Net Force - Tom Clancy [75]
You have a manager I could talk to?
Just a moment.
A tall man wearing a frown appeared behind the clerk in a few seconds. May I help you, sir?
Gridley produced his Net Force ID and held it out. He waved at the cane hed brought. This stick was used in an attempted assassination of a federal government official, he said. I need your sales records.
Im afraid we cant do that, the man said.
Oh, you can. You can voluntarily give them to me, saving us both a lot of time and hassle, and earn my gratitude. Or I can get a federal subpoena and be back in an hour with a gang of IRS/CPA programmers to deconstruct everything your company has done in the last ten years. My guess is that these guys will almost certainly find some irregularities in the way you do business. I mean, given the tax code complexities and all these days, you cant be totally honest even if you want to be.
The man took Gridleys ID, ran it under a scanner and waited for the verification. When it came, he said. Were happy to help the government in any way we can. Denise, would you transfer the records for this agent, please?
Gridley nodded, but didnt smile. Too bad he didnt have this kind of clout when he wanted to get into a decent restaurant.
Outside the store, Gridley walked to his new Viper. Well, actually, since the program he was using was a backup for the one that had been trashed in New Orleans, it was the same age as his old Viper, and it also lacked a few bells and whistles compared to the wrecked one. Hed done a lot of fine-tuning on the wrecked unit, and he hadnt bothered to save the updates. No big deal, but it would require a little work to sharpen this one so it ran as well as the other.
In the car, he looked at the HC printout. Cane Masters had been around for at least fifteen years, and they had sold thousands of canes in that time. In the last ten years, they had sold several hundred of the particular model Net Force was interested in. Still, running down several hundred possibilities was better than running down no possibilities.
He started the car, frowned a little at how rough the engine ran. Definitely needed a tune-up. He put it in gear and headed away from the store.
24
Friday, October 1st, 11:14 p.m. Las Vegas
Grigory the Snake had won three hundred in chips, playing at the five-dollar blackjack tables in the big pyramid-shaped casino; to celebrate, he was getting drunk and talking about looking for a prostitute. The drinks were free as long as he kept playing. The prostitute would likely take most of his winnings, in exchange for which he would have a few moments of loveless pleasure-and run the risk of catching a deadly disease.
Ruzhyo did not know how prevalent HIV was among American trulls. In parts of Africa and Southeast Asia, eight of ten whores would be infected. Of course, there were vaccines for the more common strains of the disease, but it seemed as if a new strain developed every week. And the Snake had bragged more than once that he did not use a condom under any circumstances. The Snake could catch something, rot slowly and painfully, and it was all the same to Ruzhyo. He did feel sorry for Grigorys wife, who might also contract the disease before her husband had the grace to die. And sorry for her that she had married such a buffoon in the first place
Ruzhyo stood next to an electronic slot machine, listening to the jarring and obnoxious chords blare from the other machines as people methodically and joylessly pumped the handles or punched the buttons that operated the devices. No one seemed to be having a good time. There were no smiles, no backslapping, just intense manic concentration, as if by so focusing, the winning bars would magically line up and pay off. Now and then, they did, and along with flashing lights, the cacophony of the machine forced to give up its gold added more to the general noise, Look, it said, people do win! Put in more money! You could be next!
Greed was supposed to be fun, but apparently it was only fun if you were winning.
He did not know why he had gone along with