I made the head knocker at home in my hand. "Duty calls, my love."
My love sent me off with the kind of language used by men in combat. Then decided to come along and see what was what.
She began showing fierce verbal skills once we stepped outside.
My sweetie isn't one hundred percent contrary. There are times when reason will take hold. Times when she will accept a valid argument without herself arguing for the sake of being difficult.
This was not going to be one of those.
For half a minute she was incapable of doing anything but sputter vile accusations.
6
A big black coach sat twenty feet from our door, just up Factory Slide, the broad street running along the northeast face of the Amalgamated manufactory and the Annex that had been thrown up during the war with Venageta. Factory Slide saw very little traffic not involved with Amalgamated.
This coach had nothing to do with the manufactory.
There was only one coach like it. It belonged to an acquaintance. I hadn't seen her in a long time. I didn't want to see her now. Especially not when Tinnie would know I was seeing her.
Belinda Contague, empress of organized crime, deadly sociopath, one-time girlfriend, briefly, and, theoretical current friend, owned that coach. And was the kind of friend you might wish you didn't have because they can complicate your life to no end.
Two armed men perched atop the black behemoth, behind a six-horse team. A brace of armed horsemen preceded it. Four more waited behind. Not a one looked pleased to see Mama Garrett's number-one son.
Though she had a few quiet shares in Amalgamated, Belinda was not here on business.