When she sang for The Curfew, Hollis Henry’s face was known worldwide. She still runs into people who remember the poster. Unfortunately, in the post-crash economy, cult memorabilia doesn’t pay the rent, and right now she’s a journalist in need of a job. The last person she wants to work for is Hubertus Bigend, twisted genius of global marketing; but there’s no way to tell an entity like Bigend that you want nothing more to do with him. That simply brings you more firmly to his attention.
Milgrim is clean, drug-free for the first time in a decade. It took eight months in a clinic in Basel. Fifteen complete changes of his blood. Bigend paid for all that. Milgrim’s idiomatic Russian is superb, and he notices things. Meanwhile no one notices Milgrim. That makes him worth every penny, though it cost Bigend more than his cartel-grade custom-armored truck.
The culture of the military has trickled down to the street—Bigend knows that, and he’ll find a way to take a cut. What surprises him though is that someone else seems to be on top of that situation in a way that Bigend associates only with himself. Bigend loves staring into the abyss of the global market; he’s just not used to it staring back.
