“This isn’t an Alphard wine,” said the Angel, taking a sip from the glass.

“No, sir,” said the bartender nervously. “We don’t have any. But it’s from Valkyrie, which has excellent vineyards. It’s a fine vintage, truly it is.”

The Angel took another taste while the bartender watched him apprehensively, and finally nodded his approval. The bartender immediately signaled to an assistant, who brought the bottle to the table.

“What do I owe you?” asked Angel.

“It’s on the house, sir.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir. It’s a pleasure to serve you.”

“Thank you,” said the Angel, dismissing them and watching as they rapidly retreated to their posts behind the bar.

“This isn’t very fair,” said Virtue.

“What isn’t?”

“I’m drinking coffee and you’re drinking wine.”

“Were you under the impression that life was fair?” asked the Angel ironically.

“I could be drinking whiskey and playing cards,” she continued sullenly, glancing over toward the reporters, who were casting furtive glances in her direction.

“They don’t want your company.”

“What makes you think not?” demanded Virtue.

“Because you’ve been sitting here talking to me. They’ll wait for what they think is a proper interval—perhaps another five minutes—and then leave before you can rejoin them.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“This happens all the time?” she continued.

“Yes.”

“You must be a very lonely man.”

“There are compensations,” he replied dryly. “Surely Sebastian Cain has said as much to you.”

“I’m not certain that he agrees with you.”

“Then why is he a bounty hunter?” asked the Angel, suddenly interested.

“He wants to do something important,” she said with a cynical smile. “Or meaningful. Whichever comes first.”

“God save us from moral men with good intentions,” said the Angel. He took another sip of his wine and relit his cigar, which had gone out.

“I can see where an abundance of them might put you out of business,” commented Virtue.

“I don’t foresee that as an imminent danger,” said the Angel. “Let’s get back to Cain. The money trail is a lot easier to follow than the smuggling trail; why did he choose the latter?”

“That was where he got his first hard information.”

“Information’s not that difficult to come by.”

“Maybe you’re better at extracting it than he is.”

“You make him sound something less than formidable,” remarked the Angel. “This is contrary to my assessment of him, especially considering how far he’s gotten.”

“Bounty hunters aren’t all alike,” replied Virtue, reaching into her satchel and withdrawing a cigarette. “For example, I have a hard time envisioning Cain killing anyone—and I have an equally hard time picturing you letting anyone live.”

“You misjudge me. I only kill fugitives.”

“What about Giles Sans Pitié?”

“And fools,” he amended.