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if he was supposed to go over and introduce himself. Maybe compare pistols? No, he decided. They'd probably get into that old mine's-bigger-than-yours thing. Besides, the other guy looked like a pro. What if he asked Cyrus about his experiences as a bodyguard? What could Cyrus say? I threw three drunks out of a bar last week? How 'bout, Just tonight, I beat up two starving cowboys? |
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At the proper moment, Kyna's customer waved the other man over. The bodyguard abandoned his drink and started toward Kyna's table with a fat, legal-sized manila envelope in his right hand. |
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Cyrus never moved. Something about the way the body-guard moved, relaxed and unconcerned. And the way he . . . smelled? . . . told Cyrus the man was all right. The fact that he could smell the guy all the way across the room was a little disconcerting, but when Cyrus thought about it, he realized that he could smell Kyna's perfume and her customer's sugary cologne as well. |
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What's the matter with me? he wondered. Nerves from the encounter with the cowboysor something else? |
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It had always taken Cyrus a while to unwind after any type of confrontation, so he hoped that what he was feeling was just adrenaline withdrawal. |
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The bodyguard gave the envelope to the man in the suit, who in turn handed it to Kyna. She checked the contents and then removed three bags of gems from the briefcase and pushed them across the table. The man nodded once, scooped the bags up and then stood. Kyna shook the man's hand one last time and then came over to Cyrus. |
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''Ready?" she asked, tucking the envelope inside her coat. |
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Cyrus peeked out through the window in the pavilion door. It was as dark as pitch. "Ready." |
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When they reached the pronto pup stand, as Cyrus had expected, the cowboys were long gone. If it hadn't been for the spots of frozen blood spattered on the concrete, he might have convinced himself that he had imagined the whole thing. |
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With the trouble behind them and her delivery complete, |
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