An old punk song blared out of the speakers, covering my entrance into the Gateway. The old operator’s eyes were closed underneath bushy eyebrows but his fingers sketched intricate patterns into the air, dancing to the drums.

I cleared my throat above the music. “Miglenn, I need to see Brighton.”

One bleary eye shot open. When he saw it was me, Miglenn snuggled back into his chair and closed his eye. “Brighton, eh? That’s going to cost you. You’re going to have to do better than you did last time, boy. Elton John’s taken a dip lately.”

Bribery and haggling never really worked together and I had too much to lose. I had to lead with the best. “How far does a sixty-nine Space Oddity get me?”

Miglenn let loose a startled squawk as he fell out of his chair. Slowly his head rose past the edge of the desk and back into view. “How did you get your hands on that?”

“Never you mind- that’s my business. Your business is to create connections. Can it be done?”

Miglenn snorted. “Anything can be done for David Bowie.”