The severed field wire whipped against Julian’s knees, dancing in the fifty-five-knot gale like a dying snake.
Through the two inches of bulletproof quartz glass, Director Evelyn Cross stood watching him with aristocratic amusement. She tapped her silver cigarette holder against the crystal tray inside the warm gallery, her pale eyes mocking and cold. Behind her, the green Nixie tubes above the master tape transport clicked down another second:
[00:04:58 TO 02:14:00]
Four minutes and fifty-eight seconds.
Julian did not look at her. In his four years behind the register counter at Starlight Mart Store #04, he had learned how to handle customers who tried to intimidate him across the counter. The worst mistake a clerk could make was giving a bully his eyes.
You watched their hands. You watched the register tape, and you watched the physical items in play.
If you looked at their sneer, you were playing their game. If you looked at the ledger, you were the clerk in charge of the transaction.
He looked down at the diamond-plate deck.
