Jack Chalker - Ghost of the Well of Souls

Ming smiled. “I promise. If you keep the master bedroom private and don’t get so holy you disconnect the bar.”

“For you, there will always be one special place here. That I promise.”

Ming sighed. “How long before we have a hope of being picked up?”

“Oh, probably a week, perhaps a bit more,” Angel told her. “There used to be wall-to-wall patrols here, but it’s a deserted neighborhood now. I’ll change that, though.”

Ming looked at O’Leary. First at his eyes, then his biceps, then lower. “Can we have that room until then, at least? And a little bit of privacy?”

“Of course. All you wish I will provide here so long as you need it.”

“How ’bout it, O’Leary? It’s been a real long time.”

Genghis O’Leary laughed. “Well, now, how can an old snake like me turn down an offer like that? After you!”

They both walked down toward the living quarters as Angel began to methodically disassemble the Straight Gate, hopefully for good.

Ari looked at Angel, at the hall, and at the receding couple, and sighed.

“What the hell,” she said to herself in a low tone. “Wouldn’t be the first or last time I got screwed by a cop.”