“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 it was 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 at his 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 roe 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. One of the Orks whispered, “Greerson,” and he 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 here.”
“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 last 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 that we’ve been able to tag is a local, an Elven decker by the street name of Dodger.”
“Dodger?” Kham asked.
“That’s right.”