Zero History

47. IN THE CUISINART ATRIUM
Heidi, for some reason, knew a great deal about custom vehicular armor. Perhaps it was
a Beverly Hills thing, Hollis thought, as Aldous wound them deeper into the City, or a
Ponzi scheme thing, or both. Heidi and Aldous, with whom Hollis could see Heidi was
flirting, though still at a level of solid deniability, were deep in a discussion of whether or
not Bigend had been wise to insist on power windows for the front set of doors, which
had meant forgoing a bulletproof documentation slot on the driver’s side, through which
papers might be presented without opening either the door or the window. The power
windows, Heidi maintained, meant that the doors were necessarily armored to a lower
standard, with Aldous firmly insisting that this was not the case.
“I wish I didn’t have to see him now,” said Milgrim, beside Hollis in the back seat. “I
have to tell him something.”
“So do I,” said Hollis, not caring whether Aldous heard, though she doubted that he
did. “I’m quitting.”
“You are?” Milgrim looked suddenly bereft.
“Meredith’s changed her mind about telling me who the Hounds designer is. Her reason
for doing that left me thinking I should let the whole thing go.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll tell him I can’t do it. That should be that.” She wished she were as confident as
she’d just sounded. “What do you have to tell him?”
“About Preston Gracie,” said Milgrim, “the man Foley’s working for.”
“How do you know that?”
“Someone told me,” said Milgrim, and actually squirmed. “Someone I met.”
“Who’s Preston Gracie?”
“Mike,” Milgrim said. “She says they’re all named Mike.”
“All who?”
“Special soldiers.”
“He’s a soldier?”
“Not anymore. An arms dealer.”
“She who?”
“Winnie,” said Milgrim, his voice catching. “She’s a … cop.” This last emerging, Hollis
thought, as though he were having to confess, in utmost seriousness, to having had a
conversation, or perhaps some more intimate exchange, with some other species entirely.
“Well, sort of a cop. Worse, probably. A DCIS agent.” He pronounced this “deesis,” and
she had no idea what it meant.
“That’s British?”
“No,” said Milgrim, “she followed me from Myrtle Beach. What she does is about