35: Brice
Brice
Brice didn’t rush. He reached Keys’ club a few hours later, taking the time to grab a drink from a late-night cafe, a bite to eat from some street-vendor. He didn’t recognise what was in the wrap, but it was warm and filled a hole.
The alley was quiet. Brice stepped into a passageway on the opposite side of the street and eased into an old doorway, didn’t look like it had been used in years.
He watched for three hours. People came and went. Most of the men wore too much weight and obvious weapons. The women accompanying them were either too young to know better or old enough not to care.
Brice caught a few lattices. He peered at faces, did his best to memorise them. He tried to recall the list Piran had pulled from Gill’s terminal, tried matching names to faces. Imposs
