November 9, 2008. 2:41 PM. The Door Comes Down.
Having no need for the pork, Bigwiggins had disposed of it the moment the radio conversation was done and he'd sent up the set.
How much time had passed since then? Hours, he was sure. Two, ten... it felt more like ten, but he was miserable and impatient and he didn't even have a clock to watch, so probably less. He'd taken to the studio and begun picking at a random Miss Marple story that completely failed to hold his interest when he heard the first rattlings of construction work.
Right, the logistics. Setting the lines of powder in place, vertically... making sure nothing else gets burned down in the process... time wasn't as much of the essence as he'd pictured in his head. Blame the movies for that.
He'd have no trouble getting to the cantina, and there was no sense keening in front of the garbage chute if he could simply curl up numbly in his camp bed.
---
It was one of the most surreal points in Stone's career. There was a sense in which Kira was gone, never to darken his doorstep again. And there was a sense in which Bigwiggins mourned that. Most surreally of all - Stone found he could understand both at once. Stone motioned for the door guard as he entered. There were desultory signs of life in the studio - Agatha Christie would be Bigwiggins for certain, and that card deck was neatly stacked, but not boxed and put away. There wasn't a sound.
Bigwiggins, he called. Bigwiggins - we're here.
Nothing.
A pang struck him: what if the four hours' delay had been too much for Bigwiggins? He wanted to discount that out of hand, but... the boy he'd heard this morning simply didn't seem like the same who'd gone in on the sixth.
He rushed into the cantina (the forensics duo rushed to back him up.)
Bigwiggins--
Not dead, no. Stupid fear, really. Just dead asleep, right there. Not even out of his day mask.
He handled the waking as gently as he could, but Bigwiggins rose like he'd been pulled from the bottom of a lake.
We need to get you out. Can I - can I make you something?
Bigwiggins smiled wanly. Stone. Where were you?
Stone shrugged in a professional way. He didn't actually have an adequate answer to that question himself.
I could kind of go for a specialty coffee right now. I'm a little sick of 3-in-1. He shook his head. No, I just... I just don't want to be here. You know. But egg coffee's a plus.
He blinked at the others. Gonna -- verify, huh. Look, I... I really don't want to talk about it again.
That's fine, said Stone, although nothing was. They can see for themselves.
I... need to bring you up to speed, before some idiot out there rushes to it, or you find out on the news... (Bigwiggins' attention visibly sharpened.) I'll make what's in the cabinet for you, all right? Why not out in the studio, where it's a little more...
Bigwiggins peered around the green screen. That honor guard in the doorway's a bit... I mean, what else have you got for me? Mink coat, kimono of many colors? His voice seemed steadier already.
This was Bigwiggins, after all. He'd be all right.
Did Near arrange this...? And -- up to speed--
In the end. He'd be all right in the end.
No, Spiderkiller can think for himself. He doesn't think it's necessary to shut Near out, but he's humoring us. Anyway, the point of the guard is that Lady Phantasme's dead, and that means we're not taking chances... sit down, please. I'll fix you some ube.
Bigwiggins sat as though his knees had been kicked out from under him. So, he had an inkling of what must come next in this conversation.
