Blood Debt - By Tanya Huff Page 0,36

seemed impossible to control. "I get a pat on the head and I'm just like a fucking stray dog." He sighed, drew in a lungful of air redolent with the aroma of freshly brewed hazelnut cream coffee, and decided he might as well get up since either Gerry or John was obviously in the kitchen. Pulling on a T-shirt to go with the boxer shorts he'd slept in, he realized he was going to enjoy having someone to share breakfast with.

Especially since he wasn't on the menu.

The Community Network was in the basement of a three-story, sloped-roof building on the corner of Tenth Avenue and Yukon Street just in back of City Hall. Which made a certain amount of sense, Celluci figured as he cruised slowly along the block looking for parking, since most of their business seemed to be concerned with broadcasting city government.

"Might as well stay close to the source," he muttered, adding, "Lousy son of a bitch," through clenched teeth as a smaller and infinitely more maneuverable vehicle nipped in front of him, taking the only empty spot he'd seen. While not as kamikaze as driv?ers in Montreal, Vancouver drivers were anything but laid back. Although he hated to do it, he ended up leaving the van in a municipal lot and only cheered up when he remembered that Henry'd be paying the bill.

Nine steps down, more at half-ground than base?ment, The Community Network reception area had been painted a neutral cream and then covered in fly?ers, memos, messages, and posters of every descrip?tion. The woman at the desk had four pencils shoved through her hair just above the elastic securing a strawberry-blonde ponytail and was taking notes with a fifth. It sounded as though she was dealing with a scheduling conflict, and her end of the phone conversation grew less polite and more emphatic as the call progressed. From what he could hear, Celluci had to admire the amount of control she managed to maintain.

"So, bottom line, what you're saying is that the councillor won't have time for an interview until the current session is over?" Her notes disappeared be?hind heavy black cross-hatching. "But after the session is over, we won't need to speak with the councillor about the zoning change because it'll be over, too. Well, yes, I'd appreciate it if you'd get back to me." The receiver went back into its cradle with a little more force than necessary. "You sanctimonious little kiss-ass."

Taking a deep breath, she looked up, smiled broadly at Celluci, and said, "I don't suppose you'd consider forgetting you heard that?"

He returned the smile with a deliberately charming one of his own. "Heard what?"

"Thank you. Now then, what can we do for you?"

"I'm here to speak to Patricia Chou." When her expression started to change, he continued quickly. "My name's Michael Celluci. I called earlier."

"That's right, she mentioned you." Standing, she held out her hand. "I'm Amanda Beman. Her producer."

She had a grip that reminded him of Yield's-Vicki's before she gained the unwelcome ability to break bones. "Do producers usually work reception?"

"Are you kidding? With our budget, I also work the board and empty the wastebaskets. Come on." Pencils quivering, she jerked her head toward a door adorned with only two sheets of paper. Given the cov?erage on the surrounding walls, it was essentially bare. The upper piece read: If there's no one at the desk, please ring the bell. The sign underneath it declared, in pale green letters on a dark green background: BELL OUT OF ORDER. PLEASE KNOCK.

"We're a lot busier later in the day," Amanda ex?plained as she led the way along an empty corridor. "Our morning programming's all educational tapes from UBC, so we operate with a bare minimum of staff until about noon." She shot him a wry glance. "And little more after that."

"Yet Ms. Chou was here first thing."

"She'll be here last thing, too. Our little Patricia would like to be Geraldo Rivera when she grows up."

"And you were here... "

"I am always here." Stopping in front of an un?marked steel door, she raised a hand and lowered her voice. "You must have been pretty persuasive to get Patricia to talk to you at this hour, and you look like you can handle yourself, but I couldn't live with my conscience if I didn't warn you about a couple of things. First, if she invites you to call her Patricia, that's exactly what she means. Patricia, never Pat. Sec?ond, nothing you tell her is off