One thing about a few drinks; you didn’t get so cold. You didn’t feel it too much, anyway.
The Shark still had his light on when they arrived. Clayton whispered to Parks: “I’ll go in. He knows me. He wouldn’t sell it if you were around. You got eight credits?”
“Sure I got eight credits. Just a minute, and I’ll give you eight credits.” He fished around for a minute inside his parka, and pulled out his notecase. His gloved fingers were a little clumsy, but he managed to get out a five and three ones and hand them to Clayton.
“You wait out here,” Clayton said.
He went in through the outer door and knocked on the inner one. He should have asked for ten credits. Sharkie only charged five, and that would leave him three for himself. But he could have got ten—maybe more.
When he came out with the bottle, Parks was sitting on a rock, shivering.
“Jeez-krise!” he said. “It’s cold out here. Let’s get to someplace where it’s warm.”
“Sure. I got the bottle. Want a drink?”
Parks took the bottle, opened it, and took a good belt out of it.