had stepped out of an alley to block our path. He had on ragged work slacks, a baggy pullover, and no shoes, but what concerned me most was the cheap pistol in his hands. “I said hands! Up!”

“Just what I fuckin’ needed tonight,” muttered Walker as he complied. I followed his lead. “Be ready.”

“Mm-hm.” Ready for what, exactly, I guessed I’d soon find out. What a pain in the ass. Doc Laggard would never let me live it down if this no-account raddy shot me.

“Okay, okay, chief. We got our hands up. What’s next?” Walker spoke with that same overly-calm, obsequious tone he’d used with the Argent Fist guards at the paste plant.

The mugger’s gun shook as he pointed it back and forth between us. “T-this is a robbery! Gimme all your deng, your wallets, all that fancy shit you’re wearing. Now! I don’t wanna s-shoot you but I swear to fuck I will!” I got a little better look at him, now. His eyes were shiny and wild behind wire-frame glasses. A strung-out junkie if I’d ever seen one. I wondered if it was hush he was jonesing for, maybe even some sold by the Bones. Wouldn’t that be some saccharine, poetic-justice crap you’d read in a bad novel. That was not how I wanted to go out.

“Of course, my man, of course,” said Walker. “But here’s the thing: I can’t get any of that for you with my hands in the air, and neither can my friend here. So either you let us put ‘em down, or you c’mere and get the stuff yourself.” Easy as that, he’d narrowed it down to two options that both looked good for us. If this guy was as kooked-out as he looked, he wouldn’t be able to think outside the box. Damn, Walker. Smart.

The mugger’s eyes got even wider as he realized what he’d have to do. “Don’t move. Fucking f-freeze!” I’m comin’ over there!” He walked closer, keeping the gun on us the whole time until it was practically stuck in my face. It was a cheap no-name composite piece, probably not even reloadable. I could see the dirt on his too-pale face, the greasy sheen of flop sweat. He stunk like feet and chemical runoff.

As he got within reach Walker tapped my shoe with his own. Then he looked right over the guy’s shoulder and bugged his eyes out. “Aw, fuck me,” he muttered. Really, the old look-behind-you bit?

It worked. The mugger glanced away for just a second, but it was enough for me to jerk a hand onto his gun, shove it out of my face, and wrench it out of his hand. He didn’t have time to make a sound before my foot hooked out, reaping his leg out from under him. With my free hand I grabbed his shirt and yanked him the rest of the way off balance, executing one of the throws I’d practiced. Rather that let him fall to the deck, though, I snapped my knee across my body, nailing his head and driving it into the wall beside us like a ramset. His skull hit like a dropped cinderblock, and when I moved my leg he fell like one too, collapsing to the sidewalk.

I waited a moment, only relaxing when he didn’t move. Walker’s eyes flipped back and forth between me and the body, wide for real this time.

“King shit, Sharkie.”

“What?’ I asked, confused. “I thought that’s what I was here for. Bodyguarding and shit.”

“Well, yeah, but…” He shook his head, almost in wonder. “Damn. You could have just shot ‘im!”

“I didn’t think I had room for a draw! And besides, I wanted to practice the stuff Willy taught me.” I glanced down and frowned, brushing some dust off my pant leg.

He snorted. “Sheeit. Well, I guess it worked, but…still. Damn.”

“You want a souvenir?” I asked as we kept walking, dangling the mugger’s cheap gun at him.

“Fuck, no.”

“Suit yourself.” I whipped it down a storm drain and kept going until we got to Riverwalk Hall. It was a huge, shambolic structure that looked like it had been repaired and added on to by at least four different architects. Parts of it were crumbling brick, stained brownstone, militaristic pre-cast cement, and acid-darkened wood. A few nice-looking vics were out front, Bones who hadn’t got the memo about spreading out or just didn’t care. Walker went blithely past, not saying a word to anyone. I lurked in his shadow, following close like a cat on a fishmonger. We went up the shallow steps beneath the portico and through the double doors. The guards outside, two men and a woman with body armor and heavy-caliber battle rifles, let us by as soon as they recognized Walker.

“Shit! Almost forgot!” he exclaimed before we went inside. Reaching with in his jacket, he pulled out a small case. “Here. Toldja I’d get you some, didn’t I?”

I took it and opened it up. Within was a pair of specs: wraparound Verney-Balançons, with gunmetal frames and black liquichrome lenses that seemed to swirl like spilled tar. The kind the guys back at the chop shop called ‘fuck-off goggles.’

“Damn, Walker! These’re flash!” I flipped the temples out with a mechanical snick and put them on. “Well?”

“Brr. I wouldn’t want to fuck with you!” he said with mock-horror. “In other words, they look damn fine.”

“Right.” I was used to looking intimidating. A lot of the time it bummed me out, but for an event like this it seemed like the right choice- and I looked good doing it.

The interior of the Hall had an air of dilapidated grandeur. We emerged into a tall, open foyer walled in moisture-streaked wood paneling. The carpet was richly patterned, but threadbare and almost trodden through in places. The crystal chandelier providing light must have been beautiful when it wasn’t missing half its beads. A few Holy Bones milled about, probably more guards or part of the other Runes’ entourages. They looked as we walked in. I couldn’t help preening a little, standing up straight and putting just a hint of a smirk on my face.

“That’s right, fuckers,” whispered Walker from beneath the brim of his hat. “Read ‘em and weep.”

I looked down at him, eyes hidden behind my new glasses. The SKH’s threat-trackers tagged the glow of his cigarette, shaded the pistol on his hip in red. “I sure hope this whole thing hasn’t been an elaborate plan to show off to your weird friends.”

“You really wanna give me that much credit?” he scoffed. “And what do you mean, ‘weird?’ You ain’t even met ‘em!”

“They’re friends with you, so…”

“Aw, go to hell.”

“Just kidding, man. I’m sure they’re fine. For gangsters, I mean.”

He laughed out loud. “I resent the assumption, not the statement. Some of ‘em are, well…characters, we’ll say.” We crossed into a corridor at the other end of the foyer. Old photographs lined the walls, bands and comics and performers that probably no one under the age of fifty had heard of.

“Sounds like you kind of resent them too,” I said, keeping my tone innocuous.

“Sometimes I get sick of bein’ treated like everyone’s crazy uncle, is all.” He didn’t elaborate further and I let it drop. At the end of the hall was a closed door, a hubbub of voices leaking from beyond it. I held it open for Walker and followed him through.

What struck me first was the smoke, a great fug of it that actually blasted out through the door at us as if contained under pressure beneath the low ceiling. Mostly tobacco, but I thought I detected pot and speed and stronger chemicals as well. The second thing was the bar, which took up an entire long wall of the room, its backlights reflected through a truly impressive quantity of bottles. Third was the monstrous table in the center of the room, hulking like some Glassland beast in the dim, smudgy light. It was topped with synthetic green baize like something you’d play cards on, the surface marred by knife-marks and ash stains. Fourth was the crowd, an eclectic bunch speaking in a jabbering mix of Quarryap and Standard. Some glanced at Walker when he entered, and a few offered nods or greetings. Every single one had ink on their hands, most more than I. I kept close behind Walker, relying on my glasses to hide my sudden apprehension.

“Clyde! How you doing, brother?” A man came up to us whom I could best describe as Walker’s product-improved nephew. He stood six-foot-two and was built to match, his khakis pressed, the collar of his plaid button-down starched, the leather of his jacket and boots looking like it had just come off the growth rack. His face slightly resembled Walker’s, but otherwise was the sort you’d see on the front of a gomi-stand romance novel, blond and chiseled, the stubble set firmly in the rugged range of the scale without edging into unkempt. A big open smile split his face as he shook Walker’s hand. It was almost comical.

“Fine, just fine, K. How ‘bout you?” said Walker, shaking back.

The big guy winced a little but kept smiling. “Things’ve been rough, lately, but I guess I can’t really complain.” He barely had an accent.

“Silas got your nose shoved to the planer?”

“Well, yes, but he’s working just as hard. We’re real busy, just like everyone else. And this must be the new soldier you told me about!” He turned to face me and stuck out his hand. Even his teeth were perfectly straight. It was almost weird. I took his hand and shook.

“I’m Sharkie. Good to meet you. Though…” I sighed. “People call me Sawyer.”

“Nice to meet you right back, Sharkie! I’m Kev.” His grip was firm, but he didn’t try to crush my hand like a lot of other men I’d met. “People call me Kaunaz, like I’m a Rune, but really I’m not.”

“Don’t listen to him,” piped up Walker. “All the shit he does for Silas, he might as well be.”

Kev brushed that away with a self-deprecating grin and let go of my hand. “So- how you liking it? You’re city-born, aren’t you?”

“Walker’s been good to me so far,” I said cautiously. “And yeah. Born here in D-block.” So far as I knew, at least.

“Nice! Me too- my ma was from the quarries, but my Da grew up in Alba. That’s why I don’t talk like my mouth’s full of rocks.” I caught Walker rolling his eyes. “Some people might give you a bit of shit for it, but for the most part the Bones’re a meritocracy. A competent D-blocker beats a quarry-born screwup every time.”

“…Good to know. Thanks, Kev.” In truth I hadn’t given that aspect of things much thought at all. The Bones were such a fixture of D-block I mostly considered them part of it- and none of those I’d met had seemed prejudiced. Most of them had been Walker’s associates, though, and he tended to attract weirdos. It was how he’d ended up with me.

“No worries! Now, if you’ll excuse my scootin’ off, I need to go hobnob with Yera’s crew before things get rolling. Had a bit of a spat with ‘em over materiel requistitions, and-“

“And now you gotta go kiss some scraped knees like usual,” Walker finished for him.

“Knees, other things, whatever you like. Oh, one more thing, Sharkie!”

I turned, startled. “Y-yeah?”

“A little more cant on your holster and that won’t happen.” He pointed to my side, and I looked down to see my suit jakcet hung up on the grip of the coilgun. Shit. I hoped it hadn’t been like that for long. “Just angle the grip forward like so. See?” He opened his leather jacket a bit, showing me a holstered revolver finished in slick pewter-brown nitride. The wooden butt was canted forward just as he’d said, but that was less interesting than the gun itself.

“Damn, Kev, is that a Termoballistica?”

“Yes, ma’am. A Solo 7-G. Laser painter over the barrel, guides the rounds right where you want em.” He winked. “I’ll show it to you later, if you like. But for now, ow-revwah.” He waved and moved off into the crowd.

That was an…odd exchange. “‘Scuse me if I sound full of myself, Walker, but was he coming on to me there?”

“Him? No. He genuinely wants to let you mess around with the gun, if you want.”

“And is he always so…”

“Polite? Happy? Nice?” Walker shook his head. “Yes. Ever since I met him. He’s such a stand-up dude it puts people off.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Damn. Talk about problems I’ll never have. Now let me guess. Everyone else here’s just like him.”

“Ha! I’m tempted to say yes and just watch what happens. But no. Big ol’ no, right there. Now c’mon, let’s get some drinks and I’ll reel you off the dramatis personae.”

After I got my beer and Walker got his double of amiza (Fehu white, straight, please), he began pointing out people of note. “Right, we got a pretty good crowd here tonight. There’s Raido, he’s a Rune. Mostly does the same kind of work you do, though.” He indicated a slender man wearing a white leather vest and faded jeans. It seemed like most of him was cybernetic: Limbs, torso, eyes, even his lower jaw. A big pistol and bigger knife hung on his belt. “His crowd are real chrome freaks, if you couldn’t tell. See? There’s Alton. Think you met him before.”

“Oh, yeah.” Standing with Raido was the tall, digitigrade figure of Alton, who I’d met after killing the Blues who tried to take over Grayson’s. My first job. Since I saw him last, he’d added a couple of sensor strakes that rose up and back from the sides of his head like elf ears. He gave me a solemn nod when he noticed me looking.

“Right, right, ah! That gentleman there’s Khevo, also known as Silas Pitchblende.” Walker aimed my gaze at a group of well-dressed men and women, many of whom were typing on slabs or slates. At their center was the next luminary, a small, trim man in a very sharp suit: dark green pinstriped with gold. His face was dusky and wrinkled, reminding me of Dag’s. Add in the wire-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose, and he looked like a banker out of a movie. The illusion broke when he smiled, revealing a set of sharp-filed teeth with the incisors capped in gold. “Kev’s boss. Runs finances. Call him the treasurer, if you like. Keep him happy, or he’ll keep you unhappy.”

“Sure.”

“I’m bein’ serious. Right there with the bottle, there’s Odal. Jim Yamanaga-Renfrew.” The next target was a dumpy-looking guy with a greasy combover and a nose full of burst blood vessels. By the state of him he’d shown up drunk and just kept going. His shirt was sweat-stained and half-untucked, his suspenders askew. If Silas was a banker, Jim was a salaryman about to jump off a bridge.

“He looks like a fucking mess.”

“You ain’t lying. Poor fucker ain’t seen the outside of a bottle since his boy died last year.”

I sucked air in through my teeth. “Shit, Walker. Sorry. I didn’t realize. What’s he do?”

He waved it off.“He’s been in bad enough shape long enough it’s startin’ to be his fault. He’s supposed to be in charge of personnel. Recruitin’, but he also mediates disputes when crews start steppin’ on each other’s toes and that kinda thing. Job’s either shit ‘cause it’s boring or shit ‘cause it’s shit, if that makes sense.”

“Almost.”

“Whatever. ‘Kay. The lady in white’s Venya, or Cardie-Lee Nevsky. Runs intelligence. Careful around her.” The woman in question was leaning against the far wall. She looked to be in her forties, with golden hair and pale eyes to match the flowing white blouse she wore. A man and a woman who looked like siblings stood behind her, hawkish gazes scanning the crowd.

“There’s Thurisaz, Duirmach McGrath.” He was an older guy, short, wearing a black leather vest and a magnificent white mustache. As I watched, he snorted a pinch of white powder off the back of his hand. A bunch of other old guys crowded around him, laughing and slapping backs. “Runs logistics. Nice enough guy, but don’t start a conversation. He’ll talk forever about the most boring shit you’ve ever heard in your life.”

Keeping my tone as dry as possible, I said “I appreciate the advice.”

Walker squinted up at me. “Am I boring you? Do you not want to know this shit?”

“Kidding, man!” I threw up my hands. “Really, just kidding. Go on.”

“…Sure.” He went through a few others who were mainly just high-ranking hitters like Raido. “…and now, I saved the worst for last.”

I wondered what it took to be the worst in this crowd, by Walker’s standards no less. “Lay it on me.”

“There. That’s Yera. Just Yera.” The woman he pointed out stood near the table, wearing a worn lizardskin vest, black jeans, and lightweight combat boots. She was in her mid-thirties, I thought, and certainly didn’t look like someone to fuck with. She was a couple inches under six feet, full-figured with broad shoulders and arms that bulged with muscle. Her face was well-proportioned but had a cruel cast to it, like a statue carved by someone who hated her. Her nose was slightly crooked, probably from being broken at some point, and that just added to it. Her dark-brown hair was short, pulled back into a severe bun. What I noticed most was her ink, though, my bionic eye zooming in to inspect it closer.

Outlined bones went all the way up her left arm, the black ink stark against her pale skin. Interlaced around them were runic inscriptions, names in script, spidery criss-cross stave patterns. The words “LIVE FREE” were spelled out in block capitals across her knuckles. The other arm was even wilder, full-sleeved from shoulder to fingertips in a pattern of stylized stormclouds. Tines of blue and gold lightning jagged through it, growing more frequent near her fingers. A collar of shattered chainlinks circled her neck in metallic ink, and below her left eye was the word “Hope” in flowery cursive. It was an amount of work that must have taken years, and probably cost more than anything I owned. She stood amidst a group of tough-looking characters, joking and laughing. Her eyes met mine and narrowed briefly before moving on. They were iron-gray, like the clouds on her arm, and just as stormy.

“She as scary as she looks?” I muttered to Walker.

“Worse. She’s a nanopath. Combat-grade.”

I scoffed. “Come on, man. Pull the other one.”

“I ain’t kidding.” He looked at me, eyes glinting under his hat. “They’re real, s’just Admin scoops most of ‘em up. Would that they got her too.”

“Okay, okay.” I guess I believed him, it was just hard to accept. “What’s she do, then?”

“If we’re a scalpel, her wreckin’ crew is the sledgehammer- and you know what they say about when all’s you got is a hammer.”

“Every problem starts to look like a nail.” I finished my beer and set the can on the bar. “Is that your problem with her? Or is it something else?”

He scowled. “Oh, I got plenty of reasons for not gettin’ along with Yera. First of all, she-“

“Hey, there they are!” Marie shoved through the crowd wearing a button-down work shirt and a big smile. There was a beer in her hand, and going by the flush on her face it wasn’t her first. “I thought y’all got lost or somethin’.”

Walker gave her a small smile. “No, no. Ran into a spot of trouble on the walk over, but Sawyer here took care of it.” I couldn’t help rolling my eyes.

“Oh, that so? And speakin’ of, damn!” she said, giving me a thumbs-up. “Lookin’ good, Sharkie. The new eye’s flash. You’re gonna be beatin’ ‘em off with that saw of yours.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” Walker interrupted before I could say anything. I shot him a glare instead.

“Ha! Nice!” crowed Marie. “Who is it, Sharkie? Lemme see a picture of ‘er. Or him.”

I sighed. “Him.” Walker shot Marie a weird smirk. Kings, but they were being annoying. I got out my slab and found one of the pics of Pengyi and I on Sunworld’s beach. “There. You done, now?”

They peered at the slab. “Oh, man, he’s cute!” muttered Marie to Walker. “But how do we call it, now?”

“Call what?” I snapped, though I already suspected. Fuck.

“Inconclusive,” said Walker, either not hearing or flat ignoring. “Nothin’ changes hands.”

He bristled as I clapped a hand to his shoulder and the other one to Marie’s. “What the fuck are you guys talking about?”

“We had a little wager, Sawyer, that’s all.” Marie was still smiling, though Walker’s was slowly falling off his face as he realized how pissed I was. She kept going. “On you gettin’ some. I bet you’d hook up with a nice girly girl, an’ Clydey thought it’d be some kinda meathead gym-rat. But you got with a girly boy instead, so ain’t neither of us-“

“Oh, fuck off,” I spat, disgusted. I shoved both of them away, not hard enough to knock them over, but with enough force that Marie’s face curdled into anger. Walker, at least, had barely enough grace to look ashamed.

Marie threw up her hands. “Shit, Sawyer, it was just a bit of banter! Why you got your nuts in a twist?”

“Oh, I dunno, Marie,” I growled, jabbing a finger at the shorter woman’s chest. “Maybe ‘cause I’ve been a fuckin’ sideshow for people like you my whole life and I’m kingsdamn sick of it. That’s always been the joke, y’know? ‘Oh, wow, she’s the size of a fuckin’ Praetor! I wonder who’s desperate enough, who’s enough of a perv to get with her?’ Shit. You’re not the first, or even the fifth. Get some new material. Kings.”

Marie’s eyes had gotten narrower and narrower throughout my tirade. “Well. Do excuse me for offending Princess Sawyer. I surely didn’t mean to. See, most people with the bones on their hand know how to take a joke.” She turned on her heel and stalked off.

I glared holes in her back for a moment, then turned to the still-silent Walker. “You’re a dick, you know that? Thought we were better friends than that.”

“Aw, Sharkie…” He took off his hat and kneaded the brim in his hands. “I’m sorry. That was a real dickhead move. I shoulda realized sooner.” The contrition in his voice seemed genuine. I wasn’t sure if that surprised me.

I sighed. “I dunno. Maybe not. Lots of people just think, ‘oh, being big and strong sounds nice.’ And it is, a lot of the time. Might be I’m complaining too much. I ought to be used to it now.”

Walker shook his head, leaning against the bar. “No need to make excuses for me. Kings know I’ve put my foot in my mouth enough times. I fucked up. Kings. What a shitty little schoolyard type of move. I really oughta know better.”

“Yeah, you ought to. In the future maybe avoid the subject of my sex life entirely.” I glanced at him sidelong. “And seriously, man? A gym bro? You think us ‘meatheads’ just stick together?”

“Well, I dunno,” he muttered, not meeting my eyes. “Where else would all the little gym rats come from?”

I just shook my head. “What about Marie? We enemies for life, now?”

“No, no. She just- and I present this as a fact, not an excuse- she don’t take being told she’s wrong too well. Trust me on that one. She’ll probably get out of bed tomorrow, sober up, and realize what an ass she’s bein’. Then give ‘er another couple days to stew, and after that you’ll probably get an apology. Kinda shitty, but-“ he shrugged. “S’just how she is.”

“Mm.” We stood in silence for a few moments. Then, a door on the back wall and two men came out. The one on the left raised his voice. “Alright, people! Let’s get this thing over with. Siddown.”