Chapter Forty - The Plan

"This is the plan," I said.

We were in the living room, and I was standing on the coffee table while Sharp sat on the edge of one of the sofas. Before me was my tablet, fully charged and laid out for me to use. It's had to have Sharp go into the settings and adjust it so that it used the 'poor eyesight' mode. Which did add to my monthly subscription, but whatever.

It was worth it for the bigger letters and larger buttons. I found myself somewhat farsighted now that I was a cat, and it was somewhat annoying to try and read a monitor when it was too close.

"Plan?" Sharp asked.

"Did you think you'd be staying in my home for free? Getting fat and lazy? No. We're going to keep you working. This job has a payout of ten thousand dollars, which is a very respectable amount for a job that should only take a week."

"Oh," Sharp said. She sat up straighter. "Is it edgerunner work?"

I snorted. "More like... middleruner work."

Sharp blinked. "Please don't make puns."

Sniffing, I tapped the tablet with a paw. "I've discussed--" with much difficulty "--The details of this operation with the fixer. His name is Grandpa, and he's a somewhat well respected, older fixer in the north end of Boston Two."

"His name is Grandpa?" she asked.

"He's eighty-two and had been a Fixer for longer than I've been alive," I said. "Not a high end one, but also one who knows not to stick his nose into things that are too hot. A lot of old mercs owe him favours. His rep is solidly... middle of the pack. He's not innovative, he's not the kind to take on legendary jobs, and he doesn't kick any hornets nests. It's why he's so old in a job that tends to kill young."

"Okay, I guess," Sharp said. I could read the disappointment on her face already.

"This is a solid job," I said with an angry twitch of my tail. "Decent pay, low risk. You could live a good life pulling off two of these every month. In the meantime, it's the kind of work you can do with your level of skill, and it'll wet your toes without you tripping into the deep end."

If only I'd had a mentor who helped me this way. I'd taken on some far too risky jobs without enough knowledge or prep in my youth. I'd come out of it unscathed, but that was more up to blind luck in some cases than actual skill.

Jobs where I'd left evidence behind, or where I was seen. Sloppy errors that could have been prevented.

Sharp nodded and leaned in a little closer. "So, what's the job?"

Good, I had her attention now. I patted the tablet until I had a map open. It was a satellite-view map, a few years old now, but that didn't matter. This was a downloaded map, disconnected from any network, but it would do. "Do you see this building?" I asked.

Sharp stared at the grey rectangle. "I see it," she said.

"Good. This is a warehouse some ways north of Boston Two. It's not in the city itself, but right on the outskirts of the suburbs. Our job is to sabotage it."

"What's it holding?" Sharp asked.

I gave her the best shrug I could. "It could be drugs, though I don't think so, it could be weapons, though again, I doubt it. For the level of discretion given and the price, I'm assuming it's parts, raw materials, or data of some sort. But that doesn't matter. It could be filled floor to ceiling with newly born babies, and we'd still have a job."

Sharp blinked. "I'm not burning down a building filled with babies," she said.

I rolled my eyes. Morals! "I doubt it's filled with babies."

She crossed her arms. "Well, now I want to check to make sure."

"Fine. That is part of doing a good job. This job calls for us to sabotage the building in a significant way. Fire is obvious. Other forms of destruction work as well. We don't need to annihilate it, just damage the warehouse. But, I want to play this as though it was a far more serious job. It'll get you the practice you need for future work." Without, I didn't say, putting her at any great risk.

Even if law enforcement came around, Sharp could run, and if she didn't make it... well, it would only be a year or three. She'd leave prison with all sorts of level ups, I was sure.

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"So, we pop over there, make sure it's not a baby storage place, then... break the place up?" Sharp asked.

"If we're doing this the correct way. Which we are, then the right thing to do is to don a simple disguise and scope the place out first. We see what kind of security we're dealing with, who has obvious signs of ownership. Gang affiliation, the area, location of fences and cameras."

"Like a spy!" Sharp said.

"Yes, like that."

Shap bounced to her feet. "Okay! What do we need, then?"

"First, a disguise. You can't go there dressed as your usual self. Not that you stand out much, but we can improve that. As a cat, I can play the role of a stray and scout around the place a little as well."

Sharp nodded. "I'm going to need a disguise, then! Does that mean we're finally going to go shopping?" I nodded, and Sharp grinned as she picked me off the table and gave me a spin. "Yeah! What are we getting?"

"A reasonable amount of clothes that we don't mind disposing of," I said. "You never wear the same thing to two scope-outs. We can hit up a local shopping centre. We'll want fast fashion. The kind of clothes worn by the greatest number of people."

The kind of outfit that absolutely didn't stand out, but which also had a thousand copies going around. If Sharp was ID'd from her clothes as suspicious, the person trying to track her would get a thousand false positives.

I'd heard horror stories of otherwise good assassins getting caught because they wore distinctive jewelry or tailored, or otherwise uncommon, clothes.

"We're going to want an outfit for the mission itself. That'll be something that covers all of your skin and that's otherwise utilitarian. We can stop by a shop that sells construction materials. Most of those will have hard hats and other clothes for construction workers."

That wouldn't exactly be top-shelf combat gear, but it was usually hardy and came with lots of pouches and pockets. Also, it blended in well.

A high-visibility vest masked many a suspicious item. Professional guards would question everything, but the common person tended to quickly place people in a box. 'Someone else's business' was a rather large box that was easy to exploit.

"Our budget is... I'd say two thousand. For all of the equipment for this job. Keeping in mind that a lot of it will be ditched at the end."

"Oh... that'll mean we'll only make eight thousand?" she asked.

"Welcome to the world of expenses," I said flatly. "Count yourself lucky that you're not paying taxes."

Sharp nodded. "Right. So... are we heading out now?"

"Are you that excited to buy a few shirts and some pants?" I asked.

She nodded quickly. "Yeah! I've never really gotten new-new clothes before. Especially not stuff that I got to pick out myself."

"Ah," I said smartly. Well, that was... a little sad to hear, actually. Retail therapy had helped me through a few rough spots in the past. I supposed it was normal for Sharp to have missed out on that but still. "Let's walk on over to the nearest shop, then. It'll give you a bit more exercise and some fresh air, and it's a good opportunity to learn how to scope out a neutral location!"

She rolled her eyes. "Not everything has to be training."

I harrumphed. She had no idea how valuable a few dozen hours of extra practice could be.

"I bet you have no sense of fashion."

Sharp gasped in mock outrage. "I have seen your wardrobe! Even when I was living on the street I at least knew not to wear double denim. And your techware is outdated."

I felt my eyes twitching. So, she wanted to play it this way, huh? We'd see who came out looking better in the end. "Are you calling me an old lady?"

"Not in so many words."

"Who taught you how to be sassy? I'm trying to teach you how to be lethal, not how to have a sharp tongue. That kind of thing will only get you killed."

***