“I’m telling you, I don’t like it.”
“And I’m telling you to shut up,” Crenshaw snapped.
“But it’s dangerous out here,” Addison whined. “I’d rather be back in my cubicle, decking against the Special Directorate. I know how to handle IC.”
The hour was still early, and most of the native wildlife hadn’t crawled out from whatever smelly holes they hid in during the day, but Addison crowded her as though he feared the dilapidated buildings themselves might try to bite him.
Crenshaw didn’t like the Puyallup Barrens any better, but she knew enough not to show fear in the face of a predator. At the very least, there would be several watching from shadowed alleys or darkened, glass-toothed windows. Addison’s nervousness could mark them as outsiders, targets. If that triggered an attack, his nearness could hamper her response. She could get hurt.
She backhanded him across the shoulder and widened the distance. He blinked in surprise. “Just shut up. Keep talking and it will get dangerous. If this deal goes sour because of you, you can try walking back to the arcology.”
“All the way from here?”
“Don’t worry. You probably won’t make it out of Puyallup.”
He scurried to catch up.
One block up, they reached their destination, a dive named Olaf’s. The sign buzzed and crackled as the letters still lit struggled to join the already dead “a.” Huddled by the door were two chipheads. One mumbled a disjointed litany of the sensations swirling through her dying brain, while the other fumbled through the usual sob-story. Crenshaw hurried past, then had to pull Addison away from the grasping hands of the panhandler.
The din of what passed for music was loud even before Crenshaw opened the door. Once inside, the noise was near-deafening. But she knew why the patrons liked it that way. It kept them from hearing the retching at the next table or a fight in the booth behind. More important, no conversation could be overheard.
She adjusted her eyes and saw that, like the streets, the crowd was sparse. She’d be done with her business and long gone before the regulars started to show up for their nightly party. That was fine with her; the regulars at a place like this tended to be toughs who thought they owned the streets and expected to be treated like kings. They were excitable and arrogant, and most of them smelled bad.
Addison stumbling along in her wake, she strode past the bar toward the back room. The barkeep caught the credstick she tossed and leaned to press the stud that unlocked the door.
Once inside the small room and with the door closed, the noise level dropped. Overhead, a small fan chopped ineffectually at air already thick with the odor of crowded humanity. A harsher, more vile stench oozed from the peeling walls and battered furnishings. Crenshaw crossed the room to put her back to the wall opposite the door. Addison followed, nervously eyeing the occupants.
One of the quartet of orks who almost filled half the room did an imitation of the decker’s body language. His companions roared with laughter. Their amusement didn’t touch the two norms in the other half, who sat as far from the orks as from each other. The one nearer the door was thin, almost cadaverous, with metal gleaming from beneath his shirt sleeves and from the implanted shields over his eyes. The other had no obvious cyberware, and seemed as nervous as Addison. The two norms watched Crenshaw and waited. She waited, too, for the orks’ laughter to die down.
“Good evening. I’m Johnson, and this is my associate, Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith will be providing Matrix cover and research as necessary. He will also serve as contact point should any of you wish to pass information outside of arranged meetings.”
The thin man snorted. “Well, well. Shoulda guessed you was the Mr. Johnson. I’d heard you’d moved into this burg, and the ad had your style. Thought you’d clawed up the ladder, A.C. Get your ass trimmed, or you just sprawling for a thrill like the rich folks do?”
“Nice to see you, too, Ridley,” she lied. She hadn’t liked him when he worked for Mitsuhama, and nothing had changed that. But like has nothing to do with it, she reminded herself. It was business, and he was good in the shadows. “New arm?”
Ridley flexed his right arm and stroked the satin-buffed foil sheath that was its skin. “Previously owned. Yak hack tried to geek me with it, but he wasn’t fast enough. I ripped it off to compensate for the trouble he put me to. Nice piece of work, so I kept it.”
“You fast enough with it?” one of the orks asked.
“Try me, tusker.”
The ork snarled and sprang from her chair, drawing a wicked knife from her boot sheath. She got no further because the biggest of the four grabbed her by the collar and slammed her back into her seat.
“Keep it friendly, Sheila.”
Sheila said nothing, but her eyes promised Ridley a reckoning.
“You in charge?” Crenshaw asked the big ork.
“Dat’s right, Mr. J. I’m Kham, and my guys are de best muscle gang on dis side of Seattle.”
“Not gonna claim the whole town?” Ridley scoffed.
“Troof in advertising,” Kham said, which set the other orks to hooting again.
“Quiet down,” Crenshaw ordered. She turned to the norm, who had still said nothing. “I’m glad you could join us tonight, Mr. Markowitz.”
“Stuff the fake courtesy, Johnson. Get on with it. The sooner I’m out of here and away from this gutter, the better I like it.”
“You stuff it, Markowitz,” Ridley said. “I heard about you and the Clemson kidnapping. All very noble, I’m sure, but murder is murder.”
Markowitz started to speak, then merely shrugged as he turned to Crenshaw again. “Can we get on with it, Johnson?”
Before she could reply, the door opened to let a squat figure come strutting through. Dressed in studded leathers whose pattern indicated hidden plates of armor, the dwarf rested his hands on the grips of a matched pair of Ares Predators at his waist.
One of the orks whispered, “Greerson,” and the new arrival smiled tightly. He took a step toward the speaker, who scrambled up from his seat and retreated away from the dwarf. Greerson appropriated the vacant chair, dragged it back to the door, and sat down, leaning the seat back against the pocked wood.
“You’re late,” Crenshaw said.
“You down to business yet?” Greerson asked.
“Just got there.”
“Then I ain’t late.”
Crenshaw waited a few moments to reestablish her control. “None of you are green street punks,” she said slowly, “and you all know the score. We’re going to have to put our differences aside until this job is done right and you’re all paid off. Till then, I want teamwork.”
Greerson eyed the assembled crew with a sneer. “Dump the drek, Johnson. Name the targets and delivery date. If you got enough nuyen, you’ll get what you want. I don’t need any help.”
“Everyone here has valuable skills, Greerson. Some in areas where your own considerable ability does not reach.” Crenshaw ignored the dwarf’s glare. She pulled a handful of hardcopy files from her case, and gave them to Addison to pass around. “Mr. Markowitz has already determined that the principal target has returned to Seattle within the past few days. There are pics and pertinent data from his corporate file. Don’t be fooled by Verner’s innocent face. He’s been edging the shadows since he hit town. I don’t know how big his ring is, but he’s definitely got high-powered connections with access to serious muscle. That’s the reason I need a team like this. The only one of his associates we’ve been able to tag is a local, an elven decker by the street name of Dodger.”
“Dodger?” Kham asked.
“That’s right.”
“Dis run ain’t against Tsung’s crew, is it?”
Mention of the notorious shadowrunner triggered unpleasant memories, but Crenshaw kept them locked behind a bland expression. “Not as far as I know. The elf works with her?”
“Sometimes.”
“I suspect the elf is operating independently this time.”
“If he ain’t, me and de guys are out.”
“Me, too,” Ridley said. “I’m not going up against Tsung and her bunch without magical backup.”
“Dump them now, Johnson,” Greerson said. “They ain’t got the balls for the job. I’ll take your whole budget and do it alone.”
Anticipating an anticipated outburst, Crenshaw spoke loudly and quickly. “You probably could take Verner and Dodger by yourself, Greerson, but the extent of this operation is still unclear. At one point, a dracoform was involved. If it still is, Kham’s crew will, I believe, provide a necessary volume of firepower. If it turns out Kham needs to withdraw because of Sally Tsung’s involvement, I will accept his decision, as long as he gives me enough time to secure replacement firepower.”
Kham cleared his throat, then drew himself up when he had everyone’s attention. “Me and de guys ain’t weedeaters. We ain’t afraid of Tsung, see. She and me, we got a working arrangement.”
“I see,” said Crenshaw. And she did. She saw Kham’s face floating over an H&K 227 in a Renraku-owned Boeing Commuter. She saw that face next to Sally Tsung’s. She remembered Kham now; he had been part of the team that had abducted and abused her. He obviously didn’t recognize her. Or care, if he did. She’d make him care, but settling with Verner came first. Kham would have to wait his turn to pay for the indignities she had suffered. But if she could twist things so Tsung’s connections turned on one another, she’d be that much closer to settling the score with them, too. “But if the elf is working alone, you have no reservations about disposing of him?”
“Naw. Never did liked de smart-mouthed fairy.”
“And you, Ridley?”
Ridley folded his arms. “I guess so. But if Tsung is involved...”
“You do not have personal objections?”
“No. But the magic...”
“If we determine significant magically active opposition, I shall arrange for countermeasures.”
“A good wiz is a lead-filled wiz,” Greerson pronounced. “Best countermeasure I know. Magical superiority through faster firepower.”
“Greerson makes a good point,” Crenshaw said. “Let’s all keep it in mind. A magician can’t cast a spell if you shoot him first.”