The Family

[Keeper]

“Another one?” Tarlan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Yes, mate, another. That’s the third shipment gone missing now,” Stewart McKenzie said as he took a sip of his coffee.
“And the police have nothing?”
Mack shook his head. “They’re stretched thin out there, but no other operator has reported unexplained losses in the area.”
“Then we’re being targeted,” Tarlan stated.
Mack frowned and looked sideways at his boss. “Targeted? Like deliberately? By whom?”
Tarlan shrugged and walked across the office to stand before the window and look out over a dark busy New York.
Mack had gone to school with Tarlan. He’d known him from kindergarten. Even so, he was slightly taken aback by how much Tarlan resembled his father at that exact moment, standing pensively before the window, watching the world with un-trusting eyes. Not that he would ever say such a thing to his friend.
“A rival business,” Tarlan said speculatively.
Mack screwed his face up and shook his head. “Really Tarl? In this day and age? Would we hijack someone’s shipments if we didn’t win a contract?”
One hand shoved into his pocket the other supporting him one his stick, Tarlan sighed. “Of course not. But I’m not talking about a legitimate rival. This has to be someone willing to do whatever it takes, including theft and intimidation. Sounds like someone’s trying to muscle in on our contract, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t be surprised if one of us didn’t get a visit late at night from someone demanding twenty percent, or even that we quit the contract all together.”
“Who are you talking about, Tarl?”
Again Tarlan shrugged. “Organised crime?”
Mack glanced up at his boss quickly then looked back to the report he had brought up on his pad.
Tarlan shook his head. “No, Mack, not them,” he said but he’d had the same thought himself.
“Leave it with me, Mack.”
Mack nodded, gathered his things and left the office.

[Keeper]

“Not a chance Tarl,” Marlan said in response to his younger brother’s question. “No way I’d agree to it. Nor would dad come up with it either. He was very adamant that we keep away from your business. It’s gotta be someone else.”
“Don’t suppose you know of any way of finding out who?”
Marlan hummed thoughtfully. “No one legitimate. Not anyone in particular. You could try a private investigator. Or a better security firm.”
Tarlan didn’t respond.
“Come on, Tarl, what do you expect? You’re my brother, and I love you and all, but you’re the one wanted nothing to do with the family business. Now you want to make use of our contacts? Listen, sometimes in business, shit happens. You’re going to have to go this one alone. Unless you finally want to sign on with the Firm?”
“No thank you Marlan. I just thought you might help me out of a tight spot.”
“Sorry brother. Dad said we weren’t to stand in your way, but also said we don’t help either. Not unless you come to us like everyone else. And I’m telling you man, you don’t want that. We’d hit you for twenty-five percent of everything you have straight off. Then turn up the heat if things look worth the bother. You’d have some mid-level heavy turning up every week to collect and they’d get ugly if you couldn’t make a payment. So don’t come looking to us for help you really don’t want.”
There was silence on the phone for a while.
“How do you live with yourself doing that sort of stuff, Marl?”
“It’s just business, brother. Folks know what they are signing up to when they come to us for help.”
“Whatever, Marl. Thanks a bunch,” Tarlan huffed and hung up the call.

[Keeper]

“Has he?” Pauli shrugged uninterested. “Perhaps if he hadn’t gone his own way then he wouldn’t be getting into bother. People wouldn’t be able to disrespect him like it and get away with it.”
Ignoring his eldest son’s bitter comments Vitto asked of Marla, “What did you tell him?”
“The truth,” Marlan replied.
Vitto said nothing.
“That it isn’t us but we couldn’t help him sort it. Not unless he wanted protection like any other client might.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He didn’t say much, grumbled some then hung up.”
Vitto was silent, thinking.
“Have a poke around, see if you get any news. Wouldn’t hurt to have an idea.”
Marlan smiled and his father rolled his eyes. He knew he was too soft on his youngest son.
“I’ll do it,” Pauli said as though it was some massive chore. “I know some people in that area.
Vitto nodded, not looking at his son. He squinted over the top of his glasses at the mountains on the other side of the lake, where he and the extended family, minus Tarlan, were taking a long summer vacation.
He liked the Rockies. They reminded him of the Alps and he had a lot of fond childhood memories of being in the alps.

[Keeper]

They were in an enclosed room. No windows for them to look out of, and one for someone else to look in through.
The room was square, and large enough to fit a huge round table that could seat twenty.
Each seat was occupied.
Around the perimeter of the room were enough seats for a single second or assistant of each person seated around the circular table.
Only the most trusted of advisors or lieutenants would ever be invited.
The members of the Syndicate met aboard this colossal space station, that maintained an orbit mid-way between Earth and Mars, six times a year. The heads of each family or group that were members of the Syndicate were here now.

There was one family whose head chaired the Syndicate. These were voted in by their peers. When disputes arose between the Syndicate’s members the Chair acted as arbiter and magistrate.
The current Chairman was Luing Xe Cheung. He was a short man who wore spectacles and a business suit and kept his long black hair tied back from his face by leather thongs.

“Well thank you ladies and gentlemen,” Cheung said quietly. “I believe that concludes our scheduled agenda. Is there any other business?”
He asked the question of the man immediately to his left who shook his head silently.

Cheung looked to the next man.
Richard Castle nodded. “Gentlemen, ladies. I celebrate my sixtieth birthday next month. I would like to invite you and your spouses or partners to a celebration. Contact my people if you wish to know more.”
He smiled pleasantly at the torrent of well wishes that flowed his way and joked with some of the older members about their age related ailments.

After the hubbub died away Cheung looked to the next man, Tom O’Halloran who shook his head.
“You wouldn’t,” Vito Cobretti thought as he sat silently, just as he had done all through the meeting.
More members declined to add anything further.
When it got to Vitto’s turn and he straightened in his seat, leant forward resting on his elbows.
The fact that Vitto had not spoken but had shifted position made several of the members suddenly pay attention.
“I have a favour to ask, Mr Chairman,” Vitto said, grinding his teeth together in discomfort.
“A favour?” Cheung asked intrigued. “I cannot grant anything unless I know what is being asked of me, Mr Cobretti.”
“I don’t wish anything of you or the Syndicate, Mr Chairman, but of Mr O’Halloran alone.”
Vitto stared hard at Tom O’Halloran.
The Irishman looked up vaguely. “Me?”
Vitto nodded.
“What?” O’Halloran was guarded.
“There’s a business that is supplying various goods to the Waynecorp Mining. Your group is putting pressure on them, diverting the supplies. I would ask that as a favour to me you back off the business.”
O’Halloran said nothing, his eyes small, regarding Cobretti with what looked like suspicion.
After a moment he leaned back and spoke quietly with his aide for a moment then returned his attention to the table.
“I’m not aware of the situation, Vitto,” O’Hallorn used the older man’s forename familiarly.
“We’ve looked into the matter, Tom,” Vitto emphasised the name. “Your guys are muscling in on the deal.”
“Like I said, I’m not directly aware of the situation. Is it your deal?”
“No…” Vitto said but was cut off before he could say more.
“No? then I’m afraid that even if it turns out that RSB are undertaking an aggressive bid to win the Waynecorp contract, I’m not going to give it up if it turns out to be a lucrative prospect. Even as a favour to you.”
“Mr Cobretti,” Cheung said almost patronisingly, “This is sounding like it could be a private business discussion, not one for this meeting. The members do not need to be party to this.”
“I’m sorry Mr Chairman, but I disagree. If RSB doesn’t back off this deal, it could lead to a course of action that has the potential to greatly affect the balance and harmony of the Syndicate.”
“I do not see how. Is this business you speak of connected to the Syndicate directly?”
“No.”
“Then how can it affect us? If RSB make a move on them then that is their choice and not yours. Their business is theirs to run inside the rules we have all agreed to Mr Cobretti, including you.”
“It’s my son’s business, Mr Chairman.”
Cheung glanced beyond Cobretti to the man sat in the seat beyond him.
“Not me,” Pauli said with a slight chuckle. “Tarlan. He’s gone solo.”
“He’s operating against our interests?”
“No. Nothing like that. He’s decided not to follow in the family business. He’s opened a trading company. All above board and legal.”
Cheung’s eyebrows danced above his dark eyes. “Unfortunate,” he said.
Tom O’Halloran sighed loudly, theatrically.
“Alright, Vitto. I really don’t know anything about this, and believe me, I usually do know about most of what happens in my organisation. But as it’s Tarlan… I know you’ve been through a lot with him. If it turns out our guys are putting the squeeze on him I’ll consider backing off, as a favour to you.”
Consider? Vitto’s eyes narrowed hostilely, but he merely said, “Thank you.”

[Keeper]

The bar was dark, the lights dimmed to allow the patrons their privacy without being so dark that no one could see a thing.
Music played from speakers that were located in discreet locations throughout the bar. The volume was low enough that one could have a conversation and not shout, but loud enough that the people in the booth next to you wouldn’t hear it.

The bar itself lined one wall. It was made of some red looking wood and polished to a glass like finish.

The elder Cobretti brothers and their father occupied a booth in the corner where Vitto relaxed in the cold air from the overhead vent.
Throughout the station chiller units ran to blow cool air around. It was always a battle with the temperature levels here, but at less than half an AU from the sun the forty-two degree heat was the best the struggling air con units could maintain.

“They’re arrogant bastards!” Pauli complained.
Marlan shrugged. “Got to be expected. We’d be the same if they’d come to us like that.”
“No way. Sure we’d make a noise about it but we’d back off right there and then. No ‘maybe’ about it.”
“Would we?”
“Sure!” Pauli took a swig from his glass and set it down hard. “Fucker said he knew nothing about it. Can you believe that?”
“He might not,” Marlan argued. “Do we know everything that people do in our business?”
“It’s bullshit, is what it is, Marl,” Pauli sighed. “Bullshit,” he said again to emphasise the point.
“How do you know?”
With a shrug Pauli shook his head. “You think that we don’t know who the players are when we are lokking at new things? Bah! He knew who they were. He knew Tarlan was involved. He didn’t care, just made his play anyway. Right Papa?”
Vitto swirled his whiskey around his glass. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Pauli spat. “I don’t reckon there’s any maybe about it.”
Marlan glanced at his brother. Pauli had been hitting the drink more lately. He’d been getting aggressive as a result but he’d never spoken to their father disrespectfully like that before, at least not in front of anyone.
Vitto frowned before knocking the whole glass back. “More than likely, Pauli. How’s that?”
Pauli grunted, pushed his empty glass away and signalled for the bartender to bring another round.
“They’re making moves against us,” the old man stated. “Every new venture we start on they seem to be there. Every time. It’s likely they have someone on the inside.”
Pauli shook his head. “No way. I’d know. They’d know I’d kill them if I knew.”
“How much have RSB cost us over the last year?” Vitto asked his younger son.
Marlan sighed. “About fifteen million.”
“Fuck!” Pauli yelled making the heads of other patrons turn towards the three.
“Indeed,” his father agreed.
“We should take them out,” Pauli mumbled into his fresh beer.
“Yeah, good idea,” Marlan mocked. “Syndicate wouldn’t mind us doing that one bit.”
“Bah!” Pauli grunted dismissively.
“You’re both right,” Vitto said quietly after taking a sip from his new glass.
The two brothers looked to their father.
“we need to do something about RSB. We also have to do it in a way that satisfies the Syndicate. We are tied in too heavily and rely too much on the Syndicate these days. They would turn on us if they thought we were taking action against one of the other members. So you boys will do nothing, do you hear me? Nothing. I need to think about how we’re going to handle this and I don’t need either of you shooting from the hip and ballsing things up.”
He stared pointedly at each man in turn, his gaze lingering on Pauli longer than Marlan.
Both men nodded and agreed.
Vitto grabbed his glass.
“Drink up, we’ve got homes to go to.”

[Keeper]

Mars.
The Red Planet.
Home of the first colonists to leave Earth.
The whole planet had a population of about twenty million.
Most lived within the three enormous cities that had been built at opposite sides of the dry, dusty globe.
The cities, the largest being Noctis, had gone through almost an entire evolutionary transformation in the hundred or so years it had existed.
Settled originally by colonial engineers, builders, scientists, labourers, all those the city needed in order to get built.
The original city had been built on Earth, assembled in space, transported through the wormholes and essentially crash-landed onto the planet’s surface.
The enormous vessel contained everything that was needed to sustain the workforce – habitats, medical facilities, workshops, power plants, hydroponics.
It had been the idea, originally, to create the hub of the city from the craft and extend radially outwards, mining and processing materials needed as they went.
The original ship, which didn’t now sit in the centre of the city but somewhere near the eastern edge housed a dusty, dark and generally unvisited museum.
On the walls of the building could be seen faded sepia photographs of the original engineers and builder, posing in front of giant mining machines of iron and steam.
They looked odd in their Victorian style outfits and some looked like something out of a cowboy movie.
It hadn’t taken long however for others to move in on mankind’s greatest adventure. Others came with ships of their own, adding to the self-contained city.
It became the place to be.
Two more cities rose in Noctis’ wake.
Soon there were huge living complexes with plush apartments being added sold for phenomenal sums.
As the engineers battled the harsh environment to extend the city further, the upper echelons of society seeing the moon as yesterday’s news, moved in. They squabbled over territory, some claiming it as sovereign land of one realm or another. Others were more mercenary and sold great tracts of the planet to the highest bidder.
The city became a new London. Cosmopolitan, decadent, wealthy and overcrowded.
More and more people arrived looking for work, fortune fame or glory. The city couldn’t keep up.

The builders created enormous domes in which to build more tenement blocks. The red-brown rock was pulled from the ground and shaped into the blocks to create these sprawling districts.
The elite decided that the city was too crammed full of life’s lower classes. They built up, creating a towering city that perched on enormous pillars above the old.
Behind the workers, the financiers, the designers and the filthy rich came another group. They were there right at the beginning, running bars and gambling dens and prostitution.
The criminal gangs.
Many had come and gone. The syndicate had Mars now. RSB, The Lettermans, the Cobrettis to name a few.
Each had their own little piece of the pie. And each secretly coveted the pieces that their fellow members had.

[Keeper]

Frank ‘The Cross’ Crosslander didn’t like newcomers. He liked the familiar.
With familiarity came a degree of security. Both sides of a deal knew where they stood. They knew how the other side operated knew how much the other side had to gain and lose with each bargain.
But Frank knew that sometimes you had to find new business, new contacts.
Frank Crosslander especially didn’t like newcomers that couldn’t pay up. There was a crew who were supposed to be taking narcotics off-world and selling them to dealers on other planets. They had fallen short in their payment (Frank set a reasonable price, the couriers took the narcotics themselves and sold them for whatever profits they could then paid Frank, keeping the surplus) but they had offered to pay with goods acquired through another deal.
Frank Crosslander hated newcomers who couldn’t pay up on the day that Vitto Cobretti had chosen to visit.

“Just tell them to pay, Ripper. I don’t care how, I just want my money. I don’t want some shit in place of money. I want cash, you understand?”
The cross gritted his teeth and slammed the phone down.
“Problem, Frank?” Vitto asked from his customary position beside the window.
“No,” The Cross lied.
Vitto said nothing.
With a sigh The Cross walked over to stand beside his boss.
He didn’t like to think of Vitto as his boss. He never used to have a boss, he answered to himself. What irked him more was having to answer to Pauli and Marlan too. But things had changed quite a few years ago now and having the Cobretti name to trade on hadn’t done him any harm at all, he had to admit that.
“It’s a courier. They’re behind on a payment. We’ve got forty tonnes of H to shift, that’s four million dollars. These guys have turned up short and I’m short on couriers. So I need them but they can’t pay me for the last shipment. They have half the money and some boxes of crap they want to get rid of.”
“What crap?”
The Cross shrugged. “Crap. Shit I don’t want. Stuff I’d have to get rid of and I don’t want that hassle.”
A red and white EMT wagon shot across the sky with its lights flashing. It disappeared into the haze of the late afternoon sun.
“But these people believe what they have brought is enough to make up the short-fall?” Marlan asked from the sofa. He was sipping coffee and watching a movie. Petra was beside him, feet up on his antique coffee table.
At least she’d had the courtesy to remove her boots, the Cross thought bitterly. Also, he conceded, she had very nice feet. Small, well-shaped with elegantly painted toes.
How different this was to their original meeting.
“They seem to,” The Cross frowned.
“Might be worth a look?” Petra suggested.
Vitto nodded slowly.
With a movement that was as fluid as a ballet dancer Petra stood, slipped her dainty feet into her big cumbersome looking boots and yet elegantly walked out.
“So,” The Cross said with a nervous chuckle. “How are things back on Earth?”
“They are well,” Vitto said stiffly. “Better than out here. I have less trouble from my businesses on Earth. Which is why I have to spend so much time away from home, checking on things. I’m not going to be getting trouble from you Frank, am I?”
“Of course not,” Crosslander blurted out nervously.
“Relax, Frank!” Marlan laughed. “You got a solid business going on here. The accounts guys have no worries. In fact, you’re doing so well the we’re even prepared to overlook the other set of accounts you have.”
Marlan was still watching the vid screen but he felt sure he could feel the temperature drop in the room. He imagined Frank’s face had blanched white so quickly and so fully that it had sucked the heat right out of the air.
“Naughty boy, Frank,” Vitto Cobretti said quietly. “But not nearly as naughty as you could have been. I’d actually expected you to be taking more. Still, as Marlan said, we’ll overlook them, so long as you don’t take the piss!”
Frank said nothing. He was too embarrassed.
At that moment Petra returned. “It’s worth a look,” she announced.
“Show us,” Vitto said to Petra and Frank.

[Keeper]

Beneath Ivory Tower there were two levels of car park. The upper did indeed have cars parked in it.
The next level down however, was a large expanse of crates and boxes. More warehouse than parking lot.

There were four men waiting for them. They looked like military types, even without the giveaway fatigues. There was something in their bearing.
When the group from upstairs arrived three of the men were sitting idly on boxes and the fourth was rummaging through an open crate.
As the group approached the three sitters climbed to their feet and stood behind the other man.
The rummager, tall, thick set, soldier, stood silently and awaited their arrival.
He smiled cockily at Petra. “Back again so soon, my lovely?”
Vitto noted the English accent.
Petra merely raised an eyebrow at him.
“What have you got?” Vito asked without any pre-amble.
The soldier type frowned at him.
“Hey fella, I let the missy here look at what I got cos she’s so pretty. I don’t feel the same about you.”
Vitto looked blankly at him. “I’m not interested in your games. What have you got?”
The man didn’t like the old guy’s tone.
“My deal’s with The Cross himself. I answer to him,” he said flatly.
Vitto nodded slowly. “Yes, and he answers to me. What have you got?”
The big man looked from the old guy to The Cross who stared impatiently back at him.
“Oh,” the man said and shrugged. “Buck. Buck Linus,” he added extending his hand.
Vitto held eye contact for a moment then shook the proffered hand but didn’t give his name.
“Well, what I have here is bio-circuitry. Interface modules for cybernetic augmentations. These are mil-spec. top of the line stuff. I can get my hands on limbs, skill chips, weaponry, the works.”
Linus waited while the old man examined the small modules. He turned them over in his hands, pulled a face that said ‘I have no idea’ and handed one to Marlan.
“Gents,” Linus said with the commanding tone of a ranking soldier. “I’m not trying to rip you off. These things sell for fifty-k a pop on the black market. We came up short on another deal and it left us hanging with regards to or deal with you. I just wondered if this little avenue in trade might interest you? This little load here would be yours, of course, in lieu of what we owe you.”
The old man said nothing. Stood beside the younger man, his son, Linus could see that as soon as they were together. The blond woman joined them and they spoke amongst themselves.

“These modules,” Marlan said, “they all have serial numbers. How are you getting them without it being noticed?”
Linus grinned. “Check the numbers on them. What do you notice?”
Marlan picked up a few and checked them.
“They all end in nine?”
“That’s right! The guy that wrote the software for the manufacturing plant gets the machine to re-apply every number ending in nine. So there are two x-x-x-nines made, but only one on the system. One goes through the books, the other never existed. Other parts are programmed to deliberately manufacture a fault, which is easily fixed. But the system throws them out. We get them on a disposal contract, correct the error and hey-presto, perfectly good cyberware!
“Don’t they audit you?”
“We have a plan for that. Guy at a recycling plant gets a list of what we have and keeps it on record. Anyone checking up will see us dispose of a shipment and see the guy’s records showing that we have been good boys. They did it once, not long after we started. Very lack-lustre. These are defective parts, they’re not overly excited by them. Lots of folks make robotic limbs and stuff already so the IPR on those things ain’t so tight. It’s the interface modules they’re concerned about. These are the beauties that make all those mechanical bits work with our bodies.”
Marlan nodded to his father.
“Very well, Mr Linus, you have piqued my interest. We’ll take the money as is. Can I presume that this shipment had an original destination and taking them from you now would restrict your cash flow?”
The man shrugged. “A little, but something we’ll deal with.”
Cobretti shook his head. “Keep the money for the last payment. Invest it in acquiring more of this stuff. Call it a finder’s fee. I have a suspiscion that the loss in revenue for us now will come good in the end. I’d like to do business with you regarding these things.” Vitto held up an interface module.
“How much competition would I have?”
Linus thought for a moment. “There’s not a lot of this stuff out there, nothing of this grade. Yeah, you’ve got your sim-sense and low tech skill chips and the old artificial limbs, but these things here are all EMP shielded, Currienium powered. Those were destined for Mars, a taster for a group there.”
“RSB?” Marlan asked instantly.
“That’s right, yeah.”
“We’ll pay you twenty five percent more than they offered you for each shipment and you don’t work for them again. Is that agreeable?”
“Exclusivity will cost you an extra fifty percent.”
Marlan glanced at his father to ensure that he was happy for him to pursue the deal. He was.
“Thirty five.”
The soldier grinned and then nodded.
“You got yourselves a deal, Messer’s Cobretti,” the soldier said, amused at the surprise that showed on Vitto’s face.
“I do my homework,” he added.

[Keeper]

The light flickered under the study door. It wasn’t the warm lighting from the room’s lights but a cold whitish light that changed in shade and tone.
Martha Cobretti pushed the door open slowly but remained in the dark passageway.
She could see her husband, his silvery hair almost shining in the ever-changing brightness rom the VDU he was watching at his desk.
Sighing lightly she padded softly across the carpet to stand behind Vitto gently her hands on his shoulders.
He was tense, she could see that, feel it in his shoulders and back.
She rubbed them, thumbs pressing in, palms working muscles.
Vitto sighed heavily and relaxed.
“Can’t sleep?” she asked him.
“No,” he said tiredly, pressing the small green circle on the screen and freezing the soldier in mid-leap.
“Something you need to work on?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I tried to look at some things but ended up watching this documentary instead.”
“About soldiers?” Martha asked. Vitto wasn’t normally interested in military things.
“It’s about advanced augmentation surgery,” Vitto explained. “I was channel hopping and they were talking about nanites and things so I ended up watching.”
“Nanites are dangerous,” Martha stated. “Remember those people who died because the nanites started deconstructing their organs?”
Vitto nodded. “I do, which was why we chose not to use nanites in Tarl’s operation. But that was what, fifteen years ago? Things have come on now. The whole cybernetics industry has advanced hugely. Now they aren’t just talking about repairing or replacing what you already have but they are enhancing things. Now they can augment everything, making you stronger, faster, more resilient. They can even upload skills you didn’t have before. I mean, look at this guy. They’ve replaced his legs that were ruined in an explosion, fitted armour to his body, he’s got targeting systems, medical scanners, all sorts of upgrades. He came to them broken and is going out better than he was ever capable of being.”
“I’m not so sure about all that though, Vitto. I don’t know enough about it.”
“It doesn’t matter now dear. I wish this stuff had been around for Tarl when he needed it. Things may have been different.”
Martha studied the leaping figure on the screen.
“They might have been,” she agreed. “They might have been much worse too. You hear on the news about people, bad people, with these augmentations all the time. And mostly it’s not good news. Tarl’s done alright as he is.”
Vitto smiled at his wife and shut down the screen. “Yes, he has. Let’s go to bed,” he said with a yawn.

[Keeper]

The intercom chirped insistently. A shrill electronic frantic chime, high pitched and annoying. It drew The Cross from his sleep.
With a grumble he rolled over and forced an eye open.
A blurred image revealed the late night/early morning caller to be his most trusted lieutenant; Jesus.
Even so, The Cross didn’t like being disturbed in the middle of the night.
His hand reached across to the comms unit, fingers searching for the answer button.
“What the hell is it?” he barked at the unit.
“Sorry to disturb you, Frank,” Jesus said with the tone of someone about to add a very big ‘but’ into the conversation.
“But…” The Cross interjected.
“Mr Cobretti is here to see you, right now.”
Frank Crosslander blinked at the sleep image of his number two. “Mr Cobretti?”
He sounded doubtful.
Petra’s serious face appeared over Jesus’ shoulder.
“Erm… I’ll be right down,” Frank said and hauled himself upright.
The screen had gone blank again.

You’re fucking kidding me! Frank Crosslander thought to himself.
“You do this for me, Frank, and that thing you owe me gets wiped off the slate.”
Frank frowned. “Thing?”
Vitto said nothing.
“Oh!” Frank’s raised eyebrows told the old Cobretti that he knew, he remembered.
Frank nodded absently. “And one of you will be there?”
“A Cobretti will be present, yes.”
“And you want me to arrange for….”
“Yes,” Pauli said abruptly.
Frank sat down in a cold sweat.