Chapter 33

           Thebuildingwasastrippedshell,anentirefloorofwarehouseconversionwithperfectlyidenticalarchedwindowsalongeachwallandwhitepaintedsupportpillarseverytenmetresineachdirection.Theceilingwasdrabgrey,theoriginalbuildingblocksexposedandcross-lacedwithheavyferrocreteload-bearers.Thefloorwasrawconcrete,perfectlypoured.Hardlightfellinthroughthewindows,unsoftenedbyanydriftingmotesofdust.Theairwascrispandcold.

           Roughlyinthemiddleofthebuilding,asnearasIcouldjudge,stoodasimplesteeltableandtwouncomfortable-lookingchairs,arrangedasifforagameofchess.Ononeofthechairssatatallmanwithatanned,salon-handsomeface.Hewasbeatingarapidtattooonthetabletop,asiflisteningtojazzonaninternalreceiver.Incongruously,hewasdressedinabluesurgeon’ssmockandsurgeryslippers.

           Isteppedoutfrombehindoneofthepillarsandcrossedtheevenconcretetothetable.Themaninthesmocklookedupatmeandnodded,unsurprised.

           "Hello,Miller,"Isaid."MindifIsitdown?"

           "Mylawyersaregoingtohavemeoutofhereanhourafteryouchargeme,"Millersaidmatter-of-factly."Ifthat.You’vemadeabigmistakehere,pal."

           Hewentbacktobeatingoutthejazzrhythmonthetabletop.Hisgazedriftedoutovermyshoulder,asifhe’djustseensomethinginterestingthroughoneofthearchedwindows.Ismiled.