by Mel Odom
"Do you like my legs?" the elf asked. "I saw you and your friends looking at them earlier."
"Si." Luis responded.
"Do you know why you can see my legs?" the elf asked.
"Because you like showing them off. You have good legs."
"Thank you, but no, that's not the reason I wore a skirt today. Come a little closer, Luis."
The ganger leaned down further.
She whispered and Argent's cyberears picked up her words. "Guess what I'm wearing under the skirt, Luis."
An even bigger smile split the ganger's face. "Must be nothing, hermana, for you to tease me like this."
"Wrong." The cool look never left the elf's face. "I'm wearing an Ares Light Fire 70 in a thigh holster.
Actually, I guess I'm only wearing the holster now, because I'm holding the pistol."
The ganger's eyes dropped from her face to the arm concealed beneath the table. "You're lying."
"Want to find out?" the elf asked. "I've got sixteen rounds in the clip before I have to reload. I plan on putting four of them through your cojones, then another four through that cute little belly button of yours showing beneath that half-shirt. Then I'll find out how far your amigos want to press their curiosity."
Argent placed the bottles of chilled water on the counter, waiting to see how the biz played out.
34
"Puta daisy eater!" the ganger snapped, not moving.
"Now I'm offended." the elf said with no change in her voice at all. "I'm going to give you to the count of three to clear my table before I start squeezing this trigger. And move slowly or I might misinterpret your actions."
The ganger pushed back angrily, moving slowly.
"Hands over your head." the elf instructed.
Anger suffusing his face, the ganger obeyed. The other people in the restaurant glanced in his direction but seemed unaffected by his behavior. El Infierno, Argent decided as he picked up the bottled water again, had become jaded to violence. As long as bullets didn't start flying, everything was normal.
The elf left her hand in her lap as she gazed at Argent.
"May I sit?" Argent asked. "I believe we have a mutual chummer."
"Give me a name." the elf said.
"Peg."
"All right, Mr. Johnson."
Argent took a chair opposite the elf. He placed the bottled water in front of her, then adjusted the empty plastiglass napkin dispenser on the table so he could see the reflection of the gangers behind him. He wore the Savalette Guardian under his shirt at the back of his pants. "You can call me Argent."
"Fine."
"Peg didn't give me your name." Argent said. That had surprised him, but then he supposed they each had their secrets.
"There's no point in it." the elven decker said, "until I accept the contract."
"Peg didn't fill you in?"
"I told her I'd rather hear it from you." she said. "I'm better at convincing myself than having other people convince me."
Argent was impressed. Most shadowrunners only looked at the bottom line: how much up front, and how much on the back end.
"I was told there would be some risks."
"There are." Argent agreed, then he began spinning it out for her, leaving out the particulars and the names of the main players. Even if she bought into it, there were some things he was determined to keep only on a need-to-know basis. He was surprised when he got through the whole set-up and she hadn't buzzed turbo.
"I can handle this." she said. "You can call me Archangel. Let's take a walk. I'm sure you have some questions you want to ask me, and the atmosphere in this place has definitely lost its appeal."
"Two sloppies." Argent told the street vendor outside the laundry two blocks down. He took the time to make sure they weren't being followed. He'd contacted Peg over the commlink, but the decker had refused to talk to him until he'd finished his conversation with Archangel.
The vendor doled out the sloppies, covering them with relish, chili, onions, and cheese.
Argent slotted his credstick to pay for them, then gathered the food in one huge hand. He picked up extra napkins. Returning to Archangel, he gave her one and kept the other for himself. He'd pointed out that they could have eaten in the restaurant or gone to another one. Archangel had responded that she liked to think while she was on her feet.
"Peg tells me you're a drek-hot decker." Argent said.
"And you're wondering what a drek-hot decker is doing operating solo." Archangel said.
"Yes."
"You're direct." she told him. "I like that. Cuts through a lot of unnecessary bulldrek."
"You haven't answered my question." Argent matched her long stride easily as they walked past the six stories of plascrete rectangle that was the Eli Whitney Tower, a corp-sponsored housing project. The corps funded several of the housing projects in the area, primarily so they could have a hostage test group for products they developed.
Archangel bit into the sloppie with clean, white teeth. She chewed, swallowed, then answered. "I choose to work solo, contract by contract."
"There's not much security in that."
"You make do without a team."
"There's Peg."
"Most of my work has been solo." she said. "If you know who to check with and the places to ask, you'll find I've been a busy girl. I was with a team for awhile."
"What happened?"
"I'm a professional. I got too close to one of the team."
"Caring about the people you work with isn't a bad thing."
"The way I was starting to care." Archangel commented softly, "was definitely a bad thing. I need distance in my biz to be good. If I start concentrating on one thing, on one person, wondering what'll happen to him when the drek comes down on a run, how the frag am I supposed to keep everybody else out of the drek?"
"Does he know?" The story touched Argent; he could hear the pain and confusion still in her voice despite her attempt to cover it up.
"I told him."
"What did he say?"
"I left a note."
"That's one way to avoid things."
She turned her black-lensed gaze on him. "There was nothing to avoid, Argent. What I did was a career choice. You should appreciate how professional I can be. I've made it my biz to know limits. Especially my own."
"You're right." Argent also knew how exacting that professionalism could be. The only time he'd truly felt alive since leaving Brynnmawr and Sencio had been when he was with the Wrecking Crew. Part of him had died again when Toshi and Hawk had flatlined. "How long ago was that?"
"Three years." Archangel looked away and started walking again.
"Three years is a lot of time." Argent stated.
"Meaning?"
"You could have hooked up with another team."
"I haven't found one I'd want to stay with."
"Why?"
"They weren't good enough. Their agendas didn't fit mine. They had manners I didn't appreciate. Why? Are you trying to put a permanent team together?"
"No." The thought twisted Argent's stomach slightly, surprising him. Getting close to someone again and losing them wasn't something he wanted to go through again. Having Andi Sencio in her present predicament was reminder of that.
"Why not?" she pressed. "You've got a good rep in this biz. You wouldn't have a problem enlisting a team."
"I'm more comfortable organizing specialty teams for specific runs. If you put a team together, you become responsible to it."
"Only if you let yourself."
"You have to take care of the team if you expect it to take care of you." Argent said, and it was one of the most basic lessons he'd learned even when he'd just been starting out with Brynnmawr.
"I don't need to be taken care of." Archangel said. "I take care of myself. I like it that way."
"Three years and you haven't gone back?"
"No."
"Keep in touch?"
"I've got a friend who keeps me updated."
"But you ask?" Argent asked.
"Yes."
"You haven't gotten past those feelings."
She regarded him. "You're pushing."
"I'm learning." Argent disagreed. "If you still have feelings for this joker it means you're capable of deep commitment. That you haven't gone back because you can't make it right in your own mind tells me that you're capable of deep convictions—no matter how much they hurt."
"Did you interview the other people on this run as closely?" she demanded.
"I know them." Argent stated flatly. "I know what I can expect of them, and what I can't."
"You could trust Peg."
"I do. That's why I'm talking to you now."
Archangel gave him a cold smile filled with the promise of bitter winter. "You can be a son of a slitch, Argent."
"Do you still want the contract?"
"Then I meet with your approval?"
"Yes."
She turned from him. "I'd already accepted the contract. From Peg. That's why I was here."
"Peg isn't managing this run."
"Whether you use me on the run or not." Archangel said, "I made the deal with Peg. I don't put myself through this kind of drek. I handle myself, and the people I work with are glad to get me."
Argent believed her.
* * *
Argent made the call to Rottstein from a pay telecom outside of a barber shop that he was sure fronted for a bookie operation. Commlinks in the El Infierno neighborhood were at a premium so the gambling operation still worked off shoe leather. A dozen small kids of different colors and metahumanity sat on the curb beside the street.
He placed the call through the protected North Carolina exchange and got the fixer on-line almost at once. "It's me." Argent said.
"Yeah, yeah. Gimme a minute."
Argent listened to the racking coughs that followed, only partially muted by Rottstein turning away. He glanced at Archangel across the street. She was looking in the window of a second-hand store that specialized in children's clothes. Her attention seemed captured by a little girl's sky-blue dress.
"Got some bad news." Rottstein said when he came back to the telecom. "Cholonga got whacked in Philadelphia last week. You're looking for a back-up long gun on this op, you're drek outta luck."
35
"What happened to Cholonga?" Argent asked.
"Skinny I get is that he went on the corp-dole as a black-ops specialist and got geeked running what was supposed to be a buy-back from another corp. At least, that's the scan they're giving out."
"But you got it another way?" Argent said.
"Yeah. The street buzz is that Cholonga was a sacrificial offering. He blew up somebody at a corp where his boss corp was making nice-nice again. In order to do biz, the other corp wanted Cholonga's brainbox on a stick."
"You've got addresses for the others?" Argent asked. Cholonga would be missed on this op; he was a true professional.
"Yeah. You ready?"
Argent took a blank chip from his forearm and slotted it into the telecom. "Push it through."
"Coming."
The telecom whirred for a couple heartbeats. Argent scanned the encrypted information feeding into the chip.
"You got times and places on there." Rottstein said. "An LTG if your timetable gets fragged along the way."
Argent took the chip out of the telecom and housed it inside his arm again. "Thanks."
"Null sweat." Rottstein said. "Just keep your head low, omae. You're one of the few who I can still do biz with and not end up with herniated bowels 'cause I'm trying not to drek myself."
Argent punched the Disconnect and crossed the street to Archangel. She had her sunglasses off as she studied the children's dresses. Her eyes were bronze with startling gold flecks in them. He couldn't quite identify the emotion in her eyes, but part of it was sadness.
"Like to buy something?" he asked.
Smoothly, the sunglasses slid back into place. Her expression was neutral when she turned to face him.
"No."
"You can have it sent."
"No. Cut to the chase."
"Sure." Argent led the way down the sidewalk, searching for an El Infierno cab. Most of them were armored up like tanks, and very few of them existed at all. "Do you speak French?"
"I speak eleven languages." Archangel replied. "French is one of them."
"Good, because speaking English in Quebec City isn't a good idea."
"We're headed to Quebec?"
"As soon as we can catch a plane." Argent replied. "We're going to be traveling a lot over the next few days."
* * *
The jet touched down in Quebec City at 21:43:11, local time. Secmen and sec-systems filled the airport.
Argent's cyberware sent the silent alarms into a panic frenzy as soon as he stepped off the plane.
A half-dozen men, rendered faceless by the riot helmets they wore and covered in kevlar, pointed their weapons at him. "Down on the "floor!" ordered a man with sergeant's chevrons marked on his shoulder. He spoke in French, then repeated himself in English. "Hands on your head!"
Argent complied, moving lithely into position and staring full into the sergeant's facemask. "I've got papers." he said in French. The remainder of the plane's passengers cowered in the tunnel leading to the jet.
The people in the airport itself stared in frozen curiosity.
The sec sergeant nodded to one of his men. The sec-man came forward cautiously, remaining small in the field of fire.
"I'm a bounty hunter." Argent said. "I've got a work visa."
Peg had supplied the cover, including the visa. Quebec didn't recognize the sentience of paranormal creatures, and even wanted to put trolls on the bounty lists the government paid off on. The problem was, even though those sentient creatures weren't recognized as intelligent, they often turned the tables on the people who hunted them. Bounty hunters regularly crossed the borders seeking gainful employment.
The bounty hunter cover explained much of the cyberware Argent had.
The secman pulled the Quebec-stamped document from Argent's blouse pocket. He scanned through it quickly. "It's a certified license, sir." he reported. "His name is Kortmunder."
"Run it." the sergeant ordered. Neither he nor his men lowered their weapons.
Argent waited on his knees, watching as the secman crossed the boarding cubicle to the telecom on the greeting desk. He spoke briefly, then scanned the visa in. Argent felt his stomach tighten involuntarily, wondering how well Peg had been able to sleaze her way through Quebec City's bureaucratic systems.
They should have been easier than any corp's in the plex.
"It's valid." the secman said.
The sergeant nodded, waving his troops into parade rest. They holstered their weapons. "Enjoy your stay in Quebec City, Mr. Kortmunder." the sergeant said.
"It's got to be better than this." Argent said, standing up and grabbing his duffel. He made his way through the packed airport and to the baggage claim area. After he had his gear, he went to the rental car area. Finished with the paperwork and scanning the Kortmunder thumb-print he was wearing into the contract, he found the Americar he'd been given and drove to the upper levels of the airport.
Archangel stood in front of the main entrance.
Argent pulled to the curb and reached across to open her door.
"Now that was exciting." she said as she placed her briefcase in the back seat.
Argent said nothing, pressing on the accelerator as he roared away from the curb and slid into the shadowy maw of Quebec City. He headed for the newest section of the plex. Locals called them the Enterprise Zones because the corps had built there with exactly that in mind.
When the work had begun, thousands of plex natives had been displaced as room was made for the Enterprise Zones. There'd been five in the beginning, representing MCT, Aztechnology, Fuchi, Yokogawa-Honeywell, and Yamaha. Three more opened in 2054, bringing the total up to eight.
> "That has the distinct look of a demilitarized zone." Archangel commented.
"It's more dangerous than that." Argent said quietly. "The Enterprise Zones are treated as extraterritorial and beyond the laws of Quebec. The corps can kill whomever they like over there, and Quebec City won't do a thing about it as long as they don't advertise the fact."
"We aren't going there, I hope."
"No." Argent leveled a forefinger and pointed through the mosquito-smeared windshield. "There." The Hilton International Quebec stood twenty-five stories tall in the distance. Lime-green neon advertising raced up its sides, blending it into the rest of the plex's lighted Upper Town area.
36
"Do you want to tell me who we're here to meet?" Archangel asked as they stepped off the elevator on the eighteenth floor of the Hilton International Quebec.
Argent scanned the hallway as he stepped out. He'd taken the Savalette Guardian from his bags in the parking lot. The hotel security systems weren't designed to keep out people with weapons, but a sec-force was in evidence in the foyer. The elevators were also bugged with audlinks and vidlinks. Except for a few watercolor prints on the walls, the hallway seemed clear.
"Her name is Laveau." Argent said. "She's a street shaman. I've worked with her a few times before.
She's in eighteen-fourteen." He counted doors down, closing on his objective.
"What's she doing here?"
"Her latest gig." Argent answered. "She's set herself up as a card reader for the corps, telling fortunes, creating good luck totems, and the occasional love potion. With all the corp action here, she's doing quite well, from what I hear." Rottstein had filled him in on the specifics. "Here we are." He pressed the button beside the door and stood in view of the button-cam at the top of the door so Laveau could see his image on the scanner inside.
Argent counted the ticks, waiting for the door to open.
"You're early." Laveau complained as she swung the door wide. "I'm still with a client." She was a black ork, her hair cut and styled in curls, the canines jutting up from her lower jaw gleaming and white. She stood almost as tall as Argent and wore a flowing white dress covered with silver embroidery in the shape of skulls, grinning, leering, angry, and sad.
