“He wore brown, formal-looking clothes, tucked into knee-high boots. Gems glittered at his cuffs, fingers, and one earlobe. Wolfe raised a hand. The man eyed Wolfe, nodded in return, and went back into the Saratoga. “You know him?” “I know who he is. And what he is. I was rendering professional courtesy.” “Canfield? And a gambler?” “Sharp, lady. Very sharp.” Wolfe hesitated, then swung the controls of the moke around and grounded the machine in front of the Saratoga. “This’ll likely be the cente...r of things,” he said. “Maybe a little bit safer than renting a hovel on some backstreet. You go register, and I’ll find out where to get rid of this beast.” “Which brings up a question,” Kristin said. “What name do I register under?” “Our own, of course,” Wolfe said. “Honest folk like us have nothing to hide.” • • • The room was fairly large, with a big bed, furniture that’d been antiqued with a blowtorch, and fake wood paneling. There were photographs on the walls, not holos, of ancient Earth scenes.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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