Of course it starts raining as soon as night falls. It's almost like this city refuses to be dry while it's dark out. The rhythmic pattering of raindrops against the skylight tells me it's the drizzling kind. That's good, at least I won't look like a wet rat in my first client meeting as part of the crew.
I changed out my white t-shirt for a black one, and the sweatpants for that distressed pair of jeans I salvaged from the Doc's stash. Hardly a getup anyone would call professional, but I'm in a different line of work now. I complete the look by slipping my Zeno Adjudicator into the waistband. I know, I know. A spit in the face of gun safety, but I haven't had the time to shop and get fitted for a new holster yet. Besides, it's a double-action revolver. It's not going off unless I want it to; that trigger's heavy as shit.
“Daaamn, Cowboy.” Springbok's face peeks in from the cracked open door. “Think fast.”
I catch a glimpse of her lopsided smirk before something black and shiny flies in my direction and blocks my vision. A quick sidestep and a one-handed grab later, I find myself holding an armored jacket.
“We expecting trouble?” I hold the thing up in her direction. It's surprisingly lightweight.
Her smirk widens into a smile. “It's the Slag, Luc. There's always trouble.”
“Fair enough.” I slip into the racer-style jacket with no more questions. It's not my trench coat, but it's a perfect fit otherwise.
“Looks good on you, Luc. Come on, we're still waiting on Flash to get ready but I wanna show you off to the rest.”
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The four of us congregate in the common area by the mezzanine. Every second that passes waiting for Flash is excruciating, thanks to Spot and Magpie busting my balls.
“—he reminds me of me when I first got here. Which detergent brand ruined your racing team, Luc?”
“I'd ask why you're dressed like a better version of Spot.” Magpie with the two-pronged attack from her usual perch on the pleather couch.
“Wow, harsh.” Serves you right, Spot.
“Only a slightly better version though, it's not exactly what I'd call a good style.” I thought you were on my side, Magpie.
“Nonsense, I think he looks great.” At least Springbok is on my side. “Do a twirl for us, Luc.”
“Not helping, Springbok.” I keep a straight face and comply with the request anyway.
“Wow.” Not the reaction I was expecting. Certainly not from all three of them. I make eye contact, one by one. Springbok. Magpie.
And finally, Spot. “So when did they hire you to play as Spectral Biker?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Okay, okay. Let's lay off our new muscle, guys. Seriously though, you look good. We need to show Sister Leung we mean business, and having you stand behind Flash while looking like that will do just that.” Springbok lights up a cigarette after the mother hen routine. “Speaking of, where the hell is he? We're cutting it real close now.”
“I'm here.” Right on cue, we all look in the same direction. One thing I've learned so far is, Flash has a flair for the dramatic. And an addiction to reinventing himself. Over the past week alone he's changed his look three times.
I take a closer look at his current appearance. The synthskin face mask is putting in work to make him look mellow. Cybereyes adjusted just so to give him a perpetual contemplative gaze. A white satin quilted jacket, with a golden thunderbolt embroidered on the back. Driving gloves, but he's not driving. Half-chewed toothpick in mouth. He's embodying the contradiction of rugged, yet vulnerable. A part of my brain says I've seen this before, I just can't remember where.
“Someone call Summerville, two of their stars are in our garage.”
Flash pulls out a full pack of toothpicks and throws it at Spot. “Get the ride running, smartass.”
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After about fifteen minutes worth of Spot's stunt driving, we arrive at our destination for tonight: Ivory Breeze Teahouse. I've come to grips with the fact that The Slag is pretty much just another district that functions as normally as it can, but I still can't help but admire how extravagant the place can be. That's a whole dragon sculpture hanging above the entrance. Minimal AR signs and almost no neon lights. The building screams tradition.
“Good luck with the meet, gang?” Spot breaks the silence between all of us. “I'll keep the van running just in case.”
I feel like I'm on the first day of the job again. Well, technically I am, except this time I have four partners instead of one. It's more like the first deployment days. I don't know if I'm just projecting or what, but the tension feels just as thick.
I look to my left. Flash is sitting in between Springbok and me, stone-faced and still, except for the occasional chewing on his toothpick. Springbok's staring straight ahead, tight as a wound up spring. I can't blame them, we're about to waltz into a Triad-owned business. Just the four of us—
“I'm staying here too,” Magpie pipes up from the front passenger seat.
Springbok snaps out of her trance. “Yeah. Probably best that you stay behind. Don't want you calling her an old hag again.”
“I don't see why I shouldn't call a spade a spade. She's that old and still wants to be called Sister? Get real.”
Okay. Scratch that. Just the three of us, and a whole lot of them. I pop open the door on my side. “Let's do this.”
Springbok and Flash follow right behind me. I sidestep to let Flash take the lead. I'm the muscle, the insurance. The goons wearing unbuttoned black shirts up front let us in with no problem. They did give me the side eye, but nothing else.
The heavy scent of incense hangs in the air inside the tea house. It's not exactly unpleasant, but it'll need some getting used to. We pass the reception area and head straight towards the main hall.
Fuck. Five, ten, twenty… easily thirty goons are sitting inside. I take quick glances, trying my best to avoid eye contact with any of them. Knives, pipes… I'm not seeing any guns, but they could be concealed carried. If things get ugly, I'm not sure we're walking out of here. I haven't brought nearly enough spare rounds for this.
To his credit, Flash seems to be keeping his composure, strolling across the room with one hand in his jacket pocket like he owns the place. His confidence carries us on the path for the backrooms.
One look and I already know which room Sister Leung is occupying. It has to be the one guarded by a pair of—what I can only describe as—Triad kill squad members, swords at the ready by their side. Props where it's due, it's a distinct look. Wide-brimmed hat made out of Kevlar with a light-emitting trim along the edge; controlled via NeuroLine, most likely. A strip of sheer nanoweave cloth hangs from the hat in front and covers more than half their face, opaque enough to obscure any details. Kevlar pauldrons worn over a black robe, traditional Liao styling of form-fitting but with wide sleeves. Silk, from the way it shines, and they have to be wearing a Kevlar vest under those robes. The—hang on, that's a bare thigh. Weird choice.
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Shit, I'm staring, and one of them seems to think so too. She rests her hand on the grip of her sword, while her partner gestures for us to get in the room. Flash steps up, speaks a few words in Liao—too quick for me to catch—and goes inside first. Springbok and I follow close behind him.
The private room is a bit on the dim side, save for the artificial lighting simulating the dancing of candle flames against the walls. Theatrical. The fact that our client is sitting in the darker end of the room just adds that bit of spice to this meeting. Two circular light strips glowing at eye-level tell me that Sister Leung is flanked by another pair of the Triad kill squad members.
And on our side, we have me and Springbok. Something tells me we're not winning the intimidation standoff. Kind of explains why Magpie wants nothing to do with this part.
“Lights.” The simple command lit the room up. I blink a few times to force my eyes to adjust to the sudden searing brightness. Can't believe I got hit by a budget flashbang. “Welcome, friends. You are just in time. Please, have a seat.”
Of course there's only one seat provided for us. Standard power play. Flash sits in the chair and I instinctively move to his right flank. Springbok takes the other side, arms crossed over her chest.
I scan the room to think up contingencies if things go sideways. Only one entrance, the one we just walked through. There's a decorative window to one side, but going through there will land us in the main hall, smack dab in the middle of Goon City. Not good, but push comes to shove, I'd rather take my chances blasting our way through knife- and pipe-wielding foot soldiers than dealing with the killer squad bodyguards.
“Thanks, Sister Leung.” Flash doesn't seem bothered at all, sounding real cool and collected. Time to mirror that.
I settle into a relaxed position and let my arms hang by my side, close enough to my revolver for a quickdraw. Any split-seconds will count.
“I see you have a new face.”
“Oh, you know how it is. Just another step in finding myself.”
“No, not you. Him.” Ah, shit. I got noticed by the old hag—
Except she doesn't fit Magpie's description at all. I'd say she's about my age, if that. Strong Liao features, with just an air of aggression thanks to the severe bun she keeps her silky dark hair in. She'd look right at home in a boardroom, if it weren't for the full sleeves of tattoos on both arms. Predatory eyes.
I'm already holding eye contact with her, so I just nod. Keep playing the silent bodyguard for Flash, Luc.
“Oh, yeah. Valuable addition to the team.” Flash didn't miss a beat. Good man.
“Where did you find him? The B-list of action movies?” Great. Not this again.
Flash pats my upper arm like a used car salesman slapping the roof of a beater. “Sister, you know I don't give up where I get my goods.”
What the hell, Flash.
“That's fine, that's fine.” Sister Leung waves Flash's deflection away, making her thick golden bracelets jingle-jangle against each other. “I didn't call you here to ask for trade secrets. Let's talk business.”
The air shifts again, but the light-hearted exchange did ease the tension, if only a bit. Flash pulls his hand off my arm and leans back in his chair. “What's the score?”
“Simple job for you. You have to take something that belongs to me and bring it here.”
“We'll need more to go on than that before we even consider taking the job.”
“Of course. The item in question is—” Sister Leung opens up an ARO and shares it with all of us. It contains a single image: a longhaired blue eyed white cat wearing an ornate Liao dress, looking pissed off as hell. “Empress Cupcake.”
I glance in Springbok's direction. I don't get how she's keeping a straight face at this.
“Location?” I don't get how Flash is being so serious.
“Ah, yes. The coordinates.” The ARO gets updated with a map and a location pin. Not too far, a neighboring area about a fifteen minute drive away. Maybe five with Spot behind the wheel.
Flash looks straight at Sister Leung. He chews on his toothpick. “Opposition?”
“You've seen the boys and girls sitting outside, right? About ten of those, give or take.”
Flash lets out a little grunt and nods to himself. Damn, he's really good at acting unimpressed. Sister Leung glances between me and Springbok for the first time, as if gauging our reactions. Being clueless about the power dynamics in the Slag becomes my strength at times like these, because I have no reaction to give her. Springbok still manages to keep her straight face.
Sister Leung looks almost disappointed at our collective composure. “I will say that I don't care what happens to them. I consider them as a rogue element because they decided to… switch allegiances.”
Great. So we're pretty much sticking our noses into an internal dispute.
Flash rolls his toothpick over to the other side of his mouth. “The pay?”
“Ten thousand credits.”
Ten thousand credits just to bring her a cat. I'm not sure I heard that right.
“You're asking us to go inside a Triad den. We'll take double that, with ten upfront.” He's asking for twenty thousand just to bring a Triad woman a cat. Is this real life?
Sister Leung scoffs and bangs a fist on the table. “You crazy? Twelve, half upfront, the other half when Empress is sitting in my lap again.”
“Make it fifteen with half upfront and call it a sweet deal.” Flash, you're pushing it.
“Not a single fur out of place on Empress.”
“Of course. You called for us because you know we get shit done how you want.”
Sister Leung exhales sharply. “Okay, fine. Sweet deal.”
She turns to one of the bodyguards behind her and speaks in rapid-fire Liao. I can only make out the words for ‘credchit’ and ‘stupid.’ That's reassuring, I guess.
The bodyguard hands her a black credchit and she slides it across the table towards Flash. He picks it up, pulls out his commlink, and slots the chit in. He nods at Sister Leung.
“All there, right? I won't cheat you over a few thousand credits.” She sounds almost offended. I tense up, getting ready to engage muscle memory and quickdraw my revolver. “Stay for tea?”
What?
Flash slowly gets up from his chair. “Appreciate the gracious offer, Sister, but we have an Empress to rescue.”
“Good answer. You know how to make your client happy.” Sister Leung also stands up and shakes Flash's hand. “I won't be seeing you out. Walk slowly.”
Our exit from the private room and the tea house isn't as nerve-wracking as our arrival, mostly because the goons pretty much ignore us now, and we find ourselves back in the van with Spot and Magpie.
“So what's the score?” Magpie asks as soon as I close the door.
“Bring some cat back to her. Smells like an inside job. About ten guys trying to stop us. Shouldn't be too hard with Luc here.” I'm not sure why Flash is upselling me to our own crew. “We get three-kay each. Half of it upfront, I'll transfer it to everyone now.”
“Hang on, Flash.” I can't help myself, I have to make sure now. “We're actually getting paid fifteen thousand?”
“Yeah.”
“Just to do that?”
“…Yeah?”
“What the fuck, that was too much of a dog and pony show just for that.” I'm not sure why this bothers me so much. It's either the realization that I've been underpaid this whole time, or the disbelief at the amount of money flowing in the Slag. The district that I've looked at with pity.
“I hope I'm the show pony in that equation, my man. And hey—” Flash gives me a pat on the shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, you helped us stay alive in there. At least we didn't find ourselves in a standoff with guns hot and swords drawn this time.”
“Oh.” Maybe it wasn't just a dog and pony—feline and pony?—show after all. I swear I heard Magpie grumbling something about old hags from the front seat.