Choose Your Enemies Carefully

by Robert N. Charrette

  He still wasn’t completely sure the corporation had decided that revenge was uneconomical. He had to force himself to keep pace with the pedestrian traffic around him. He didn’t want to attract attention. As a member of the crowd, he could pass, but if he gave the guards cause to single him out, who knew what might result?

  He reached the alley that led to the club. He was surprised but pleased to see that one of the three bikes parked against the wall was Dodger’s Rapier. Penumbra was no place for animals, so he looked around for Inu to tell him to wait. The dog was scampering across Yesler Way, off to find his own entertainment. He’d be back eventually, as always. Sam had met Inu on the streets and had no worries that the dog would be all right.

  Though twilight was still gathering among the rainladen clouds outside, night had already fallen in Club Penumbra. The gloom was deeper than usual, since the wall-sized tridscreen was dark. Sam picked his way through the entryway mostly by following the sound of Big Tom, the Club’s resident sound engineer and backup musician, practicing his drumbeats. As Sam cleared the arch and entered the main floor. Big Tom deflated his throat pouch and hooted the dual tone he used for greetings. Sam did his best to return the sasquatch’s sound. Big Tom grinned his lopsided grin which only showed the fangs on the left side of his face. Sam was never sure if the furry metahuman was smiling with pleasure or amusement at Sam’s attempts to greet him in kind.

  Big Tom took up his practice again as Sam crossed the floor. His was the only music in the place, but it was a weeknight and still early. The Penumbra wouldn’t start rocking for another couple of hours. There were a few patrons scattered about at the freestanding tables and in the alcoves along the back wall. That was fine. There were enough people to keep things friendly but not enough to crowd sensitive discussions. The club’s regulars minded their own biz.

  Jim at the bar inclined his head, and Sam altered his path in the direction indicated. The sole occupied booth in that corner had a black booted foot thrust from its recesses. The stud pattern on the footwear’s straps and the faint gleam of a white shag of hair advertised Dodger’s presence.

  Sam kicked the sole of the boot, saying, "Hoi, Dodger. You’re early. Are you feeling all right?"

  "In truth I was. Until you wounded me with your remark, Sir Twist." Dodger cocked his head to look up at Sam, causing sparkles of light to flash from the three jacks on his depilated left temple. To anyone who didn’t know the elf, the computer interface ports would seem incongruous next to his pointed ears, but Sam knew they were as integral to who Dodger was as his slim elven bones.

  "You’ll heal. Get anything on Mr. Johnson? Like maybe why things got screwed up last night?"

  "Some data has fallen into my hands but, as to yesterday’s difficulties, I can do no more than speculate."

  "Well if you’ve got any data, you’re ahead of me." Sam slid onto the bench next to Dodger. The elf pushed a minicomp across, allowing Sam to scroll through while he gave a summation.

  "As you can see, Mr. Johnson is Andrew Glover of ATT. For someone with his background and standing in the corporation, this shadow work is a bit out of line. The bodyguard is Harry Burke, pro muscle from the European circuit. Very expensive."

  "Hmm. Think our Mr. Johnson is moonlighting?"

  "Possibly. He might have legitimate ATT business in Seattle, since he arrived direct from headquarters in London on his corporate passport. I’ll need more time to check that out."

  "So he might be legit or he might not."

  "Time is data, and I had very little time."

  Sam spotted something and froze the scroll. "Saeder-Krupp," he said softly. He shuddered, remembering his dealings with the dragon who owned that megacorporation.

  "Interesting, is it not?"

  "I’d hate to think that this has some connection to Lofwyr. I’ve dealt with more than enough dragons." Dodger nodded agreement. Sam returned to scrolling through the data that the elf had collected, but his mind wasn’t really focused. The reflections on the screen seemed to echo the glints of a dragon’s eye, and he kept drifting back to thoughts of Lofwyr. Sally had robbed the dragon of his prize, and Sam had no idea how Lofwyr had taken that. When Sam had tried to use the telecom numbers he had been given to contact the dragon or his agents, he had found them all disconnected. He had assumed that meant that the dragon was calling it quits, finding revenge as expensive a luxury as Renraku appeared to believe it was. Now there was this connection, tenuous but real. Was he already enmeshed in the coils of another of the dragon’s plots? Had Lofwyr only been biding his time? Waiting for the opportunity to strike?

  Sam felt an elbow in his ribs as Dodger said, " ’Twould seem that everyone is running ahead of schedule tonight."

  Following Dodger's eye line, Sam saw Andrew Glover crossing the dance floor to the bar. The ATT man was of middling height, narrow-shouldered, and slim. His long, slightly horsey face was relaxed, suffused with the calm of a man assured of his proper place in the world. From his clothes, that place was a comfortable one. His shiny black shoes and grey gloves were spotless, showing no signs of wear. The rest was hidden under a long, caped coat of natural tweed. Despite its expensive material, it would be lined with ballistic cloth. The wealthy took as few chances as possible. Dark spots marred the perfect tones of the coat’s shoulders. He slid a hand through his sandy hair, flicking away the water in a casual gesture. His walk was casual, too, as if he was striding through some ancestral manor.

  Surveying the club with what appeared to be simple curiosity, Burke followed Glover in. The bodyguard moved with a predator’s gait, smooth and calm but ready to explode into instant action. Penumbra’s protection would not allow Sam to make a successful astral check, but you didn’t need to be a magician to know that Burke had some kind of edge over ordinary people. Dodger had said the man’s services were expensive. Since there was no reason to expect Dodger to have gotten bad information, Burke was likely very good at his job. That meant cyberware or magic; simple skills and knowledge weren’t enough anymore.

  The barkeep directed Glover to their booth. As soon as he saw that it was occupied, Glover put on his corporate smile. He removed his long coat and handed it to Burke who slung it over his arm. The guard seemed to find its weight far less than Glover had. Burke stayed back, letting his charge approach the booth alone.

  Glover seated himself on the empty bench, but before he could speak, he was jostled by a new arrival.

  Sam hadn’t seen where Jason had been hiding. He hadn’t even known Jason was in the club until he materialized at the edge of the booth. Maybe the kid had learned something from Ghost. In any case, there had been no time to warn Glover that he was about to have company.

  Jason pushed his shoulder against Glover. The roughness of Jason’s dermal armor implant snagged the corporate’s silk jacket, tugging strands free. Jason placed an Ares predator on the table, the gun’s huge barrel pointing in Glover’s direction. Jason removed his hand from the butt and rested his palm on the table.

  The ATT man reacted well. He expressed only surprise at the Indian’s sudden appearance. A quirk at the corner of his mouth hinted at annoyance. Other than that, there was no sign that he was bothered by Jason’s typically over-stated threat. Sam was impressed, and warned, by Glover’s cool. Some corporates would have started yelling murder at such an unexpected appearance. Glover merely slid over to make room for the broad-shouldered Indian and brushed at the shoulder of his jacket. A negligent wiggling of his fingers sent silk fibers drifting to the table top.

  Sam would have expected Burke to intercept Jason. Curious, he looked over and saw the bodyguard standing side-by-side with Fishface. It was unlikely that the professional guard had been intimidated by Fishface’s ragged presence. Burke’s failure to interfere was more likely directly related to Glover’s lack of alarm.

  Glover cleared his throat. "This is a bit irregular."

  "So was the run, chummer," Jason said. "You ain’t got problems so long as you play cle
an, Johnson. We got your warm body for you and want our nuyen."

  Glover stared at Jason for a moment, then turned his head to look at Sam. "Am I dealing with a new principal?"

  "No, you’re not," Sam replied firmly. "But he is right. The situation was not as you led us to believe. I would like an explanation."

  "I just want the creds," Jason said.

  The look Glover gave him spoke volumes about the trials of dealing with the lower classes. With slow deliberation to show that he was not reaching for a weapon, Glover slid his hand into his jacket and removed a credstick. It was unmarked by bank seals or the banding of a certified stick. "There is no intent to defraud you. I believe that this will cover the remainder of the agreed-upon sum."

  For all his obvious greed, Jason didn’t snatch it up when Glover placed it in the center of the table. Instead, Jason poked it with his gun, rolling it toward Dodger. Peremptorily, he ordered, "Check it out, elf."

  Dodger plucked the stick from the table without a word. He recovered the minicomp and slotted the credstick. His fingers danced on the key membrane. After several flurries, he looked up at Glover. "Pray tell, Goodman Johnson. Why are the funds locked?"

  "What!" Jason’s eyes narrowed.

  Sam tried to forestall any further reaction by asking, "Is there an explanation you’d care to offer, Mr. Johnson?"

  Glover ignored the agitated man at his side, focusing his attention only on Sam. "I believe that I have a question of my own which must be answered before we proceed. Where is Mr. Sanchez?"

  The man was so damn sure of himself.

  "Being delivered as we agreed."

  Glover’s face remained deadpan. "I am quite sure that you understand. I must have that confirmed before I authorize the transfer of funds."

  Hoping that he had called it right, Sam tried to keep his own voice calm and assured. He hoped he hid his growing trepidation. Corporates away from their safe turf didn’t stay so unruffled unless they had hidden assets.

  "Then we wait." Jason looked like he was ready to do something else, so Sam said, "Got that, Jason? We give the man a chance."

  Jason’s sullen glower was his answer.

  They sat in stony silence for some minutes until Glover’s wrist beeped. He slid back his pristine cuff to reveal a multi-function watch. Tapping in two code sequences, he waited for a response. He seemed satisfied when it came. He tapped in another longer sequence.

  "Right. That’s it, then, gentlemen. You will find the complete fee available to you now, as well as a substantial bonus in recognition of the alacrity of your performance. I would like to say it has been a complete pleasure doing business with you." Glover started to rise. He made no gesture but it was clear that he expected Jason to get out of his way. "I am a very busy man and I must be getting along."

  "Just make yourself comfortable, Mr. Johnson," Sam told him. He was pleased that his voice remained steady. There had been no sign from Jim at the bar that anything was out of place, but that was no guarantee that nothing was wrong. Especially if Glover was an agent of Lofwyr. "You’re here until Otter calls in."

  Glover drew in a long breath and pursed his lips.

  He reseated himself stiffly. "I see."

  "No need to be put out, Goodman Johnson. ’Tis a simple bit of business assurance. I’m sure you understand."

  Glover returned Dodger’s smile with a stiff mask, but his detachment was evaporating. The corporate’s annoyance was starting to grow. In the middle of the room, Burke was tensed. Sam wanted to defuse the situation before someone did something that they’d all regret. But how?

  Forcing a smile that he really didn’t feel, Sam called for a round of drinks.

  "There’s no reason to be concerned, Mr. Johnson. This is simply a business formality. We can still complete this deal without impediments."

  "Let us hope so, Mr. Twist."

  "I have confidence. However, my friends might feel more confident of our good will if you were to answer my earlier question. They would be relieved if you were to offer some reasonable explanation for the screw-up."

  Glover shrugged away the importance of the matter with the merest shift of his shoulders.

  "It was a simple communications slipup. Mr. Sanchez never received the word that his extraction was to take place. That same glitch deprived him of your descriptions. He would have had no idea that you and your friends were my agents."

  "That’s it?"

  "That is, as you say, it. I accept full responsibility for the confusion."

  It would be impolitic to dispute Glover’s answer. It was possible that he told the truth. Just barely. Sam tried another approach.

  "I realize that you need not tell us. but what will happen to Sanchez from this point?"

  Glover looked thoughtful for a moment, then almost smiled. "Mr. Sanchez will receive the most attentive care during his transfer. We want him in the best of health. His role in our organization will be a prominent one. Of course, we will benefit from his participation, but it will not be all one-sided. Mr. Sanchez has special assets. His participation in our ongoing project will ensure that many people lead better and more productive lives. If all goes as planned, he may even be famous one day. So I can assure you that you need have no concerns about Mr. Sanchez’s welfare. We intend to see that he has every opportunity to achieve his destiny."

  "Too fragging noble," Jason commented.

  "Believe as you will," Glover returned. "Some people have concerns beyond their own personal comforts and needs. Some of those people are in positions to act and would find it unconscionable not to act. Can you grasp the concept of altruism, or is that beyond your greedy brain?"

  Jason clenched his jaw, his hand slowly sliding up and over the butt of his Predator. Thankful that the insult had only lit the fuse rather than touching off an instant explosion, Sam slapped his own hand down on Jason’s. He had no hope of pinning it there, but he might slow Jason’s reactions. That delay could give Burke time to kill the Indian. Hoping he had made the right move, Sam glared at Glover.

  "That was uncalled for. I think you should apologize to Jason."

  Glover glanced at the table before speaking. His voice was neutral. "Where apologies are necessary and appropriate, I offer them."

  The reduction in tension under his hand told Sam that Jason had accepted Glover’s statement as repentence. The Indian really was dumb. Sam waited until Jason relaxed his shoulders, then dragged the Indian’s hand away from the gun before releasing it.

  They waited. At last, the bar phone rang and Jim picked it up. He spoke into the handset, nodded, then shoved it into his gut to muffle the pick-up.

  "Call for Halifax. Anybody seen her?" Jim shouted. After waiting a moment for a response that never came, he said into the receiver, "Ain’t here. It’s early, try Damien’s."

  Dodger sat back and smiled. Sam felt the same relief, but thought it impolitic to let it show. Jim was giving the code phrase that meant Grey Otter had made the transfer and gotten safely away. Jason used the opportunity to snatch the minicomp, letting out a surprised oath when he saw the figures on the screen. He turned the minicomp around again and shoved it at Sam.

  "Make the cuts, Twist."

  Sam transferred Jason’s cut back to the credstick in the machine. He popped it and slid in a blank to take the transfer of Fishface’s slice. Transaction completed, he put both on the table and rolled them to Jason.

  The Indian grabbed his own first and slipped it into his pouch. Rising, he caught the other as it reached the edge of the table top. He flicked the stick to Fishface.

  "Done deal?" Fishface asked tonelessly.

  "Done deal. We’re outta here."

  Glover joined Sam and Dodger in watching the two leave. "Your muscle is flighty. Such an abrupt exit might tempt an ungrateful employer into minimizing his expenses. How can they be sure I will not cause problems now?"

  Sam wondered that himself. Not that he thought that they’d care if Glover decided to smoke Sam and D
odger. They had their nuyen and were satisfied to let the future take care of itself. Sam had never been so cavalier about the future, so he hadn’t been counting on the lame-brained muscleboys to kept the meeting friendly.

  "It was never their problem," he said. "This is a public place where we’re well-known. You’ll find it difficult to make trouble here. Besides, we all got what we came here for, didn’t we?"

  Glover pursed his iips and raised his eyebrows slightly. "It would appear so. Yet I wonder, would your associates have performed any differently had this meeting taken place somewhere else?"

  "We have friends in lots of places."

  "You are commendably cautious, although some of your associations may not be wisely chosen."

  "There are always constraints."

  Glover nodded knowingly. "Quite. I apologize for my earlier abruptness, gentlemen. Your style is unfamiliar to me and I was slightly discomfited. Having become acquainted with some of the constraints under which you work, I realize now that your conduct was competent and professional."

  Sam inclined his head. He wasn’t sure what Glover was leading up to, so he thought it best to say nothing.

  "I have certain endeavors still uncompleted and find myself somewhat short of competent help. Which is to say, I have another job suitable for professionals of your caliber. It is a similar to this recent operation, which has been concluded with such admirable results."

  No thanks, Sam thought. "I think things will be a little warm in Seattle for a while."

  "Which is a good reason for you to consider my offer. The job I have in mind is out-of-town work."

  "I’m afraid that’s not the sort of thing we do." Sam said.