IC 2071
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IC 2071
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Frustrated Becky went back to Torrent to close the deal. She was uncertain why the orc has chosen that specific crowd, a sociopath decker that pretends to be a talking dog, a man that might roll over and die before we even reach San Francisco an elf that seem to be obsessing with little pieces of paper and her…
“I wonder how strange I appear to this crowd.” She thought.
She poured some whiskey to Torrent and whomever returned to the table, and said “Now that Al is gone we are going to be delayed a bit until he sobers up. How urgent is this gig? Would it be alright to leave tomorrow noonish?”
-
After Al has stormed off into the night, the dog slipped off after him, and Willis departed in a wave of misery, Forty finds herself alone with Torrent, not sure if Becky will come back to the table. She re-arranges the empty cups to a pattern she likes more, meanwhile deciding what spirit to send after Willis. The troll reminds her of Mr. Bonsai a bit for some reason, so she thinks about a plant spirit, but then she remembers what good trackers dogs are, and then beast seems like a better idea. And she knows just the spirit for the job — The Nose.
She let’s Torrent know “I’m going to send a spirit to track Willis, see if he’ll come back.” Torrent raises one eyebrow slightly and says “He said he works at the clinic up the road, wouldn’t it be easier to find him there?”
Forty stares at him for a few long seconds, before deciding that the words were a simple comment, not a jab at her intelligence. “Yah, I’ll do that. Go there after this.” After a moment she adds “Gonna bring up the spirit anyway.”
She takes the unused willpower preparation and tells herself ‘Be strong Forty,’ but the kami give only a sparring blessing. Then she rolls her shoulders, squints, and calls upon The Nose, promising to sacrifice something nice smelling to it when she gets back to the Shrine. Soon she can feel the presence of the spirit, but she has it stay on the other side for now.
Spoiler:Then Becky re-joins them and asks for another day to get the group pulled together. Forty adds in “We’re quite the the group of something-somethings, hunh? Yunno, I fragged up my first meeting with a Johnson too, but the rest of the group got me past that and we got paid at the end for getting the job done I still want this job; the drunk is shifty and he must need the money; I don’t have a fragging clue wassup with the fragging dog, but it uses a commlink and seems interested in this; Willis we can probably reel in and guilt into doing this.” She gives Becky a nod and finishes “She said it; give us a day and you’ll have your group — if you still want it after all the allness of crap there.”
She takes a break when Roxxie finally shows up, declines the free drink, and heads out soon after Torrent has given his reply.
Once in the darkness she has The Nose manifest. It isn’t a lot of a fighter, but with its long low-slung body surrounded by thick legs, the narrow skull with long, thin, flexible nose, it doesn’t look like anything you’d see around here normally — that alone might keep some people from bugger her.
She messages the dog >>Khili {Forty] Hoi, you follow Al or Willis???<< The dog was probably start enough to follow them from the start, so that might be the easiest way to track one or the other down.
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As every mornng since moving into their basement, Al was awakened at the crack of dawn by the Khmer. Khmer women, who found it necessary to start yammering and gossipping with one another over their laundry and outdoor breakfast grilling the moment the sun came up. Khmer children, infatuated with Chab Kon Kleng, possibly the noisiest game every contrived for the torture of hard-working adults. And of course just a few blocks down the sharp slope, where the small working class Asian enclave gave way to the prosperous commercial heart of Downtown Seattle’s International District, the din of fresh produce and seafood deliveries – honking of horns, chattering of tradesmen, whine of hydraulics – rolled up from the bustling restaurant quarter.
Al’s head had apparently been struck by an axe while he slept, or at least that was how it felt. And before he opened his eyes, he smelled wet dog. Which made him remember the night before, or most of it anyway. He lifted his lids and was grateful once again for the only good thing about being stuck with fake eyes – the shafts of sunlight stabbing into the room through cracks in the dilapidated masonry did not hurt as much when he was hung over.
Of course, they also did not provide enough light to see by, so he said, “Lights. Trid.” And when the bare bulb hanging overhead and the salvaged trid sitting above the water on crates across from his divan came to life, he was greeted not only with the sight of the dog from the night before, but also Willis.
The other thing about cybereyes was that they could not flash in fell anger.
Holding up a warning finger, just as he had from the floor the night before, Al forestalled the child speaking before he could get his head around formulating a civilized response.
The troll was sitting on one of the two sturdy crates holding up one end of the board that formed his beer table. The armored dog was on a stack of old screamsheets Al used as soyrito plates. On the table in easy reach was a bag. A pain in his leg reminded him of the rest of the previous evening, and he sat up. His medkit was also open on the table, and the wound had been dressed. Nice damned work. Troll hands couldn’t have done it. Al congratulated himself on the nice job he’d done on himself before passing out, and added first aid to the long list of things such as driving and fighting that he actually did better when drunk.
Now the child. Shit. Fact was, Al admired him. They didn’t know each other that well, but Al had done him a good turn a few days back, and the kid clearly had a robust sense of obligation, which was something Al appreciated greatly. And clearly he was only trying to help, even when such assistance was not welcome, which also blunted the sharpness of Al’s response. He reached for the sack and looked inside. “Much obliged, kid. But ol’ Al don’t take pain drugs like no damned hippy. Done already treated the burn myself, an’ with my own damn meds. That’s what those of us what’re gainfully employed do. An’ this other crap – boy, ol’ Al ain’t sick, an’ if I was, hell, I’d go to the doctor.” He put the bag back on the table and slid it towards the troll. “Take that back ta yer pill-pushin’ friend. He’s got people need it a whole lot more’n this mother’s son.”
He once again held up a finger when it looked like the horned interloper was going to speak. “Boy, reckon I appreciate yer tryin’ ta help. Ya got a good heart. An’ my ma said ya can never do wrong by doin’ right. So I’m gon’ assume ya done given offense in ignorance, which is o’ course ta be expected with yer kind, an’ so not yer fault, strictly speakin’. But they’s a few things yer gon’ have ta git straight. Mainly thus: I decide somethin’ fer myself, it ain’t fer you or no one else ta decide they know better. Period. An’ corrollary ta that, ya put yer hands on me again, I’ll break ya. Yer pretty damned strong, so it might be later, when yer asleep. But ya lay hands on me again….” Al took a breath to maintain his even tone as the previous night’s manhandling (well, trollhandling) came back to his clouded mind. “An’ ya never come into a man’s castle uninvited. What are ya, some kind o’ damned socialist? So now ya know some basic human courtesies, since yer here anyhoo, whyn’t ya fetch that cooler in the water over there an’ open us a couple o’ brews. An’ tell me what ya think whoever armored up that dog is gon’ do ta you – an’ probably me – when he finds his animal here in my place.”
-
Willis listens to Al, a bit amused that the man is holding up fingers to keep him from talking when he was not really intending to say anything until the man was finished anyway. When he is done and looks like he might be ready to listen, Willis begins talking in his slow and measured manner by raising a hand and ticking his points off on his fingers.
“First, the medicines are not strictly speaking for you, Mister Al. I heard you say you were taking care of yourself so that means using supplies from a kit. If you are hired to go to work, your kit should be full or others might be in jeopardy due to a used up kit, so I brought these to help refill the kit.”
“Second, You can argue all you want, Mister Al, but you were wrong to try to hurt yourself to prove a point. Lots of people are hurt and injured and do not know the extent of the damage and need someone to help them. So maybe you were not so drunk as to not be able to get home last night, but no one else could see that. I am thinking that everyone who just let you walk off is no friend to you, Mister Al. But Khili and I, we wanted to help and trying to hurt us for that is just wrong. Just so you know, I will try to be better at knowing if you need help next time, but if I think you are hurting yourself by refusing help, then you just have to be prepared to kill me and I will not resist it because it is a friend’s God given responsibility to help another friend. I can’t read none…..anything…….but I was read to lots from the good book and the drummer lady down at the clinic is always quoting scripture and there is lots of times when friends helped other friends, no matter the personal risk. I don’t think you want to go against the scriptures, do you?”
“Third, I did not see no……any…….moat or knights guarding this place so I did not think it is a castle. Besides, the door was open and inviting.”
“Fourth, I was out earlier and saw the people in the neighborhood. I brought us breakfast, which I have already shared with Khili there. He was very nice about it and I hope you are, too, Mister Al.”
“Fifth, this is not a normal dog. He is special dog His name is Khili and he wants to be your friend and help you, too. Just like me. I do not think someone is looking for him to hurt us for him being here.”
Willis holds up his hand with all the fingers down. “No more fingers but I have one more thing to say. I don’t hold with drinking beer for breakfast so go get it yourself. Now, if you think this is lunch, I might reconsider and go get us one.”
He shrugs. “So what’s it gonna……………going………..to be, Mister Al? Are you going to let us be your friends or do we have to just do it anyway and let you be all mad at us?”
-
Your electric ghost box sings and you do the ritual that lets out the pictures. It is a message from the ghost bird woman. You taught her well it seems. You answer:
<<I have followed the drunk and taken care of him. If by Willis you mean the even stronger male then no, I did not follow him, but he nonetheless is here. I had asked him to care for the drunk and it seems he took my plea to heart. Everything is well.>>When the even stronger male turns to you, you sigh. Again you have your electric ghost display it’s true name of numbers so his ghost can see them. When the ghosts start talking to each other you reply to him:
<<It is good of you to have come too. I will rest now. And be gentle with the drunk when he wakes. He is hurting and he hates leashes. Do not leash what wants to be free.>>The rest is all to short and even the sun comes up despite this being a dank cave under the ground. You are hungry again. The rat didn’t last and somewhere someone is using fire to make meat taste better. And you are thirsty – but not thirsty enough to drink from the sick water.
You look up as the drunk raises himself up. If he takes his fire box out you are ready to take it away from him, for Thekla will not be kind to you all if you have to call her so soon again. -
[Early Morning, Sunday August 2nd, 2071; Downtown, Seattle Metroplex]
This was why Torrent hated these kind of gigs…fragging amateurs…but there was too much power wrapped in this dysfunctional lot to go on the hunt for more, and they certainly fitted the bosses description of the type of runners wanted…so even if one of them looked like a reject from a zombie trid it looked like he had the start of a team.
They hadn’t had a chance to iron out the logistics before half of them stormed out but he had provided the two elves with sufficient additional intel to get them started and they had his commcode if they needed more. With Al’s parting shot about IDs he had taken the liberty of arranging a coyote to meet them…it would appear that legitimate travel was out, not that he had expected anything more…
#06
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Becky nodded when Forty mentioned the something somethings – she had the same feeling. “I hope I do not have to babysit all of them.” She thought but then again – whatever it was that Torrent saw in her got her a job. After the meetup Becky rushed to the car where she was united with her one and only – Katana. She drove extremely fast to her dojo where she changed to traditional clothing and then trained for several hours with the crossbow and swords.
What Becky hated about her body was that while she was stronger than average, she felt that she was fighting the genetics of her delicate Dryad body that simply lacked the potential of more robust meta humans. She hoped that her newly awakening magic will change all that. After about 3 hours of training, and practicing methods to focus her Ki into stronger and more precise strikes. Becky moved to lifting weights, where she pushed her humble weights hoping to finally improved. Finally, she concluded with a run up and down the stairs to improve her stamina. She was soaking wet sweaty when she was done, and stripped to shower at the now abandoned dojo.
The shower was cold and unsatisfying hot water were rationed and brought the water to just bearable levels. Satisfied, Becky changed to her expensive dress and then drove her car to her home away from town. Becky found it strange that just moving there from Redmond seemed to change her entire emotional state – as if she was part of that place. Becky bit her lower lip when she figured that disconnecting from her home for an extended amount of time is going to be painful.
She fell asleep quickly and at the morning she found a gift wrapped belt swords that were placed next to her bed along with a note that said “Good luck. beautiful – RF. There were many things to say about Roger Finnigan. He was brutal, vicious and ruthless and powerful. Yet, he had a soft spot for her and respected Becky for wanting to be more than a trophy wife.
Though Becky felt that deep inside Roger hoped that this phase would too pass – along with the swordplay phase that started two years ago.Phase or no phase, Becky found three blades made of smart steel. one as a large and fashionable black belt and the others fashioned as bracelets. “I will never be unarmed again” She thought as she buckled her new blades into her outfit, let’s make it red today. She ordered the armored dress, that suddenly appeared completely different than the day before. “Praise the Lord for Ruthenium polymer, saves plenty of money on clothes… ”
She packed some clothes, power bars and her weapons loaded the trunk of her dust buggy and texted:>>Team – we got the job: We have to meet with a Coyote at 14:00 so let’s meet at 12:00 am for lunch. Al I hope that you are still alive and feel better.
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The longer the infant troll spoke, the lower Al’s opinion sank and the more his head hurt. He inwardly uttered a prayer of gratitude that the kid had only five fingers. When he was finally done, Al, having done his best to pay attention throughout, organized the troll’s speech into three main points – beer, freedom, and imaginary dog friends. The first was important, the second academic at this juncture, and the third better just not to encourage.
He gave Willis a tired smile as he leaned on things to work his way on one foot over to the cooler. “Well, kid, if yer not gon’ fetch a damned beer, what the hell good are ya?”
After opening one for himself and downing it, he opened a second for himself and put a third on the table in case the troll changed his mind. Poured a little of his own into a dirty dish from the sink and put it in front of the stolen dog, who looked thirsty.
Lying back down on the sofa, he croaked, “Sure kid, ya wanna be friends, your world. Don’t matter much anyhoo – reckon I’ll be headin’ out soon on that job I overheard ya so wisely takin’ a pass on. An’ since Frisco’s half the way ta Hollywood, it’s even odds I’ll skip the trip back an’ jist keep goin’ south. So, been nice knowin’ ya. Like I said, ya got a good heart.”
It was then that Al’s comm chirped. Coincidentally, Willis’s did as well. Al looked at his own message. His was from Precious, carbon copied to a bunch of commcodes he didn’t know. He nodded to himself. Lives to save. Texted back <<Sure I’m a alive, hon. Feeling better? I was feeling better last night. Shoot me the when and the where…>>
“An’ speakin’ o’ the devil, kid, gotta roll in a few. Yer welcome ta hang while I pack up my shit.”
-
Becky texted the team>>>Let’s meet at Confessions club at 12:00, they have a nice(ish) restaurant. Who has cars? Do we all fit in? I can take 3 more in my car. Oh, and the owner is a friend so behave.
Then she texts her contact, the owner of the club
>> Libi, I am bringing some friends for lunch. I know that you try to get some traffic during the days as well. Set us a table and let’s hope they will be impressed. Kisses, Becky.
P.S make it a rear table as they are a bit volatile.
The confessions club/restaurant and grill was set at an abandoned church near touristville. The area was in gang territory but the proximity to touristville meant that it was a place to slum it for rich kiddos. The alter was replaced with a large wooden bar and the walls were decorated with tables and chairs. In the middle there was a dance floor which was now empty. If at all, the place was clearly more attractive at night. Though the delicious smell of a slowly roasting pork that was cooked in an outside oven made up for many deficits. Unlike other places, Confessions had minimalistic AR decor, and the owners trusted the old vitrages and pictures to brand the place as a sin bin. Another notable decor was the entrance to the basement, that decorated as the gateway to hell with two three headed dog statues – one on each side of the stairs. Subtle, trid technology made one of the heads appear to be looking directly at you from every angle you looked at them.
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Willis looks at Khili for some sort of guidance in this situation. He is surprised when his ‘link buzzes and pulls it up out of his shirt by the cord around his neck that Doc had given him to make sure he did not lose it. After all, finding a ‘link that a troll of his size could use is rare enough that it would be hard to get a replacement if he dropped his. His heart jumps when he reads the message and he just does not really stop to wonder how his contact information had gotten out. Not that it was a secret or anything, but he really had no one but Doc to talk to on it, and now he was being included as part of a team call.
Now, to be honest, Willis had never been part of a team of any kind before and he finds the offer exciting, but he knows that no one has ever wanted him to be part of a team before and the idea creeps into his mind that this is a joke. However, he knows that he is not good with things like his ‘link, so he might have pushed a button that gave his comcode out to someone else. He has always had trouble with electronic stuff, which is why Doc and a few others in the neighborhood use him to move heavy things and not to talk on the ‘link. He has no issue with that as it just is what it is. He makes the decision to check it out in the only way he really knows. >>Don’t know who you are and don’t know where to meet.<<
He turns to where Al is and nods his head. “OK, Mister Al, you do look a bit better this morning so I will leave you to your own care. I got somewhere to be, although it is a mystery to me. But then, most things are a mystery to me.” He laughs at himself as he gets up and puts the huge iron bar across his shoulder. “I don’t wanna………want to…………leash you any, so I hope to maybe see you around some time. Thank you for offering the beer, but it is still too early in the day for me.”
Willis looks at the dog and wiggles his ‘link at him. “So long Khili. It looks like he made it through the night and now it is time to go. Doc will be wondering what happened to me. Call me if you need help and I will try to be there.”
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Willis gets the second message as he walks back home. He still doesn’t know who is calling him, but it is the same person, so he nods his head. It takes him three tries to get the ‘link to work right and allow him to find the restaurant’s location. He whistles, that is a long walk, even for him. But if he heads over there right away he can maybe make it by noon. He picks up his pace, eating up large amounts of ground with each step, arriving at the clinic in far less time than it had taken him to get to Al’s flop.
He grabs the only things he really owns, which includes a large armored jacket he had been given from a jumble bin at the church. He is pretty sure he got it because he was the only person there that could wear it. It is still a bit tight, but it works. He only has two sets of clothes and what he has on now is not fit to wear anywhere so he switches clothes and digs out his stash of nuyen scrip. With yesterday’s take, he has 987 nuyen to his name. Walking back out to the front of the clinic, Willis hands Doc 500 nuyen. “Here, Doc, I was gonna…….going to………..give you this. I may be gone for a bit so you watch yourself.
He gives the older man a gentle hug and nods when the man tells him to be careful of people who will try to take advantage of a nice guy. The kind doctor would have said more, but he knows that once Willis gets an idea in his head, there is little anyone can do to change it. Willis shoulders his large iron bar and leaves the clinic, headed for this Connections place.
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“Yeah, sure, so long, kid….Stay away from drugs.”
Al congratulated himself again on saving the deficient troll’s life, even as he listened to the boy talking with the dog on his way out. Yikes.
Once the troll and his giant iron bar were gone Al shrugged and restocked his medkit from what the kid had left. Then he put his galoshes on with a wince and started sloshing around the place putting everything he wanted to take into a plastic garbage bag. And the next text came from Precious.
Shit, all the way over to Redmond? He’d have to hustle. He texted back, <<Shotgun.>> and noticed the damned dog was still sitting there. “Well kemo sabe, ya want it, she’s yours. I do not expect ta be back.”
Once he had everything else in the bag, there was the Defiance. No real way to conceal it, and it made using a cab a hassle. He’d get Hun to give him a ride. He headed out and up the steps, and as he changed the galoshes for his Docs, there was the dog. He shook his head. Went out to find Hun. The dog followed. Spotted Hun yelling at some of the women to launder faster. Went over to the little guy standing there in his white shirt and cinched up tie. The dog followed.
“Okay pooch, reckon I’m goin’ ta work. Go an’ find yerself a bone or somethin’.”
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[8am, Sunday August 2nd, 2071 / Forty]
Once Torrent had passed along the key info, and Khili had confirmed having eyes on BOTH Al and Willis, Forty had congratulated herself on her choice of contacts, then had gone home to sleep. It hadn’t been long enough, but it had been the blissfully deep sleep of one who doesn’t know what to worry about. She’d barely grumbled when her link had woken her up, and she hadn’t even minded that breakfast had been plain ramen noodles.
But now …. “Frag it Sylvia, why do you have to be such a bitch when you aren’t chipped out?”
“What? All I did was remind you that you are supposed to see your parole officer this week.”
Forty punched one hand into the other “Exactly! If you hadn’t, I could’ve said I forgot, and it wouldn’t have been a lie. But I’m not that fragging great of a liar, not sure I can sell it.”
Sylvia kept her face and voice quite neutral as she suggested “You’ll have to turn it down I guess. It sounds like a bad lot to be mixed up with anyway.”
Forty got up and paced the small room. “That’s pure drek, that idea. The money’s too good not to take it. I can fix this, I’m sure I can.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet! Shut up and let me think. Wait, think — I know, I’ll be down at the shrine.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
After carrying down and setting up some of the smaller items that were more apt to walk off on their own (despite the local gang protection), Forty burned the offering she’d promised to The Nose. She didn’t know if the spirits truly cared about such things, they never seemed to say, but she always felt that it was best to deal straight with them.
That done, she sat down to beseech aid from the Kami. She took her time and carefully composed the request, using her best writing, and making sure address the shrines special guardians, making sure to imbue the prayer with plenty of power — she could feel the drain on her system from the effort. Once done she immediately held it and ordered “Think smart Forty.” It was a good one, and for a couple of minutes she could hold all of the parts of the situation in her mind, see how they went together, and come up with a plan.
After she made a couple of somewhat less potent preparations, then took a nap to make sure she was at her best when she needed it.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Forty popped her preparations just before telling her phone to dial the number — or code, or whatever she was supposed to call it– letting the thinking and determination settle in during the long moments before the call was picked up.
“Dukowski here, it’s Sunday morning, this better be an emergency …. aww frag, Perron, what do YOU want?”
“Sorry Officer Dukowski. I’m at your office, but the door ain’t opening.” Forty rattled the locked door for emphasis.
A sigh came from the other side “Just a minute …. Yah, I can see you on the security camera. You really are … look, of course it won’t open, it’s locked. It’s SUNDAY, the parole office ain’t — isn’t — open.”
“Oh.” Forty allowed a pause, then demanded “But I need to see you!”
“Really? And what illegal drek have you done that you are trying to tell me about before I hear through official channels?”
“Nothing happened, I been good. But someone offered me some work this week. Guard work. Guarding a woman — so they need a couple of woman guards, right-right? Follow her to the washroom and stuff. I’m the tough ex-con, got the scars, the scowl and the ‘tude, right? But it is for all week, can’t hike up here in the middle of it, but I have an appointment this week.”
“I don’t suppose this is going to be legit work, with paperwork and taxes and all of that?”
“I dunno. I mean, I got hired from a bar, he didn’t say nothing about taxes …”
The annoyed voice sounded a little more interested now. “OK, look, I know how hard it is to find work when you’re a convicted killer and not so … educated. But I’m trying to keep your out of prison, not get you back into it, so I’ll help you out. How much are they paying you?”
They were finally coming to the hard part. Forty hoped they could get through it before the preparation ran out. “Uh, t….one hundred a day.”
“Don’t lie to me Perron. It’s double that, two hundred a day, isn’t it.”
“Sorry, I won’t do that again. Yah, and its six days maybe.”
“OK Perron, tax rate is 25%, that will be 300 nuyen. You come here a week tomorrow. Monday, not Sunday, got it? And I’ll collect the tax so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“So I don’t have to come this week?”
“That’s the whole point, right? Don’t come this week, come next week, Monday. Can you remember that much — Monday?”
“Yah, Monday. You’ll collect the tax for me.”
“That’s right. And don’t tell anyone, I’m not supposed to be helping you out this way.”
The preparations ended, and Forty rushed to end the call before she lost her story “OK, thank you, Monday next week, won’t tell. Bye.”
She disconnected, picked up her duffel bag, and quickly headed away from the parole office so that the camera wouldn’t be on her anymore. Once she was around the corner she let out a small arm-pump and cawwed “Thank you, you corrupt fragger. Thank the spirits I didn’t get an honest parole officer!” With that she called an auto-cab, and headed to their lunch meeting.
-
Becky was kind of glad that nobody asked for a ride, it allowed her to spend an hour or two practicing with the new smart steel blades. Hardening and flattening them up, they were so cool and Beckie loved her toys. She left home with her katana neatly placed on her back along with a concealed knife, micro crossbow, 2 knifes disguised as a bracelets and a sword disguised as a belt. Having so many weapons made her feel safe, she will never be powerless again.
To Al’s shotgun she texted back >>Sure thing honey, but take a shower if you want the front seat.
Perhaps it was a bit rude, but the drive may be long and the man had poor hygiene.Becky spent about half an hour expertly using cosmetics and enhancing her image until it was exactly what she wanted. Which was composed of a sexy red dress, blue eye shadows and red lipstick. She figured out that if they look at the cleavage they may miss the abundance of blades.
Becky’s car was a dust buggy that was ideal for cruising the outdoors. Her ride was granted to her during her previous phase when she suddenly decided to be into extreme off-road driving. That was one phase before the current blades and bows phase. Yes, Beckie was quick to learn and master new skills but also quick to change her mind – yet even after the phase has passed she still loved driving. Her buggy was modified with extra seatings, an handling upgrade and (Becky’s favorite) – a secondary propulsion system that could turn the buggy into a boat. Sure the speed was unimpressive, but Becky really liked driving up to lakes and then sunbathing topless in the middle of the lake. This often offered enough privacy as most tourists settled for the shores.
“Afterall a girl gotta maintain that perfect skin one way or the other.”
Becky arrives well armed to the Confessions , she briefly hugs the doorman Raul and enters. The place is sort of empty with four or five full tables out of about thirty. Their table is at the back right near the basement entrance with the creepy dogs. Beckie exchanges a few pleasantries with Libi – the owner as well as with the new waitress girl. She is already nursing a cold beer when the first runner enters. If Becky determined a meetup at 12:00 she would be there in 11:30 – time was extremely important to her and 30 minutes were always enough for a quick makeup fix or to avert ‘helmet hair’.
“So nice of you to stop by… how is the job hunt going?”
Becky answered “I got a job! My first one – the Johnson looked so neat and the other runners they are the real deal – I think.”
“Why did you ditch off-road driving. You were deeply into it until recently.”
Becky giggled and smiled “I am into blades now – check out my Katana. It is a Tir original, with the engraving and everything.”
The sword was as pretty as a jewel, decorated with gold engravings and precious looking stones. Mystical writings on its blade would identify it as a weapon focus to those skilled in the art, yet Becky has not yet managed to attune that sword. She always felt that it had a personality of its own and the two girl did not yet understand each other. Yet, Becky tried – every day to attune the sword.
Becky excused herself out of the smalltalk as the first runner showed up.
-
You follow the drunk. He has received a message on his ghost box. It is the work they are supposed to do, you are sure of it. The drunk doesn’t want you to follow him. You respect that.
You think about it. You know the strong male gave the female in heat the details. So you only have to find the female. But the city is large and you don’t want to walk all the way searching for her trail. So it is time to call the wild one to search her for you.
You go back where no-one can see you.
You howl, calling for the wild one.Spoiler:The wild one does not want to be disturbed and he bites. It hurts but he is not stronger than you and no blood flows. You call him a second time – more angry – and again he bites but you bite too and so he has to come.
You tell him to look for the female in heat. While the wild one does what he does you lay down and sleep a bit. You wake up when the wild one tells you he found her. You are still angry at the wild one for biting you and so you force him lay a cloud around you both and have him carry you on his back. The wild one finally acknowledges your command and begins racing forward and up towards the clouds. The wild one is fast and no-one bothers you as you run among the rooftops and you hang on to his fur with your teeth and claws.When you arrive you realize it is a food place and they don’t like dogs. But the wild one doesn’t care and vanishes. So you go behind the building and open the trash. There is food and it is good. You find a bone. It is large and it is juicy. You take the bone and walk to the front door.
You wait for the drunk to show up. -
Hun had, as always, been an asshole about the whole thing. In the end, Al had had to first go with him to interpret a meeting with some realtor Hun was scamming (or, more likely, getting scammed by). Painfully boring stuff, but fortunately all the hard words that Al would never have known a Khmer word for (and doubted there even was one) had come from the realtor’s side, allowing Al to paraphrase the concepts well enough for Hun to follow. The worst part, though, was when Hun announced during the drive to Touristville that he was going to take the opportunity of their time together to practice his English. Al nearly ate his shotgun.
Finally they were a few blocks from the Confessions place.
“Let me out here,” he said in Khmer.
“No, Al, we speak English now.”
“No right back at you, Hun. English time is over. I will get out here.”
Chagrin blended with visible relief, the Southeast Asian man switched back to his native (and essentially only) language. “So why do you want me to drop you here? Embarrassed to be seen with me, you racist asshole.”
Not again. “No Hun. It is a…” Al did not even have the words for what he needed to describe. “…it’s a crime thing.”
“A crime? You will do a crime after I drove you? Cameras have seen my car in this area.” Hun sped up, determined not to let Al out of his car.
“No no curse you. But I meet people for….a job….and they will give me work because they think I am a criminal. If I go there quietly, as a hunter, they will like it better.”
“So you are not meeting people that will make trouble for me. Or that have other people hunting them?”
“No Hun. They are all too unimportant for anyone to hunt them.”
“And you will get paid?”
Al smelled a trap, but it would be easy to avoid. “Hope so.”
“Then I will take my management fee.”
“For what?”
“Driving you here. And keeping your dark secret.”
“You eat cow dung, Hun.”
“Twenty percent.”
“Fine. Deal. Twenty percent of whatever I come back with.” Sucker.
And so it was that Al approached the place on foot, limping only slightly, just far enough over the line from Touristville that the shotgun wasn’t an issue.
And there, outside the door, sat that damned dog.
-
The fragging auto-cab’s programming had barely allowed it enter Redmond. Forty didn’t disagree with it, but all the same their meeting point was up here, instead of somewhere — anywhere — farther from her memories and closer to California. She’d even checked it on her link and Puyallup was definitely closer to California than Redmond was.
She’d been avoiding Redmond since she got out. It was strange, the signs were different, some of the buildings were different, but the street layout was the same. She even saw a young woman hanging out with some punks, trying to look tougher than the guys — looked like the people hadn’t changed that much either.
When she finally found the right place, and stopped cold when she realized where it was. She might have walked away if she hadn’t seen Al and Khili there — the prospect of someone to rant at got her moving forward again.
She didn’t really care if she was interrupting a moment of some sort, she had an anger to use up. “Who the fragging-hell thought it would be ha-ha-ha to meet in a church? A fragging church! My Mami and Papi came here. They took me one time ’cause Momma wouldn’t, and they bought me a new dress that I ripped and got dirty and then I got in trouble for complaining about the bad singing, but … DREK I want to smack someone for this.”
She dropped her duffel bag, which landed with a suspiciously solid and metallic clunk. She winced at the sound, remembering too late that her machine pistol was in there. “It was Becky that chose the spot, right?”
-
The tusker was almost large enough to be a troll. And he had backup in the form of about eight other tuskers and six humans, although on second look the humans were chained together with five men to the front and a women in the rear of a single line. Willis almost missed them because he was moving at a good clip to try to make the restaurant on time for the meeting. Almost missed them.
Coming around a corner, he bumped up against the lead tusker, one Gorgo by name and the leader of a small gang of slavers roaming the Barrens looking for people they could grab to sell off in the Ork Underground, where there was still a market for them. Gorgo sold cheaper than the Yaks and Triads, and the slaves he sold were not oriental, which was a selling point for several of his clients. Gorgo is a very mean and very nasty Ork and it was said of him that he frequently killed one slave out of every shipment to prove that he did not care. His crew was considered just as bad as he was and he was only able to keep them in line because he was bigger and harder than the others.
Now, normally, being knocked on your ass by a troll as large as Willis would be no big deal, but Gorgo lives in a world where everything is based on reputation and being knocked on your ass is not good for that sort of rep, no matter who does it to you. Willis stops to see if the tusker he had knocked down is alright. “Hey, you OK?”
Gorgo jumps up and pushes back against Willis and actually causes the troll to move back a foot. He pulls out a rather large knife and waves it in front of the troll. “You stupid trog! You are going to pay for that.”
Willis holds up a hand. “I didn’t mean nothing…………..anything…………by it. It was an accident.”
Gorgo advances a step. “The only accident around here is your birth.” While, strictly speaking, this was not true since Gorgo’s parentage has never been documented, it did sound good to the tusker and his men, and they all laughed. Gorgo steps forward again and adds, “And I am going to correct that mistake now.”
He lunges at Willis, who barely manages to turn sideways thus putting his unfastened jacket in the way of the knife, which cuts a long gash in the fabric but does not penetrate to the flesh. Willis countered from some sort of primal instinct and slung the iron bar off his shoulder and into Gorgo, causing the Ork ganger to fly back several feet and land in a heap on the ground. Dead silence except from the female slave, who cheered, earning a slap across the face for her boldness. Gorgo put a hand on his waist and waved his knife at the troll. “Get him! Get him. I want to see his blood soaking the street.”
In the time honored way of gangs everywhere, the eight Orks were emboldened by their combined numbers and weapons against a single troll with an iron bar. Five charged in with knives drawn while a sixth reached down to help Gorgo stand up, an action that earned him a cuff at the head. The other two stood back and drew pistols, trying to move about for a good shot.
Now, it has been said elsewhere that Willis is a nice guy. A bit slow in his learning, never having been book taught, and sometimes a bit mulish in his ways, but a nice guy. No one ever said he does not know how to use a club. The large iron bar gives Willis a far longer reach than the Orks with their knives and the first two go down before they take more than a couple of steps and two more fall to the backswing. Suddenly the odds are a bit different and the fifth Ork with a knife takes a cautious step back out of range. The four on the ground are not moving so could be dead or unconscious, a fact that does not embolden the Ork. Gorgo, now standing motions for his two remaining minions to swing wide so that they can come at the troll from different angles. He also calls out over his shoulder for the two gunmen to take a shot.
Suddenly, hell breaks loose from behind the two Orks with pistols as they try to aim for a good shot. There is a man’s yell to stop it and an almost inhuman roar from the woman as she launches herself at one of the Orks, wrapping the length of chain that was linking her arms to the next man around the neck of an Ork. It has been said that Orks are not all that far up the evolutionary intelligence ladder and Gorgo could certainly help prove that point. He has selected chains for his prisoners that allowed them to walk without being too close to the person next in line. He had been too lazy, too incompetent, or just too wrong to make sure that the length of chain securing his slaves was not long enough to do what the woman is doing. The sound of a neck snapping catches the attention of the other gunman and he turns to see the woman standing up from removing the chain from around the neck of the Ork she had just killed. The man next in line to the woman is swearing and yelling at her to stop.
The Ork with the pistol completely forgets his orders to shoot the troll and aims his pistol at the woman, who is balling the chain up in her hand. He laughs, “That won’t help you, bitch! You got to die for that.” He aims his pistol and fires off a round. Elsewhere, Willis takes advantage of the distraction to step forward and swing his iron bar at one of the remaining Orks, catching him across the upper arm and snapping the bone there like it was a twig. Gorgo and the other Ork jump in and take mighty cuts at Willis, Gorgo coming in from behind, and Willis feels the bite as both blades cut into his derma plate. The rush of the two Orks pushes Willis back and he trips, going down on a knee. Gorgo’s remaining henchman raises his knife to bring it down on the troll’s neck when another shot rings out.
The woman has jerked sideways then forwards, pulling the man next to her along with her and causing the Ork’s shot to go wild and miss. She slides to her knees and brings her chain-wrapped fist straight up into the crotch of the Ork with all the power she could put into the punch. Some people have been known to say in certain places that Trolls and Orks have no real pain centers in that area of their bodies, but you can file that bit of information in the category of Urban Legend. Not a bit of truth in that statement. Uh uh. The Ork shrieks once from the pain of his testicles rupturing then falls back onto the pavement, dead or unconscious. The woman picks up the pistol that had fallen from nerveless fingers and points it at the Ork lifting his knife above Willis’ neck and calmly pulls the trigger, sending the large bullet on a direct path to the Ork’s head. The Ork drops lifeless and Gorgo, seeing that things were not going his way today, takes the better part of valor and tries to flee. The woman’s second shot might have taken the Ork boss in his back, but shatters his left arm at the elbow instead because the man chained next to her yanks on the chain, causing her to jerk the shot. Gorgo falls to the street, rolling in agony and clutching his elbow.
Willis stands and walks over to where the woman is pointing the gun at the man next to her and gently takes the gun. She spits at the man and looks up at the troll. “Fine, at least get the keys so I don’t have to spend more time chained to this coward.”
The man is trembling. “But, Macey……..”
“Don’t Macey me, you fragger. if you had not tried to cheat that guy there, we would not be in this position.” Willis is looking around for the keys but his hands are large enough that they do not allow easy access. The woman, apparently Macey, comes over to where Gorgo is, dragging the rest of the slaves with her. She reaches down and goes through Gorgo’s pockets, finally bringing out the keys. She quickly unlocks the chains securing her and tosses the keys to the guy at the opposite end of the line while she goes back to rooting through Gorgo’s pockets, whistling as she pulls a couple of credsticks out. “There, things are looking up already.”
Willis just shakes his head and begins to walk away. He hears the woman call out. “Hey you, big guy, wait a minute.” He turns to see Macey walking over to him. “You can’t just go without letting me thank you.”
Willis shakes his head. “It is not necessary. And you did much, too. Very brave.”
Macey stops for a moment and smiles. A pretty smile. “I have not heard anyone tell me that in a long while. Thanks.”
The man she had been arguing with calls out. “Hey, Macey. Get back here.”
The woman looks at Willis and then back at the man. “You know what, John. Go slot yourself. We’re done.”
“Macey!”
“Yeah, consider this a divorce. Go back and keep slotting Janet and her sister. Yeah, I know all about it because Janet was bragging. Well, I am off to better things now.” She holds up several ‘sticks. “See you never again.” Macey turns and looks at Willis. “Hey, do you think I can walk with you for a bit? It is not really all that safe for a girl on her own out here, you know?”
-
Becky answered “Well of course it was me – I support my old neighborhood as much as I can. This place is the mark of progress, a sin bin is considerably better than a drug den.. I actually lived here over a decade ago – but I do not remember much.” *Eham* Becky cleared her throat realising that she was talking too much again.
“I hope you like the place, did you arrive easy? We are meeting with the Coyote in the basement for privacy. Mr. Love is kind of a night person – got to be with that line of work. The earliest I could get him was 14:00, but well… I figured out after yesterday that we needed margins of error. I really hope that we made a good impression – I am trying to build a working relationship with that guy.”
Becky wanted to show Torrent that they were independent. In the movies it was considered bad practice to contact the Johnson after the run started and rely on him too much. So Becky decided to use her own contact for the job – a man she trusted.
-
Al listened to the women talk about boring details. He was more interested in the dog. How had it beaten Hun’s car here, even with their stop at the realtor’s? How had it known where to come? Crap other people had been saying about this animal started to itch at his brain. Then he remembered something he’d forgotten from the drunken night before. Yup, he had gotten a weird text about a dog.
“Boy, if you comprende English, lick yer balls.”
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