I headed for the stairs at the back of the shop. This area was small and smelled of dust and mold. There were shelves everywhere, all packed with boxes, old and new computer parts, and ancient-looking monitors of varying sizes.
Of course, mold and dust weren’t exactly good for computers, but I had it on good authority—Tao’s—that this area was little more than a ruse. The expensive items were all kept upstairs.
And up there, you stepped into another world—one that was clean, shiny, and filled with the latest in computer technology. In fact, Stane’s system dominated the main living space and wouldn’t have looked out of place on a spaceship.
It was a stark contrast with Stane himself, who could only be described as a mess with his unkempt brown hair, thick ill-fitting black sweater, and wrinkled jeans. He certainly didn’t look like someone who’d put up any sort of fight—until you actually gazed into his honey-colored eyes. Stane, like Tao, was smarter and tougher than he looked.
He gave me a bright, warm smile as he rose and kissed me on the cheek. "So this thing that came up … ," he said cheerfully. "I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to help?"
A grin teased my lips. "What, the black market not exciting enough for you these days?"
"It’s not that." He sat down and pushed a second chair my way. "It’s more the challenge. You task me with the impossible and just presume I’ll come through. I like that."
I laughed. "Well, I do have an information hunt, but I don’t think it’s going to tax you or your system too much."
"I have complete faith in the fact that, now that you’re back chasing otherworld crap, my tasks will only get harder." Anticipation mingled with humor in his eyes. "So hit me with this first one, and don’t be too long with the rest."
I shook my head as I said, "I need any and all information you have on an Ike Forman. Apparently, he’s the man Handberry went to meet the night he was killed, and he might also be the half-shifters’ new handler."
Stane frowned. "Forman? That name rings a bell. Hang on a sec." He twisted around and touched one of the light screens on his circular "bridge." "Here, listen to this."
A harsh voice suddenly shouted, "Fuck it, Forman, I’m not going to waste more good men like this. It’s not worth it."
The voice belonged to Handberry, and the conversation had obviously been going for a while. But given that Handberry had stormed out not long after I’d released the listening bug into his office, I guess we’d been lucky to get anything at all.
The voice on the other side was muffled, but the tone was definitely urbane.
"I don’t fucking care what Harlen said," Handberry ranted in response. "These are my fucking men, not his. There must be a better—"