Cape Storm Page 0,32

could. David was quite enjoying being free of the Djinn secrecy restrictions; he misted away with the tray in full view of Aldonza, and her pretty face went pale with shock. She crossed herself and murmured something in Spanish.

"He's okay," I promised her. "More like an angel than, you know, the other thing." She stared at me blankly, shaking her head as if she simply wanted the whole thing to go away.

"I need to ask you about one of your guests. Cabin seventeen?" That snapped her out of her fugue state. Color flooded back into her face, and then she made a visible effort to stay calm and professional. "Mr. Trent Cole," she said.

"Nice guy?"

"I can't talk about my guests, miss." Her lips twitched. "Not even about you and the angel."

"Eh, don't worry about us. You can talk all you want. We've been on CNN." She snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand as if she was appalled at her bad behavior. I winked.

"Look, about Mr. Cole - I'm about to go talk to him. Anything you can tell me about him that might help me decide if he's a threat or not?"

She hesitated, and I could see the good-girl/gossip-girl conflict being played out for a solid three seconds before the gossip girl pulled a smackdown. "He has a gun," she said. "I saw it. He put it in the pocket of his bathrobe. He doesn't like anyone coming into his room, and he's very rude. He doesn't let me do any cleaning, and that makes it so hard, because he can complain that I'm not doing my job, and if a passenger makes a complaint like that I can be fired and left at the next port - "

Man, when Aldonza decided to talk, it was hard to stop her. "What kind of a gun?" I asked.

She looked puzzled. "Small? Big? Revolver? Automatic?"

"Big. An automatic."

"Okay. I just want to know what we're dealing with," I said. "Aldonza - did Mr. Cole threaten you? Hurt you?"

From the rigid set of her posture, I thought he had, but she shook her head. Maybe not even her gossip-girl side could voice that complaint. At least, not to a mere passenger.

"Okay," I said. I felt David coming back, and saw her eyes shift and widen as he whispered into existence behind me. "Thank you very much for your information. David - " I did the finger-rubbing thing again. He produced his wallet, Aldonza got a hundred-dollar bill, and as we walked away, David handed me the wallet. "What?"

"I just thought it might be more convenient," he said. "In case you want to bribe anybody in cabin seventeen."

"I want to intimidate the holy living shit out of cabin seventeen," I said. "How would that be?"

He gave me a slow, evil smile. "You only love me for my ability to terrify."

"And your ability to produce money out of thin air. That's important, too."

"I'm glad I'm well-rounded."

"In oh so many ways."

Mr. Trent Cole, aka Cabin Seventeen, decided that he wasn't going to submit to answering any questions, no matter how nicely we asked. In fact, Mr. Cole wouldn't even open his door.

Yeah, like that was going to keep us impotently standing outside.

"We're not Housekeeping," I called through the door. "Open it or we're coming in anyway."

"Like hell you are! I know my rights!" Mr. Personality screamed back at me.

David moved me out of the way - my own personal Djinn shield - and put a single finger on the surface of the glossy wooden door. When he pushed, the lock snapped and shattered like glass.

Nice. I liked the economy of his violence.

He stepped over the threshold, and Trent Cole fired three bullets into his chest, point-blank. He did it like a guy who'd had practice, but when David didn't fall down - didn't even flinch - Cole's expression turned from murderous to completely confused.

David stepped forward, took the gun (Aldonza was right, it was a big black semiautomatic), and handed it to me. I dumped it in the ice bucket on the bar, after burning my fingers on the barrel. If David was bothered in the least by someone trying to kill him, he didn't let it show in his cool smile, or the absolute ease with which he stiff-armed Mr. Cole toward the sofa.

Cole met the cushions at speed, and toppled like a tortoise onto his back, an awkward position at best. He was dressed in one of the ship's fluffy robes, his big