It's been two whole days since we accepted the job from Morrigan. While she didn't exactly give us a deadline, it's obvious that we're all antsy to get this job done as quick as we can. Not just because of how much we'll get at the end of it. Mostly because a slip up could cost us more than our rep. It doesn't help my nerves that the crew picked me to lead this one.
I lean back against one of the pleather couches in the mezzanine. Time to look over the data packet again. The objective is a warehouse about forty klicks north of here, registered under a company named Fluxolutions. Obviously just a subsidiary of or a shell company for one of the bigger megas, but like Morrigan said, it doesn't matter.
What matters is the security personnel that's been seen coming in and going out of the place for the past month. I open up the file containing the list of known personnels and their info in a separate ARO. Too many of these names are familiar. Black Wolf guys, but listed as freelance security specialists. You stupid, stupid pricks. What the hell are you all doing out here?
I scroll down the list until I reach the M heading and touch the entry that's labeled McDAVID, CHASE. One of McNamara's hangers-on, calls everyone ‘Bud’ like it's going out of style. His face is almost as prick-like, but no cigar. A glance further down the list and it immediately catches my eye like a gaudy ARO advertising the seediest dive bar you can think of. McNAMARA, RONAN. I open up his entry too and place it side by side with McDavid's.
That's odd, they've never been seen on the same shift, but this is good for us. I swipe McNamara's ARO away. The less I see of his smug mug, the better. I focus my attention on McDavid's file and point my finger at the still image of his douchebag face. I'm looking for a weak link, and you're it, bud.
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“Are you sure this guy is our way in?” Springbok's tone is beyond incredulous as she stares at McDavid's still image, floating inside a giant ARO in the middle of the mezzanine.
“One hundred percent.”
“How are you so sure? Place is Locked down tighter than a CEO's office after a bad shareholder meeting.”
“I've had the misfortune to come into contact with him more often than I like. If anyone's going to be our in, it's him. Now stop me if this is a dumb question, but you can make copies of a keycard, right?”
“Is that a serious question? Scratch that, that's a seriously dumb question.” Okay, I deserved that. “Of course I can, I can do it in my sleep. Problem is, I still need the original keycard before I can spoof any credentials onto a blank one.”
“Enter McDavid. Well, being accurate, just his keycard.”
“And how exactly would we pull that off? He's not just going to give it to us if we ask him nicely.”
I point my finger at McDavid's overly large portrait, and turn towards the crew. “What do you see?”
“A giant douchebag.” She's not wrong, but not entirely correct.
“He looks like you, but like, if you made questionable choices at the barber?” Wow thanks, Spot. He catches my glare. “You, uh, look way better?”
“I'm mostly annoyed that you focused on the wrong thing, but I can't say you're not right either.”
“I know what it is.” I turn towards Flash. This better be good. “That's the face of a guy that thinks he's some god's gift to women.”
“That. Exactly that.” I snap my fingers by reflex and point towards Flash instead now. “See that little note there in his profile?”
“‘Hits up bars and clubs near the facility when he's off shift.’ Ah, and he's got the night off tonight.” Flash nods, a smile forming on his face. “Nice. I see where you're going with this. Getting in may be easier than we thought.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Springbok groans. “If we're going to pull a Thorny Damsel in Red, not it.”
“You're in luck, Springbok. I happen to know just his type.” I swivel my head in Magpie's direction. The other three follow suit.
Magpie looks up from her practice lock. “What?”
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“I'm going along with this plan, but I don't have to like it.” Just a hint of displeasure creeps into Magpie's usually monotonous voice.
I can't help but feel a little bad for putting Magpie in McDavid's amorous crosshairs. “I'm sorry, but this is the best I can come up with. Would it make you feel better if I said I owe you one for this?”
“Don't let the girl fool you, Luc,” Flash mumbles thanks to the contouring brush slipped between his lips. He's carefully applying the final touches of glittery eyeshadow on our designated Thorny Damsel in Red, whatever that means. “She likes playing dress up.”
“Yeah, Mags. It's hard to believe you don't like it when you're already dressed like you're about to take half this man's net worth.” Springbok seizes the chance to poke fun.
Magpie tosses her practice lock at Springbok's cyberleg, which bounces off with a clink. “Let's recap the plan, shall we? I go to The Doghouse where Douche McHorny hopefully is and grab his attention. I let him get close enough to me and swipe his keycard. Flash, posing as my angry boyfriend, jumps in to extract me. Luc and Springbok stand by as backup for if—or when—things get ugly. Spot stands by with the car. After it's done, we all ride off into the night.”
I rub the scruff along my jaw. Doesn't sound like she missed anything. “That's about it, yeah. It's on the simple side, but it gives us room to impro—”
She pivots to face me and points a finger at my nose. “This entire plan hinges on him carrying the damn thing around. If he doesn't, that means I'm dressing up like this for nothing.”
Shit. She's right. But I can't think of anything else. This is pretty much our best shot. I have to get her to buy in. “Let's make it a bet. A thousand creds says he carries it. Another five hundred creds says if he's wearing a shirt with a chest pocket, it'd be there.”
Her index finger hovers in front of my nose. “You're on, Luc. Get my fifteen hundred ready.”
“We'll see. Alright, let's move out in ten.”
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Springbok and I stand across the street from The Doghouse, blending into the shadows, the cherry lights of our lit cigarettes the only indicator that we're there. I alternate glancing between the entrance and our parked car, running idle with Spot sitting behind the wheel.
“So.” Springbok grabs my attention. “On a scale of one to ten, how confident are you with this plan?”
“Being brutally honest? Solid six.” I take a deep drag from my cig. “I'm not too concerned about Magpie's chances of actually grabbing the thing. The main thing is not getting made, and that goes for both her and Flash.”
“Okay, I see why you put Magpie up.” She taps the plascrete sidewalk with the tip of her toes a few times, getting a metallic feedback in return. “These gams are too distinct.”
“Yeah, that's a big—” I cut myself off when I see both Magpie and Flash booking it out of the club. Fuck, that doesn't look good.
They make it to the car and jump in the back. Springbok and I rush as well, and I instinctively draw my revolver before getting in the front seat. “Was it a bust? Did you guys get made?”
Spot puts the pedal to the metal and we peel away from the sidewalk with squealing tires. Through the rearview mirror, I see Flash pressing a wad of tissues to his bloody nose. “Luc, man. You should've told me the douche had a heavy touch.”
“Did he? I don't remember that about him.”
“Yeah, well, if I knew, I would've let you be the angry boyfriend.”
“I would've been made the moment I walked in.”
“Not if I lend you one of my synthskin masks.” He makes a fair point.
“Nevermind all that. What's done is done.” Magpie breaks it off and pulls out something from her purse. My heart skips a beat.
“Is that—”
She nods and passes it to me. A keycard, and… a credchit. I glance at her through the mirror. “It was in his shirt pocket.”