I wasn’t a cop any more, and I was trying to cut down on the caffeine intake for the good of my blood pressure, but that didn’t stop me scowling at the banis man who slid into the booth across from me and smiled far too brightly for this time of the morning. “Sri Ythen?” “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any, and I’m not looking for an employee. Try some other chuma, beto.” I’d pissed him off, which didn’t bother me half as much as the fact he hadn’t taken the hint. “I am not looking for a job, Sri Ythen. Rather, I am looking to employ you. You are a detective, yes? Private investigations, with discretion?” I sat up, now more curious than annoyed. I’d had a couple of banis clients, by accident more than anything else. Most couldn’t afford my fees, not that I held it against them. My visitor might be able to, though. Sharp Kelon-style kurta pajama, clean-shaven face, bright auburn hair worn in hundreds of tiny braids in the usual banis fashion, but without any flashy beads, face paint or ear tails.
