"Oh, yes. This is certainly doable." Tanje examined the drawing we'd made, his elegant linework surrounded by my scrawled annotations. "I know a man in R-block who could make it. He works in metal, hide, composite..." He looked up, eyes dark and liquid. "Shall I give him a call?"

I leaned back, impressed. R-block was to the south of D, supposedly the home of engineers, corpo middle management, and specially skilled craftsmen."What kind of turnaround are we looking at, here?" I asked. "I'd like it done as ASAP as possible."

He raised a sculpted eyebrow at that before noticing my smile. "I could call in a favor, I suppose. Have you moved to the front of the queue. It will cost, of course."

"Do it. I'll pay. I'm sick of the freakin' duct tape."

"As you say. I'll send him a message now." He set the drawing on the counter, pulled out a small, elegant slab and began tapping at the keys with cybernetic speed. I leaned back against the wall, pinching the bridge of my nose. Those beers I'd drunk with Marie earlier were wearing off and I had a bit of a headache.

After Marie dropped me off, Tanje and I had spent about an hour hammering out a design for a saw sheath. We'd eventually come up with an open-backed scabbard, a lot like the one Pengyi used for their machete. It would telescope to fit one, two, or three-foot blades, and multiple quick-detach buckles and straps would let me carry it belted to the waist, across the back, or even concealed underarm with the short blade. It would beat hell out of the sticky tape mess I'd knocked together in an hour or so before my trip to Grayson's. Funny. That was barely a week ago, but it felt like a year.

Tanje finished up typing and pocketed the slab with the precision of a competition shooter holstering their gun. He was dressed the same as always: White shirt to match his inhumanly pale skin, black vest and slacks to match his eyes and pulled-back hair. I suspected he had ten or more of the same outfit hanging in his closet. He gave me a small smile, his face just on the unsettling side of handsome. "I'm eager to see what Mr. Halloran comes up with. He most often makes bespoke gun cases and holsters for the Administrative set, but I know for a fact he's done some more...practical work as well. Whatever you get, I promise you'll find nothing finer."

"That's why I come here, man. I know you only recommend the best." He smiled bigger at the compliment, rocked back and forth on his heels a little. I didn't mention he was the only real-deal arms dealer I knew, of course. I'd rather make him happy.

"I'm glad you appreciate quality, Sharkie. Most of you Holy Bones do, unlike some others I could name." He folded up the drawing as he spoke, creasing the paper with geometric precision.

"Oh, that reminds me!" I interrupted. "Marie says hi. Shorter lady, older than me, roses on her arm?"

"Hmm..." He tapped long, thin fingers on the counter with machine-gun rhythm. "Ah! Yes. An antique Amsidarm Matchmaster in .350 Loew, all stainless, weighted frame, competition-style milling on the slide. I did a single-action conversion for her. A pleasant woman, though she did leave cigarette butts on my floor."

I was entirely unsurprised he remembered people by their guns. "Ha! Sounds like her."

"Is she who dropped you off here?" he asked. "I heard something frightfully loud go by just before you came in."

"Yeah, that was her. I was helping her out with, um...work."

He laughed. "No need to elaborate. I understand. Say, Sharkie..." He seemed to shrink a little, not meeting my eyes. "Are you hungry, perhaps?"

Marie's wild driving had kept me from noticing earlier, but I was. Light beer didn't make for much of a lunch. "Yeah, I could eat. You want to go out somewhere?"

He twiddled his thumbs. "Well, actually, I've found a copy of Black Rose Promise, and I've got a couple of leftover steaks, so I was thinking-"

"Rem's dusty dick, Tanje! For real? Black Rose Promise?" It was the legendary fourth Sura the Vampire Maid movie, never released due to a tangled clusterfuck of copyright and distribution disputes. The few copies that existed were illegitimate, and collectors had never dared rip them to the net for fear of activating any hidden self-destruct DRM worms.

He nodded excitedly, awkwardness forgotten. "Yes! I've only watched enough to be sure it's the genuine article, so we'll both be seeing it for the first time. I assume you're interested?"

"Do Jet Colter's girlfriends always die in the third act? Let's fuckin' go, bud."

"Wonderful! Let me just lock up." He punched a few buttons under the counter, then folded over a section. "Please, follow me."

He led me down a white hallway with a black ceiling, brightly lit by spotlights on rails. "Wait,” I asked as we went up a flight of stairs, "did you say steaks, Tanje?"

"Mm? Yes, I did," he said offhandedly. "An old friend of mine passes me some now and then."

"Damn..." I muttered. I'd never had steak, didn't even know anyone who had. The animal it came from had to be cloned, raised in special, brightly-lit greenhouses-much less durable than pigs. The meat was worth its weight in drugs, gold, spacetech-whatever you picked, as long as it was fucking valuable.

A thought struck me as I considered this out-of-the-Pall offer and how nervous Tanje'd been acting. "Hey, Tanje?"

"Y-yes?" He stopped and turned to face me.

"You know, you don't have to offer me expensive stuff," I began carefully. "I'd want to hang out with you if all you had was a Colter flick and fried arpaste."

His face cycled through anger, embarrassment, before he finally sighed, smiling a little. "I-thank you, Sharkie. I appreciate your saying so. But the steaks don't keep well, and I've waited years for this damned film."

I grinned back. "Alright, man. Sounds good."

We went up two floors and down another hallway. Tanje pressed a bionic hand onto a pad next to the door again. It altered shape a little, melting into the reader. I didn't know who made limbs like that, but they were pretty freakin' advanced.

The door opened, not onto more stark whiteness but onto a warmly lit, spacious room with brick walls and hardwood floor. One half had a table and chairs, a small kitchen, and a couple doors in the corner. The other held a couch, holo rig and a monster of a flatscreen TV. I found that kind of funny. The spectrum of people who bothered with 2D panels anymore was a sort of reverse bell curve: Those too poor to afford holo on one end, rich vintage media enthusiasts at the other. Holos could mimic a screen of course, but a true video snob would never stoop to such a level. It was a cozy little space, all told. I wondered if Walker would find me anything nearly this nice.

Tanje must have mistook my expression for something else. "My humble abode," he said, blinking rapidly. "I'm sorry if you didn't realize you were coming to my home. I swear to you I had no ulterior motives in inviting you here-though I suppose saying that will just make you more uncomfortable, make you think I do, damn it all-"

"All good, Tanje," I said. "It's a cool place." His nervousness was...Kingsdammit, it was cute. There, I said it. I wanted to step up and pat him on the head or something. If anyone had ulterior motives here, it was me-all the excitement earlier had me in a mood.

"O-of course. Good. So." He went into the kitchen and washed his hands. He pulled a covered platter out of the refrigerator, upon which were two slabs of white-marbled pink meat. "Steak! How would you like yours cooked?"

"Uh..." I'd only ever heard the question asked in movies and I had no clue what the right answer was. "Grilled, I guess? What's the best way?"

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"I-of course. Grilled and rare it is," he smirked. "The rule of thumb for steak, Sharkie, is that if it doesn't bleed a little-just a little, mind you-you've cooked it too long."

"Whatever you say, man. Do it up."

"You make yourself at home." I took off my jacket, hanging it on a rack by the door, then settled in to watch. After grinding a little salt over the meat, he set a cast-iron grill over his stovetop and fired it up. It was a gas range like a cube of brushed steel, very swank. I guess all that money he charged for ammo went toward a good cause. While it heated, he took off his vest, rolled up his sleeves, and let his hair down out of its tight bun. It was shoulder-length, shiny and dark as hot tar, and looked very soft. Yeah, I stared. Sue me.

He hummed a strange little tune as he worked, sliding the steaks onto the grill with a juicy hiss. After a few nudges, a couple of flips with a spatula and a surprisingly short amount of time, he loaded them onto flat, square plates and brought them over to the table.

"There we are. And to pair with it...hmm. A nice, hoppy beer, I think." I didn't really feel like any more alcohol, but he was so into this I let him get me one. It came not in a can or carton but an honest-to-Kings glass bottle, unlabeled. I found myself wondering if he was looking for someone to help out around the shop.

He popped the beers open and we sat down. He raised his bottle for a toast. "To friends, eh?"

I clinked my beer against his. "To friends."

"Wonderful!" He laughed and took a sip. "Let's dig in, shall we? I'm eager to hear what you think." Tanje seemed a lot less formal away from his storefront. I liked it.

The steak was fucking incredible. I'd never tasted anything that had so much flavor in and of itself, without needing salt or spicy peppers or weird chemicals added. You hardly needed a knife to cut it, either. I thought it was weird that it was still almost raw inside, but Tanje said that's how it was supposed to be. "You can get it cooked throughout, of course, but that's like...like sawing the barrels off a bespoke Schuell et Anselm so you could fit it under your coat. If you're fond of eating leather, they make boots every day, you know?"

"...Kind of?"

"Just trust me that it's a bad idea." After the meal we settled in to watch Black Rose Promise. It was a Vampire Maid movie through and through. Every scene was a fraught argument, or gory fight, or heartbreaking confession. Sura herself sucked the baddies dry and tossed around far more knives than she could possibly hide under her uniform. Tanje was positively entranced, but I found myself glancing away from the screen to look at him. Having a man cook for me and put on a movie I liked...It was a very nice feeling.

During one of the battle scenes, he leaned forward in excitement, his head bumping into my shoulder. I hadn't realized I was sitting so close to him. We looked at each other, momentarily too surprised to say anything. He must have seen something in my face, though. Slowly, cautiously, he raised his arm and put it across my shoulders. It felt pleasant, tingly. I could feel the trim muscles of his chest against my side as he breathed. He was warm.

Just as slowly, just as carefully, I returned the favor. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed. I hoped my arm wasn't too heavy. Maybe not, for he leaned his head against my shoulder and scooched a little closer. His hair was as soft as it looked. I felt my face growing a little warm. Damn it, it had been a while since I got this intimate with anyone. I felt like a teenager. We watched the rest of the movie like that, sitting in silence. Neither tried to take it farther. We didn't need to, didn't really want to. The companionship was enough.

I'd give the movie an eight out of ten. The animation was very good, and most of the post wound itself up nicely. The final scene was a cliffhanger, of course. A plot hook for a film that never got made.

When the credits rolled the two of us untangled our arms and wordlessly got up. Tanje brought the lights up and turned to me. "I'm glad you came over, Sharkie. Food, film...sometimes these things are better shared."

"Thank you, Tanje. For the steak, and the movie, and for helping me out earlier...and for everything, I guess." I felt myself blushing, and rubbed the back of my neck.

"O-of course. We can do this whenever you like. Though don't expect steaks every single time!" He cracked a smile, which I returned.

"You need help cleaning up or anything?" I asked.

He waved a dismissive hand. "No, no. It's not much work anyway."

"Alright. Well, I have to get going. No idea what I'm doing tomorrow and I want to get an early sleep."

Tanje nodded. "I'll show you out." At the door of his building, he turned to face me. "Thank you very much, Sharkie. For keeping me company."

"Anytime, man. Seriously. Give me a call."

He nodded. "Do your best to stay safe."

"You too, Tanje. Thanks again. Seeya." We parted with a smile. I was a little distracted on the walk back to my cube. Being close with him had felt so nice, I was doubting the accuracy of my statement to Marie. I wondered what it would have been like if we had gone farther. But I knew he wasn't looking for that kind of relationship, and rather than be sad about what hadn't happened I could be happy about what had. So it was with a warm, content feeling that I walked home, showered, and went to sleep.

---

The next few days were a whirlwind of disparate tasks. After paying me for the job with Marie, Walker had me all over the place. I spent a while bouncing around between Bones-owned bars and gambling halls, attached to a crew of five men and women with large muscles and ugly dispositions. Our leader was a gnarled old stump of a man who seemed to have shoulders wider than he was tall. His name was Huw, but everyone called him Winky on account of his missing eye. We were waiting to encounter a similar group from the Blue side who'd been going around intimidating customers.

After spending a few hours in a weird parody of bar-hopping, we finally ran into our counterparts. We walked up to a nameless dive in a poorly-lit area of Sixth Ward and found the Blues within. They were threatening the poor bartender, throwing around phrases like 'new tax plan' and 'if you know what's good for you.' Winky announced our arrival by hawking up a wad of tobacco juice and phlegm, then spitting it onto the gravel floor. "I'm too fucking old to waste time posturing," he said to the Blues. "You know you shouldn't be here, so fuckin' leave."

"Or wh-" was all their boss got out before Winky laid her out with a single thunderous cross to the jaw. I respected that, for all that it looked like a sucker punch. He'd set the tone, and fists were less dangerous than guns. What followed was a fistfight entirely unremarkable except for its viciousness. One of the Blues got up in my grill and actually tried to bite my ear off. I was already in a bad mood, having lost sleep due to a gunfight outside my apartment last night, so I ended up chucking the guy right through the bar.

We won the fight of course, of course. I took a few hits, but the only real casualty was the bar itself: It had been made out of scavenged pallet wood, and a high-velocity impact from a tossed gangster was just too much for it. We dumped the Blues out onto the sidewalk, generously compensated the bartender for the damages, exchanged high-fives, and moved on. I noticed a few wary looks from my teammates on the way out.

Winky treated us to fried tacos from a passing food-ricksha. We just about ate the poor guy's fridge empty. I finished my tacos and squatted a little apart on the sidewalk, sipping the cart's home-brewed beer. It was in a recycled bottle that, from its shape, had formerly held some kind of cooking oil. One of my fellow soldiers came up to me, holding a drink of his own. We hadn't talked much over the course of the day, but I thought his name was Gutierrez. He wore blue shorts and a sleeveless hoodie and was near pale as me, with blue and red linework tattooed into his bald scalp. Blue-mirrored shades hid his eyes, and he had composite guards implanted over his knuckles.

"Yo," he said. "These're pretty good, huh?" His accent was city-born, D-block through and through.

"Yeah," I answered warily. "I liked the green sauce. It's Gutierrez, right?"

"Right. And you're Sawyer."

I closed my eyes, sighed a little. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Mmm." He sipped his drink, paused for a few seconds. "What kind of throw did you use on that biter, earlier? Didn't look like kempo or tei-quon."

"It's a Sistema-4 move. Or a real sloppy version, at least. Sovish."

He leaned back, impressed. "Damn. Where'd you learn that?"

"Guy I know taught me. He learned it from a Sovman himself. Guy was in a tough spot, my dad let him buy some stuff for training instead of money."

"Sounds like there's more to that story."

I cracked a little smile. "You'd have to get it from him. Why d'you ask?"

He chuckled and spread his arms out. I noticed he had a Bones tattoo on his left hand, but only on the fingers. "Look at me. I'm into MMA, that's all." I guess he did have the look of a gym rat about him. I'd never bothered with any of that, just made weights out of scrap metal and concrete and gone to town in Sawada's backyard. He'd even gotten me a bench and rack for one of my birthdays.

"Sistema-4, that's some commando shit, right?" Gutierrez continued. "I heard Sov special ops learn it, or something."

"I think so. You probably know more about it than me."

He shrugged. "Maybe you could show me a few moves, sometime? Come and spar?"

I didn't really want to at all, to be honest, but if I said that I'd sound like a dick. "Yeah, maybe. Dunno when I'll be free with all this war crap going on."

"Guess we're all on the same barge there. Still, let me know. I'm sure someone can get my number for you." He mimed a little toast. "I'll leave you to it, then." With that he ambled back over to where Winky and the rest were standing. Maybe he really was interested in my weird martial arts, but it was pretty obvious he'd been sounding me out as well. And had he let me see his ink just to remind me I had none of my own?

Fuck it. Who knew. I wasn't any good at reading situations like this. It didn't matter, because a few minutes later I got a call from Walker.