As Bright buzzed past their table again, Martia said, “Well, if you don’t think you can handle the job—”
“It’ll be expensive,” Bright said. “Thirty-five a day, plus incidentals.”
It was a lower price than Thomas had quoted, but a question nagged at her. “What do you call ‘incidentals’?”
“Drugs. Booze. Ammo.”
Martia had the definite suspicion that underwriting Bright’s appetites might bankrupt even her. “I’ll pay forty-five a day, plus ammo,” she countered. “You can pay for your own damn drugs and booze.”
“Cosmic,” said Bright without hesitation.
“And no intoxication on the job.”
“I don’t get intoxicated.”
“She’s right,” Thomas said. “She doesn’t.”
Martia was only partially paying attention. She’d been keeping a close watch on the bar, and had just seen Susie start in their directi
