From: Lester <maxim@netcom.com>
Date: Wed, 15 Oct 1997 20:18:26 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: The Logo Fyles #3
Message-id: <Pine.3.89.9710152041.A18816-0100000@netcom2>
"Women yeve ye solace, but, if not for women, ye would need no solace." -- Hwyl Jansky"Puzel here." The voice was stiff.
"Hi, Zabra, Kam. Is Kora with you?"
There was a pause. Background tittling. Then Kora's voice, algid and mifty.
"You're not here." Kam said, trying to remain neutral, not wanting to give away how maffled he was about last night.
"But you tracked me down, like a good special agent." Kora did not suffer small talk.
Brond winced. "That's a low blow." She knew he had been downsized months ago by the berks he's risked his life for. There was an awkward pause. He broke it. "So, what's up?"
She didn't answer. It was like ymping feathers on a nervous hawk, talking to Kora when she was mifty, Brond thought. It needed a deft touch. Trying to toze something out of her got nowhere. Better to go straight for it. "I'm trying to figure out what I did last night."
"Oh? Having a spot of trouble remembering, are we? Which part of the evening are you foggy about? Before or after you cleaned out the medicine cabinet?
Flashback. Washing down metopon cut with pemoline. He shivered, recalling the kick, strong enough to knock a pudu on its bez. His head clanged. He made a mental note to buy spansules.
"Kora, my money's gone, and I have a splitting headache. Where did I go last night? Was I drinking?"
A shrill laugh came through the receiver, piercing his prootic. Not a good omen. Brond waited.