10-25-97
01:16:52 am CST

"That's the address."

Choi stared at vacant lots on all four corners of Oak Lane and Mill Street. The only thing still standing for a full block was a phone booth. It resembled nothing so much as a stubborn daisy that had grown back after a forest fire had claimed the rest of the surrounding area.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"He said go to this address and make a call."

"What's the number, Pony?" Pony screwed up his face a moment too long. "You do remember, right?" You had better not be wasting my time. Two hours kept a lot of customers waiting.

"I remember."

"Then let's make a call." Choi strode to the payphone with a false certainty, feeling nothing less than absolutely foolish. He kept reminding himself he could take it out of Pony's ass if this didn't pan out. That wouldn't make up the couple of grand he'd be out for the night, but he'd sure feel a whole lot better. Throwing the door open, he beckoned Pony forward, said "Number." Pony dropped in a quarter, punched it in, and obediently handed the phone to Choi. He almost hung up when he realized that it had been too many numbers for a local call. He sure as hell hadn't any intention of putting in any more than a quarter. He'd start taking money off of Pony now.

The call connected.

"Yeah?"

"Who is this?" Choi demanded. Pony's smugly satisfied grin was pissing him off.

"You called me. Shouldn't you know?"

There was something...off about the voice on the end of the line. It didn't sound natural. A distortion or a voice box?

"I got your number from a..." He did a once over of Pony. "From a friend." If this worked, he might consider letting Pony bear that distinction.

"I don't have any friends."

"My friend. Pony."

"I don't know any Pony."

"Well, see, he got it from..." Choi palmed the mouthpiece and jerked his chin at Pony. DuJour stepped forward with him, right at Pony's elbow. "Pony, who the hell gave you this number?"

"Guy called Strike, I think."

"You think? You think? Never mind," Choi groaned, running a hand over his face. "Fuck!" He put the phone to his mouth and uncovered it.

"Who's there with you?"

Christ, this guy's paranoid. "That's just Pony. Pony says he got your number from Strike."

"Strike shouldn't be giving out this number." The voice on the other end of the phone, despite sounding artificial, had enough dryness to it for Choi to want to smack its owner.

"Pony seemed to think you could help me out with a little problem I'm having."

"I'm no councillor. You have problems, call a help-line."

"I thought that's what this was." Choi gritted his teeth and caught DuJour's gaze. Her eyes were wild. One word, and she'd cut him. DuJour never went anywhere unarmed. It excited her too much not to. "I'm having car troubles."

"Try triple-A."

"I would rather it be done on the sly."

"Would you?"

It took Choi all of three seconds to tire of this dance. If this was a setup, he'd go down for it if he said what he wanted first. But the voice on the other end wasn't going to make the offer. If it was a cop, he couldn't or the charge could be thrown out on the basis of entrapment. If he was a legit criminal, he wouldn't for a similar fear of a setup. It was a risk, but if neither one took it, they'd be at this all night. Things needed to get done.

"I need a boot removed from my car."

"Parking tickets?"

"Too many to remember," Choi answered honestly.

"Very costly."

"I heard you could help me out with that."

"Really."

"Change a few records, maybe put my car back on the 'clear and above board' list?"

"I see. How would I do that?"

"Using a computer."

There was a lengthy pause punctuated by static crackling which Choi interpreted as the distortion device trying to translate the person on the other end breathing. Sita and The Dude watched without perceptible interest. DuJour looked barely restrained and had bitten into her lip; blood pooled around one of her unnaturally sharp canines. Always ready for some action, his girl.

"What's your name?"

"Choi." Everyone else jumped when he said it, as if this were a giant secret he'd just revealed.

"Your real name."

"I'm not telling you that." No way. He'd sooner bite through the boot on his car. And some part of him refused to trust this anonymous, miracle helper.

"I can't help you if I don't know what name the car's registered under."

"How about I give you the plates?"

"That will do." A pause. "It's registered locally?"

"Yeah, B-1-6-6-E-R."

"Hold on."

Pony was sniggering, even with DuJour's nails now tapping at his Adam's apple. Sita whispered in The Dude's ear, tracing out the alphanumeric on his chest upside down, then giggled. The Dude laughed only after she did, still nonplused for having been given the punch line.

"What?" Choi challenged Pony.

"You got a complex, Choi?"

"What?"

"B166ER...you know what that looks like, right?"

"Like the fucking plates on my wheels, man," he snapped. "It came with the car. She's second-hand." He turned his back on Pony and the others. "Hello?"

"Hello, Charles Evan Baldwin-Spencer." There was a crackle like simulated laughter.

"That's not my name."

"Of course not. That's just the name under which a 1976 black Pontiac Firebird, license B166ER is registered."

"We understand each other then," Choi nodded to himself with relief. He would have died before saying that name aloud. Particularly because that was his name. Fuck that, I am a self-made man, so my name is the one I choose.

A simulated whistle. "You owe the great state of Illinois two grand, Choi."

"On parking tickets?"

"You'd be amazed how that can add up when you ignore summonses."

"I don't believe it. Why the hell wouldn't they have just impounded my car?" This was a trick, a means of jacking up the price for this cowboy's services.

"It's on their to-do list." The voice sounded thoroughly unconcerned.

"Bullshit."

"To-do tomorrow at 9 am, if you want to know."

"Bullshit," Choi repeated.

"I guess you'll find out, won't you?" This was a tad more defensive.

Choi swallowed his pride. Two grand he had, naturally, but it was another matter about proving he'd come by it legally. "How much?"

"Half."

"You're shitting me."

"To cover my expenses."

"What fucking expenses?" He punched the glass, slicing his knuckles on the shards. "You just have to change a few numbers on a...a fucking machine!"

"I'll need to locate a new number for these transactions. That takes time and effort."

"You a lawyer or something?"

"No, just very cautious."

Okay, that he understood. "Five hundred. Five hundred and you make those tickets vanish."

"Seven-fifty for that. For the full grand, I'll see that the boot's off by 9 am tomorrow."

"No," Choi shook his head, as if the voice could see. "No, I need it tonight."

"Tell that to the city workers who don't start till 9 am. One thousand, and your car jumps to the head of their list, and your tickets are cleared."

"Five hundred for the whole package, and I'll make you a deal." He dealt all the time; it was what he was good at.

"I'm not interested in deals."

"Sure you are, cowboy," Choi soothed. "How else you going to make it in this world? Like you said, takes time and effort. Why waste either? You play right by me, I'll take care of you, too." Oh, he was good. No one turned down a joint, a pipe, a hit, a pill, or a tab when he worked. And all it ever took was one. Just one 'yes,' and his customers threw 'no' out of their dictionaries.

"What does that mean?" Ahh, gotcha. Choi grinned and gave DuJour a thumbs-up, even nodded once at Pony. The latter relaxed, DuJour bit into her lip harder.

He cleared his throat. "Means you've got a customer for life. And a new go-to boy. I'll get you new customers. They'll work through me for what they need." Silence as the owner of the false voice thought this through. "What do you say?"

"I don't trust you. I don't know you. Why?"

"Business deal, one lowlife to another."

"What sort of business would that be?"

"The feeling good business."

"Not interested."

"You don't have to be," Choi's smoothest shmooze came out, the voice with which he could talk potentials into consumption, virgins into prostitution, if he wished. "I have people who might be in need of your type of services. Stupid people, stupid people who don't know any better than to pay top dollar." That was true-junkies would pay anything for what they needed because you never bargained with the dealer who held all the cards.

"Stupid people not like you, you mean."

"Do I sound stupid to you?"

"No, actually. Very surprising."

"What do you say? Seven-fifty now, and I pass you work on the sly."

The voice wasn't going to agree, not right away, but his deal was too good to turn down. It inevitably was. Choi counted the seconds up to a hundred and twenty before he lost track between numbers while staring at DuJour. She was licking her bloody lower lip into a bright red mess about her mouth. He'd send Pony packing with Sita and The Dude and take advantage of that. It took him a long while to realize the voice on the other end had begun to speak again.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Five hundred."

It wasn't "It's a deal," or "You got it," but it would do for Choi. But he still wouldn't have his car tonight. That was the last little hitch in the whole package. Short work for a pro like him.

"I'll make it seven-fifty, deal and all if you can get it unlocked tonight."

"Seven-fifty then."

That simple. This guy knew how to bargain, too, revealing only as much as necessary to get the sweetest deal for himself. It burned Choi to know he'd been played even a little, but, honestly, he'd half expected it. It didn't matter. This was a potentially lucrative new partnership, pairing a new supplier with the established network-that was the how to do business. The glitches between their cuts of the pie could be sorted out later; he'd just have to school this guy-behind the voice, he pictured a stereotypical computer nerd, tape on glasses, calculator in pocket-on the reality of street prices. That is, once he determined what they were.

"It's yours. Where do we meet?"

"We don't."

"Uh-uh," Choi tsk-tsked into the receiver. "I do all my business face to face."

"I can arrange a drop for the money. The rest I can do from here."

"I got that, man, what I need to know is how I can be sure my car will be taken care of once I drop."

"What, you don't trust me?" Sarcasm was difficult to divine in an artificial voice, but Choi didn't have any problem. He let his soothing tone roll over his frustration.

"You got nothing to lose. You meet me somewhere, we exchange. I'm not carrying anything more dangerous than a woman right now." Granted, he thought she was pretty dangerous, but still.

"Not over the phone. Look under the shelf." Choi stared at the wall of the phone booth. "Where the yellow pages should be." He stooped. "On the underside of the ledge." He looked up. There was another address and a phone number, a different one from the one he'd just called. "Memorize that. Don't repeat it on this line or aloud to any of your friends. Do not bring them with you. Call the number when you get there."

"Man, you've got to be kidding. That's halfway across the city!"

"It's your car."

Choi stared at the receiver as it bleated out an empty dial tone.