Hardbingers

1

Cal Davis watched Miller yawn.

"Tired?"

Miller gave him one of his patented flat stares. "What do you think?"

They sat at a card table, playing gin. Cal had just won the latest round, but they'd been fairly even through the night. The long night. He glanced at his watch: 7:30. Only half an hour left to the shift. He probably looked as tired as Miller.

"I think I'm glad. I hope you're exhausted."

Miller's stare morphed into a glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said. Because you're the reason we've had to go to twelve-hour shifts."

"Bullshit."

No—truth. And Miller knew it. Sending Zeklos down to the minors had screwed up the customary eight-hour rotation. They'd already been too short-handed to do that right, and the loss of Zeklos had tipped the apple cart.

The Oculus killings and attendant yeniceri losses had thinned the ranks—and not just by death. Some of the less devoted members of the corps had turned tail and run. For a while those who remained had hunted them down and terminated them, but now they didn't have enough manpower for that.

"We could have kept Zeklos for guard duty and just not sent him out on ops."

Miller snorted. "He'd have found a way to mess that up too."

Cal shook his head. "You're really something, man."

"And as for the shift change," Miller said, jabbing a finger at him, "the twelve-hour deal works out better. Sure we're stuck with longer shifts, but now we've got more flexibility. We might even be able to start taking vacations again."

Cal heaved a mental sigh. Vacation… when was the last? Long, long time. That had been in Aruba. He'd found an array of unattached women down there. A true paradise.

Maybe Miller was right. Maybe the twelve-hour rotation would work out.

The door chimed. Miller rose and checked the video monitor.

"Well, well, well. Look who's here."

"Zeklos?"

"No. The Oculus's new best friend."

"The Heir?"

Cal suppressed a grin as he jumped up and joined Miller at the monitor. Yep. Here he was, waiting on the step.

His talk with Jack yesterday must have worked. Cal had come away thinking he'd failed—miserably. Talking to the guy had been like having a heart-to-heart with a wall. Hadn't shown the slightest trace of interest. Either he had an A-class poker face, or something had changed his mind.

"You can call him that," Miller said. "I think he's a phony. What's he doing back here?"

"The 0 invited him, remember? And so did I."

Miller wheeled on him. "You?"

"Yeah. Tracked him down yesterday and pitched him on throwing in with us. My silver tongue must have worked its magic."

"You mean your shit tongue. I thought we were done with this jerk."

"Buzz him in."

Miller shook his head. "Let him cool his heels."

Cal reached past him and pressed the door release.

"Now."