“Thank you,” he said, ever polite. “I’ve always wanted someone to do that for me.”
Javier had the grace to pretend as though he had never heard this before. He also neglected to mention that this was just the thing to get the taste of Powell from his mouth. That made it a fair trade, as far as he was concerned.
Alice joined them soon after that. Manuel had a better understanding of her than Javier did, but his technique needed a little refinement and Javier was happy to demonstrate. It wasn’t the other man’s fault; he couldn’t imagine calibrating things like pressure and speed with something so vague as “instincts.” (And to be fair, the same thing was true of finding Manuel’s prostate. Alice had very little hands, and very little patience to match.) Manuel fell asleep first. The bed was big enough for the three of them, and as she drifted off in Javier’s arms, Alice said: “Come with me. To Atlantic City.”
At any other time, he would have said yes. She was a rich woman with excellent taste and the talents to support herself, who still very much enjoyed getting fucked and wasn’t afraid to experiment. It was the kind of brass ring he’d always been looking to grab, until he found Amy. It was the kind of arrangement every other vN wanted.
“I can’t,” he said.
She frowned. “Is it because I’m old?”
“No. There’s just something I have to do.”
She waited a moment. “Cherchez la femme?”
He smiled, and kissed her hair. “Sort of.”
“Your lady is very lucky.”
Javier rolled away. “She’s dead.”
Sighing, Alice rolled over to rest her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” She patted his hand. “I’m a widow too, you know. It gets better. With time.”
“I miss her,” Javier said, before he could simulate how the conversation might end.
“Of course you do.”
“I keep thinking about everything she ever said to me. Things I…” Oh, God, but he did miss her. Fiercely. Wanted to be holding her, right now. Wanted to be asleep, holding her, smelling her hair, not someone else’s. So what if her hands were always busy, gesturing something to the island. Why hadn’t he reached over, and taken her hand? Why hadn’t he stopped the conversation by starting one of his own? “Things I didn’t really understand at the time. When I should have.”
“Hmm.”
Alice cuddled in closer. Her breath was already thick. He heard a tiny wheeze in there. What a blessing age was. What a fantastic, wondrous gift, to know that you might someday forget everything you’d ever done, that you might drift away from it like a slowly melting chunk of ice. Someday, Alice would get to die. She would die with an imperfect memory of all the hurt she’d caused. It wouldn’t always be sharp for her. It wouldn’t always be there in perfect high-res detail, like the smell of Amy’s hair was for Javier.
“That’s always the way,” Alice said. “But it’s OK. They’re always with us.”
“I know,” Javier said. “I know.”
Back in his own suite, he showered off and then went directly to bed. On his display, he checked his account with the cruise line. They shared points with the Akiba, so he was good there, but the credit would dry up, soon. Even with his commission from Alice, he didn’t have enough liquid cash to get him between Galveston and Las Vegas incognito. He’d gotten by in Costa Rica because there were models like him everywhere, but he had a feeling America would be a lot more uptight. He had no desire to pass through any kind of security between now and his meeting Holberton. If the government didn’t pick him up, Portia would.
It was hard to tell which scenario he feared more.
“Concierge?”
“Yes, sir?”
“When we land in Galveston, I’ll be sending a package to Nevada. I’d like to pay the freight now with points, and have you pick it up after I’ve disembarked.”
“That’s quite all right, sir. However, we will need to weigh the package, before we can send it.”
Javier threw back the covers and grabbed his clothes and shoes. “I’ll do it on the bathroom scale.” He stood on the scale, holding all his things, and told them the number.
“What size of box would you like?”
“What’s the largest size you have?”
“Eighteen inches by thirteen by three feet.”
Javier winced. “Great. Send it up.”
10: I’m Your Man
He waited for the porter to leave the room, counted to thirty, then snicked open the box-cutter. Cutting himself free was more awkward than it was difficult. Twice, he stopped because he worried the noise was too loud. But eventually he pushed open the flaps and stood up inside the box. He rolled his neck, dusted himself off, gathered his bug-out bag, and used the box-cutter to break the box down entirely. He stuffed it in the relevant bin, then listened at the door. The mailroom was not terribly full. Parcels were a bit of anachronism. There seemed not to be too much traffic in the hallway. He opened the door a touch. No one was there. He cleared the hall and was out in the lobby in two minutes.