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"
Your
room
is
ready
,
sir
,
"
said
the
hotel
.
Kristin
Ortega
was
remarkably
restrained
.
She
came
through
the
hotel
doors
with
a
loping
stride
that
bounced
one
heavily
weighted
jacket
pocket
against
her
thigh
,
came
to
a
halt
in
the
centre
of
the
lobby
and
surveyed
the
carnage
with
her
tongue
thrust
into
one
cheek
.
"
You
do
this
sort
of
thing
a
lot
,
Kovacs
?
"
"
I
’
ve
been
waiting
a
while
,
"
I
told
her
mildly
.
"
I
’
m
not
in
a
great
mood
.
"
The
hotel
had
placed
a
call
to
the
Bay
City
police
about
the
time
the
autoturret
had
cut
loose
,
but
it
was
a
good
half
hour
before
the
first
cruisers
came
spiralling
down
out
of
the
sky
traffic
.
I
hadn
’
t
bothered
to
go
to
my
room
,
since
I
knew
they
were
going
to
drag
me
out
of
bed
anyway
,
and
once
they
arrived
there
was
no
question
of
me
going
anywhere
until
Ortega
got
there
.
A
police
medic
gave
me
a
cursory
check
,
ascertained
that
I
wasn
’
t
suffering
from
concussion
and
left
me
with
a
retardant
spray
to
stop
the
nose
bleed
,
after
which
I
sat
in
the
lobby
and
let
my
new
sleeve
smoke
some
of
the
lieutenant
’
s
cigarettes
.
I
was
still
sitting
there
an
hour
later
when
she
arrived
.
Ortega
gestured
.
"
Yeah
,
well
.
Busy
city
at
night
.
"
I
offered
her
the
packet
.
She
looked
at
it
as
if
I
’
d
just
posed
a
major
philosophical
question
,
then
took
it
and
shook
out
a
cigarette
.
Ignoring
the
ignition
patch
on
the
side
of
the
packet
,
she
searched
her
pockets
,
produced
a
heavy
petrol
lighter
and
snapped
it
open
.
She
seemed
to
be
on
autopilot
,
moving
aside
almost
without
noticing
to
let
a
forensics
team
bring
in
new
equipment
,
then
returning
the
lighter
to
a
different
pocket
.
Around
us
,
the
lobby
seemed
suddenly
crowded
with
efficient
people
doing
their
jobs
.
"
So
.
"
She
plumed
smoke
into
the
air
above
her
head
.
"
You
know
these
guys
?
"
