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"No," she laughed, a little more heartily this time. "Have you been in the Grands yet?"
"The four big buildings? No."
"I have a corner in Grand East. Top floor." She said it as though she expected Valentine to be impressed. "Apartment and office. I've got a nice telescope. Myself and some of the nurses have been known to take a coffee break and check out the hands. We call a particularly attractive male a 'moonshot.' It's hard to get a unanimous vote from that crew, but you got five out of five. The hair did it for Oriana-she's the tough grader."
"There's not a bet having to do with me, is there?"
"Admit it. You're flattered."
"I am, a little." He picked up his drink. "Don't go anywhere." He took a big mouthful of his drink, headed for a corridor marked "bathrooms," and turned down a cinderblock corridor. He found the men's. An assortment of student-and adult-sized urinals stood ready. He went to the nearest one and spat out his bourbon, thinking of an old Wolf named Bill Maranda who would have cried out at the waste.
Alessa Duvalier tripped him as he exited. He stumbled.
"You're a rotten excuse for the caste," she said, keeping her voice low and watching the hallway. "Have you found her?"
"No. Just as tight on the inside."
"So how do you like pillow recon?" she asked. "Is she tight? Or is the bourbon loosening her up?"
"Haven't had a chance to find out, yet."
"According to my date she's big-time. You be careful. I've moved to the NUC women's hostel, by the way. My would-be boyfriend was horrified by my accommodations. Bed checks."
"I've got a chance at an upgrade too, methinks."
She pressed a piece of paper into his hand. "Phones work around here, but you get listened to," Duvalier said. "If you need to run, leave a message at the hostel that your migraines are back. I'll get to the motel as soon as I can and wait. Do they allow inbound calls up there?"
"I think there's a phone in our rec center. I'll call with the number."
"Good luck." She made a kissing motion in the air, not wanting to leave telltale lipstick. She dived into the women's washroom, and Valentine went to the bar for more ice.
He chatted with Fran Paoli for thirty minutes or so, learned that she'd been born in Pennsylvania and educated in New York. She found the Ordnance "dull enough to make me look forward to Noonside Passions" evidently a television show, and wouldn't discuss her work, except to say that it required specialized expertise but was as routine as the NUC social. But it promised her a brass ring and a Manhattan penthouse when she completed her sixteenth year at Xanadu.
She couldn't-or wouldn't-even say what her area of medical expertise was.
Paoli waved and another woman approached, with the purse-clutching, tight-elbowed attitude of a missionary in an opium den.
"Oriana Kreml, this is Tar, our moonshot babe. Tar-baby! I like that."
"The market was a joke. 'Fresh stock in from Manhattan' my eye. Are you done presenting in here?"
"Oriana's a great doctor but a greater prig," Fran Paoli laughed. "Would you like a ride back, Tar-baby?"
"Thank you," Valentine said.
"Then let's quit the Church. Crepe paper gives me a rash."
They took Valentine outside to the parking lot. A well-tended black SUV huffed and puffed as its motor turned over. It was a big Lincoln, powered by something called Geo-drive.
"Would you like to drive my beast, Tar?" Fran Paoli asked.
"Would you forgive me if I wrecked it?" Valentine said. "I'm not much with wheels." Valentine liked cars, the convenience and engineering appealed to him, but he didn't have a great deal of experience with them.
He climbed into the rear seat. The upholstery had either been replaced or lovingly refurbished. A deep well in the back held a few crates of groceries. Valentine smelled garlic and lemons in the bags. The women in front put on headsets.
Fran Paoli turned on the lights and the parking lot sprang into black-shadowed relief. Music started up, enveloping Valentine in soft jazz. She turned the car around and drove down a side street until she reached the river highway. Two police pickup-wagons motored west. Valentine wondered how many unfortunates they carried to the Reapers. Two each? Three? Nine? Valentine stared out the window as the red taillights receded into demon eyes staring at him from the darkened road. They blinked away.
"You and your hobbies," Oriana said quietly.
