“Sokol passed the word that she travels with bounty hunters—first the Songbird, then Father William, and now you. That meant if I tried for a hit out in the open, I’d have to go for you, too, and I didn’t like the odds. So I figured the safest way to go about it was to damage your ship and kill her when she came back here. Believe me, Angel,” he said sincerely, “I never intended to kill you. I did everything I could to keep you out of the way while I went about my business.”

“You make it sound as if killing me is perfectly acceptable!” snapped Virtue.

“Well, you must have done something to him, or he wouldn’t have ordered the hit,” said Simon.

“What I did is between him and me,” said Virtue.

“Not anymore, obviously,” commented the Angel. He turned to Simple Simon. “I’ve got one last question to ask you: How much did Sokol offer?”

“Fifty thousand credits.”

“That much?” said Virtue, impressed.

“Virtue, I want you to remember that figure,” said the Angel. “All right, Simon. It’s time for that dryshower.”

“But I didn’t try to kill you!” said Simon desperately.

“You’re a wanted man, with a price on your head.”

“Dead or alive!” protested Simon. “Contact the police and turn me over to them!”

“The dryshower,” said the Angel emotionlessly.

“But why? I’m worth the same to you either way!”

“I’m in a race, and you cost me three days.”

“And you’re going to kill me for that? This is crazy!”

The Angel pointed his weapon at Simple Simon. “Start walking or I’ll kill you right where you’re sitting.”

Simon, very real tears of fear streaming down his face, reluctantly got to his feet and walked into the bathroom. The Angel followed him, and a moment later Virtue heard a single shriek of utter agony. Then the Angel emerged.

“Good riddance,” said Virtue. “Imagine! The son of a bitch didn’t see anything wrong with killing me!”

“After I collect the reward, I think I’ll inform your friend Sokol that I expect him to pay for the repairs to my ship.”

“He’ll never do it.”

“I have ways of encouraging him,” said the Angel dryly. “Now I want you to take a look at Simple Simon.”

“Why?”

“Because I said to.”

She shrugged and walked into the bathroom. Simple Simon lay on his back, his face and part of his torso burned away by the hundreds of tiny laser beams that had struck him when the Angel activated the dryshower. There was a smell of cooking flesh, and thin streams of black smoke rose from a number of his wounds.

Virtue resisted the urge to vomit and staggered back into the bedroom.

“God, he looks horrible!” she admitted.

“He died a horrible death,” replied the Angel calmly.