The Human Blend - Alan Dean Foster [108]
“You talked to someone else about our thread?” Whispr was aghast.
Wizwang favored him with a look usually reserved for invertebrates. “I told you I took care. Having met and learned from you, I was able to exchange certain credentials with this individual. He revealed enough to indicate to me that he knows things about your thread that you do not. In contrast, you have access to information concerning it that he would badly like to sample for himself. Being as happy as any middleman to take a cut from both sides, I have arranged for you all to meet.”
Ingrid looked over at her companion. “What do you think, Whispr?”
Her willowy companion did not hesitate. “I don’t like it one bit. Just because this guy isn’t one of the lipsticked abyssuggers who pack-jumped your colleague doesn’t mean he might not work for the same outfit that sent them on an infocrawl around Savannah. He could be bait to draw us out.” He glared anew at their host. “What guarantee do we have that you’re not setting us up?”
Wizwang stiffened visibly. “First, my wary whipsnap, I wouldn’t do any such thing because my reputation hereabouts and faraway is worth far more to me than any piddling fee I could collect from turning you over to those who wish you ill. And second, had I desired to do so, this meeting would not now be taking place. Easier to sell you out at your cheap hotel than to waste time chattering with you beforehand. And I would have kept the thread.”
Ingrid was not entirely convinced, but her eagerness to learn more about the thread outweighed her concern. “Where is this meeting to take place?”
“At my home, you’re welcome very much. Another layer of security for you for which I expect no recompense.” He sneered at the brooding Whispr. “Or thanks. Tomorrow morning anytime after sunrise. Before you come, have some breakfast, mainline some caffeine, sip-sup some local juice. I know that I will. So, I suspect, will this interested but chary third party. Then the four of us will cojoin to celebrate a collusion of the unknowable that hopefully will result in at least a modicum of enlightenment for all.”
“Or there could be a shooting,” a still dubious Whispr muttered.
“Ever the optimist,” Wizwang observed mildly. “I suppose one should not expect even a meager measure of jollity from one of so spare a frame and countenance.”
Conversation momentarily ceased as their host’s latest brew arrived, foaming mightily. Eyeing the condensation on the sides of the chilled mug, it occurred to Ingrid that neither she nor Whispr had ordered anything. Her dry throat colluded with her stressed mind and she ordered a drink from the compliant tabletop.
“I guess what you’re saying is that you can’t help us any further but maybe this person can.” Whispr threw her an agonized glance, but she ignored him. “We’ll be there. I don’t know what else to do.”
“When you don’t know what else to do, do what someone who does know what else to do does.” Wizwang lifted his mug in salute. “Drink up, hope for the best, and let the piss dribble where it may.” He downed a long swallow through lips that appeared better suited to sipping milk. The contrast was jarring.
When their own drinks arrived Whispr tried to have the last word on the matter. “I don’t care what you said on your fertilizer barge. You set up this meeting so you pay for the drinks. We’re trying to minimize our exposure down here.”
Wizwang looked ready to protest, then shrugged juvenile shoulders. “A sampling of local libations, one of which is for a pretty lady? I think I can be that magnanimous. I’ll fold the cost of your respective lubricants into your final invoice anyway and you’ll never know