Lloyd shuddered. More than a few of his investigations had come up against a wall the moment that name got involved. The Rojos were one of the biggest drug gangs in Tretton – a family business, naturally – and they’d never once been good news for him. They were responsible for more human misery than any other group he could quickly recall, and they had Wills and a dozen more like him to cover themselves from any repercussions.
Tretton City was a fairly lawless place, really – Tretton itself was a backwater planet whose economic life depended on Providence, its mineral-rich moon. There was no central government, and the system’s corporate masters had no desire to establish one as long as the flow of wealth from Providence continued unabated. The moon itself was locked down tight, but the planet was another story; organised crime had been allowed to flourish, and the huge pay packets being given to the miners and engineers on Providence gave it oxygen. Unfortunately for Lloyd, the city’s rough edges were what gave him work – admittedly, more often in an indirect fashion. Business was business, though. The Rojos’ money was as good as anyone else’s, after all – and he wasn’t interested in having his legs broken.
He skipped the shower, threw on yesterday’s clothes and grabbed his jacket. Five carefully calculated minutes were spent on a slice of toast smothered in honey; he had a feeling he’d need all the tiny morale boosts he could get today. He stepped into the study and set the business phone up to rebuff callers – it seemed a little distressed at the prospect, so he told it to offer to take a message from anyone who was particularly insistent. He took its silence as assent and ran through a checklist in his head.
No cases to delay, Monica’s going to be away for the rest of the week, but I’ll probably have to tell Casey I’m welshing on dinner tonight. Better take the car instead of a cab; don’t want to be late for my meeting with Mr Big.
He put on his hat and grabbed the car keys.
Time to go to work.