“Five hundred yen,” I said. “Paper. And I don’t find you later and finish what the war started, one arm at a time.” I leaned down, fishing a wad of notes from my coat. “And if you haggle, I swear I will tip you over right here and step on the back of your head until you stop struggling.” I put some grin into it, and he blinked, reaching out with one calloused hand and snatching the bright green notes.

“Third building down from here,” he said, hurriedly putting some back into sliding away. “The barber’s.”

I watched him make impressive speed through the mud, then looked up and over at the building he’d indicated, where someone had painted a swirling design in red, white, and blue. It was a heavy-looking building, big slabs of gray stone with the delicate carved facade still clinging to the doorway, an archway of faux bricks and tiny carvings I couldn’t make out. The rest of the building was like a scar, like someone had peeled the outside off, leaving just the bones.

I put two fingers in my mouth and whistled. A moment later Remy was at my side, his revolver down at his hip, his face blank.

“There,” I said, pointing. “Go around back. Count to fifty, then come in hard and noisy.”

I didn’t really have to tell Remy that. Hard and noisy was his only way.

He hesitated for a moment like he was going to argue, then shrugged and sauntered down the narrow alley between the buildings.

I checked the Roon again and then held it out as I walked, finger on the trigger. I crossed behind the line of carts first and approached the door from the side, keeping my exposure low. I couldn’t see anything inside the doorway. When I was a foot or so from it, I took a deep breath, my HUD fading for a moment and almost disappearing, and then took three quick, long strides and entered the building.

My eyes adjusted immediately, thanks to my old, damaged augments. I was in what had once been the foyer of the building, now sporting a single large metal chair bolted to the bare concrete floor and several scratched and dented wooden tables. A large mirror had been balanced against the wall on top of one of the tables, and the rest of the tables sported a scattering of jars and tools, brushes and razors. The floor was almost as wet and muddy as the street outside.

The barber stood behind the chair, one hand tilting his customer’s head, the other holding a razor that looked like it had started out life as a thin metal file. He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at a spot on the wall above the mirror, stock-still. Standing against the rear wall, next to a closed, heavy-looking wooden door, was the Angel, hands in the pockets of his elegant coat. The second I saw him, I was enveloped in the invisible fist, unable to move.

“Fuck me,” I gasped, finding it hard to breathe. “You’re not going to make another fucking speech, are you?”

A slight smile kinked up the corners of his mouth, and he took a breath. The invisible fist tightened in one eye-popping jerk, and my HUD flickered off in my eyes.

“widve been—”

The door next to him crashed inward, smacking into him in a bit of luck I knew the cosmos would bill me for later. Remy stood in the doorway, eyes everywhere, long hair disheveled. The fist melted away and I crouched down slightly, putting three shells into the door. I looked up.

“Check him.”

Remy slammed the door shut with one authoritative shove and fired his cannon twice into the crumpled form of the Angel, each shot damaging my hearing.

The sudden stillness was creepy, after that. Slowly, I straightened up and looked at the chair. The barber and his customer were gone. Then I looked at Remy and smiled. Remy stared back, expressionless, and slid his gun back into his hip holster, wiping his hands on his muddy coat.

I sighed. “C’mon,” I said. “Let’s find that fat fuck.”

Morales was sitting on a recovered chair in the midst of his ruined tent, belly spilling out over his knees. He was smoking what looked and smelled like a real cigar, pre-war. He watched us approach, with squinted eyes, affecting calm, but the sheen of sweat on his brow and the way he fidgeted told me otherwise. He was terrified, and for good reason: He probably had more muscle on tap, but they weren’t here yet, and if I chose to slit his throat in front of Potosí, no one was going to stop me.

“I am glad to see you triumphant, Mr. Cates,” he said with fake cheer. “Those crazy Spooks should be opposed.”

That sounded sincere enough. I stopped in front of the fat bastard while Remy circled around behind him. Morales cocked his head to track him for a second, then smiled at me and spread his hands.

“I was not lying, Mr. Cates,” he said. “I do not have the funds I owe you.”

I nodded, pursing my lips, and when I reared back and kicked him over in the chair, he didn’t seem surprised. Feeling tired, I just walked over to where he was and put my gun on him, cocking the hammer just in case all he needed was some extra encouragement.

He put his hands up, the sheen of calm cheer gone. “Espera!” he shouted. “Wait! I have a counteroffer. I have five thousand yen in notes in my pocket. It is all I have, liquid.”

I waited without moving. “And?”

He licked his lips and fucking smiled. “I have information you have been seeking. I can tell you where the man named Wallace Belling is. Where he is right now.”

I stood there for a moment, a cold shock settling into my bones. My mouth watered and I had to blink rapidly to clear my vision. It had been years. I’d last seen Belling in Amsterdam, when he delivered me to Cainnic Orel—known then as Michaleen Garda—after buying me out of the army. I’d last been in Belling’s presence weeks later, in Hong Kong. I’d been dreaming of killing them both for years.

I nodded, stepping back and clicking the hammer back down. “Deal.”