The warning sounded stupid until Blue found the pay slot.
It sat below the turntable handle, half buried under black grease. A narrow brass mouth had been cut into the side of the housing. The edges were worn smooth by years of use, not decoration. Somebody had pushed the same size token through that slot so many times the metal remembered the motion.
"Diaz built a toll into the turntable, and I respect him before I understand him," Blue said.
JJ crouched beside her and kept her sword angled away from the case.
"Tell me the toll wants money and not anything personal," JJ said. "I am running low on patience for dead workers with symbolic demands."
Blue scraped grease from the slot with Marcus's bit.
"It wants a day chit from the maintenance office," Blue said. "Small oval piece, probably brass, probably stamped by the maintenance office."
Ty looked at the calendar strip with his shoulder against the wall.
