Just Another Night
*** Chapter 2 - The Line ***

      Princess strolled through the front door of Matchstick's and glanced around the dimly lit room.  It always amazed her how the arrangement of half-walls, plants, and small fountains managed to give every booth a semblance of privacy in a crowded room.  Of course the fountains made a nice white noise background to help prevent eavesdropping, as well.  There were several small groups already seated, their faces shadowed from the flickering gas lamps hanging from the ceiling.

      She gave the maitre'd a pleasant smile. "I'm with the Johnson party."

      "Of course, ma'am."  The young man looked down, consulted his list, and then smiled.  "I'm sure you've already checked your weapons, so if you will follow me, please...?"

      The man led her toward one of the tables near the back of the room.  As she approached, she saw the back of Beck's trademark brown fedora above the rear wall of the booth.  Walking around she saw that Dancer was already there as well.  The lean Native American was wearing his usual leather shirt and jeans, belt adorned with turquoise stones and feathers.  Beck was seated on the opposite side of the curved table.  The ork was wearing a black silk shirt and black leather pants.

      'What is it about runners that they all seem to have a thing for black?', Princess thought to herself.  Her own silver form-hugging top made a startling contrast to the others' dark garb as she slid into the booth next to Dancer.

      Beck leered briefly at her breasts, then grinned.  "Good to see you again, sweetie."

      "Wish I could say the same," Princess replied with a shit-eater of her own.

      "Ahem", the fourth member of their party interrupted.  "Now that you are all present, I would like to begin.  Time is of the essence."

      "Of course", Dancer said with a slight smile.  His soft, clear spoken voice continued, "Isn't it always?"

      "Quite so."  The immaculately dressed man between Dancer and Beck gave a slight smile.  His perfectly tailored suit, again black, Princess noticed, looked promising.  It spoke of someone with money to spend – not necessarily their own money, she guessed, but a Corp's money was just as good.

      "Let me thank you all for coming," the man began.  "My name is, of course, Mr. Johnson.  I will be your sole contact with my employers, who obviously wish to ensure discretion.  I have already outlined these terms to Slander, who has agreed and will serve as your decker for this mission.

      "We will pay each of you 75,000 nuyen for the recovery of this man", Johnson said while placing a photograph from his briefcase on the table.  "He is to be unharmed and able to function.  No drugging, unless the effects wear off before he is handed over to us and cause no long term problems.  There will be a bonus of 25,000 nuyen if you can spirit him out of the ship without raising any external attention. 

      "Additionally, I have a set of micro-transceivers that will enable your penetration team to remain in contact with Slander.

      "The boat docks tonight, and Mr. Harrison should have completed his tasks at containing the rogue code within 24 hours. You will need to recover him as quickly after that happens as possible, as Renraku will likely move him back to Japan once he is finished.

      "The terms of this arrangement are non-negotiable.  Do you have any questions?"

      "What do we do with him once we've got him?", Beck asked, his heavy Brooklyn accent reminding Princess of an old gangster movie she'd seen a few weeks back.

      "Mr. Dancer should be able to get credentials for all of you to enter the
Salish-Shidhe territories. You will bring Mr. Harrison to Vancouver in three days.  That will be...Friday, I believe. Arrive at this office", here he tossed a business card onto the table, "at 5 o'clock that evening."

      "What do we get up front?", Princess inquired.

      "20,000 now, the balance upon our receipt of Mr. Harrison."

      Princess glanced across at Beck. He grinned, waggling a tusk and causing the chain link pierced through it to jingle slightly. She turned to Dancer, who shrugged slightly.

      "It sounds like a deal", she said.

      "Excellent." Mr. Johnson smiled broadly, and pulled three cred sticks from his pocket.  "Here is your advance. My number is on the card.  Please contact me if you have any questions.  Mr. Beck, if you would please excuse me...?"

      Beck grunted then slid out of the booth to let the older man out.

      "And of course", Mr. Johnson turned as he was leaving, "enjoy the
meal on us."

© 2003 by Blake Sorensen