Zero history

59. THE ART OF THE THING

After a mutual exchange of various telephone numbers, both written down and entered in phones, Bigend left.

Garreth had also insisted on establishing codes, by which either could indicate that he was speaking under duress, or that he believed the conversation was being somehow surveilled. Hollis, discovering that she was actually very hungry, took advantage of this to catch up on her breakfast. Garreth began to write in his notebook, in what was either shorthand or his impossible handwriting, she’d never been sure.

“Do you really think he’d honor that agreement, if you were able to do whatever it is you intend to do?” she asked as he capped his pen.

“Initially. I imagine he’d then manage to start to see that he’d really made a different agreement, and that any subsequent misunderstanding is ours alone. But then it would become a matter of reminding him, and at the same time reminding him exactly how his little difficulty had been tidied. Quite a lot of this, and why it needs to be very good indeed, is the need to impress Bigend with the idea that he wouldn’t want anything like it to ever happen to him. Without ever uttering anything like a threat, mind you, for which reason I would hope that you’d put your man at the Guardian back in the box. If he’s the one I think you mean, he makes me want to believe that global warming isn’t androgenic, just to spite him.”

“Where’s your eccentric mentor in this?”

“He’ll be in the background, if he’s to be involved at all, and I’m glad of it. He was happier during the previous administration in the United States. Easier to be around.”

“He was?”

“Less free-floating ambiguity then. I’ll need his permission to use the material we prepared for that other exploit. But Gracie seems a perfect match for his targeting mechanism, as he has a peculiar detestation for war profiteers. Who are certainly no less abundant now than they used to be, though generally a bit less flagrant. I’ll also need him to hook me up with Charlie. Sweet old boy in Birmingham. Gurkha.”

“Gurkha?”

“Perfect dear. Love him to bits.”

“Fuck me, it’s the prodigal skydiver.”

Hollis swung around at Heidi’s voice, and found her there, in the gap between the screens, Ajay peering around her shoulder.

“What’s this?” Heidi pushed at the mahogany frame of one of the screens, causing the whole thing to wobble alarmingly. “Planning on having it off right here?”

Garreth smiled. “Hello, Heidi.”

“Heard you were well and truly fucked,” said Heidi. She was wearing gray sweats, under her majorette jacket. “Look about the same, to me.”

“What did Milgrim do last night?” Hollis asked. “Bigend says he hurt someone.”

“Milgrim? Couldn’t hurt himself, if he had to. Fucker from that car was behind us. I’d known it for blocks.” She raised her hand and made a concise little dart-throwing gesture. “Rhenium. Screamed like a bitch.”

“A great honor,” said Ajay, from behind Heidi, his eyes wide with excitement. Heidi put her arm around him, shoved him forward.

“Ajay,” said Heidi. “Fastest sparring partner I’ve ever had. We went over to Hackney this morning and beat the living shit out of each other.”

“Hello, Ajay,” said Garreth, offering his hand.

“Can’t believe this, really,” said Ajay, pumping Garreth’s hand. “Blinding, to see you’re not as badly off as we’d heard. Download all your videos. Fantastic.” Hollis half expected him to ask for an autograph, his waterfall bobbing with excited delight.

“What flavor, the sparring?” asked Garreth.

“Bit of everything, really,” said Ajay, modestly.

“Really,” said Garreth. “We should talk. As it happens, I need someone fast, in just that way.”