10-25-97
02:08:31 am CST

"Jesus," Choi muttered, running a hand down his face. It had taken some doing, but he'd shaken Sita, The Dude, Pony, and DuJour to get to the new address. If DuJour hadn't been preoccupied with intimidating Pony, she alone might have been clever enough to figure out how to know where he was going.

Another fucking phone. He glared at the booth with all the indignance of a patient, methodical gardener who'd just discovered his garden was full of weeds. Hateful thing. How the hell come there're so many of these things still around? Phone booths were a thing of the past. Clark Kent would have to change into his Super-undies in a diner's restroom before he'd find a full-on phone booth in this city any more. And yet the voice on the phone had pointed him to no less than two of the invisible booths still standing in old Chicago.

Very old Chicago. Choi whistled. Wells and Lake intersected amid the old industrial slum district, decayed with age to be basically unlivable. He delivered there all the time, and not one single customer of his had a home in the neighborhood. He slunk into the booth that he couldn't ever remember seeing before and dialed the number he'd gotten from the other payphone.

"Yeah."

"It's Choi."

"I know."

Figures. "We doing this or what?"

"You have the money?"

"Seven-fifty." He fished into the hidden pocket in his beat-up leather coat, thumbing the edge of a wad of bills. Pony's money. Even if he recouped the losses from hours of inactivity and lost contacts, Pony wasn't seeing a penny of it back. Pony didn't mind--he was paying for DuJour's time, and DuJour's time was directly billable to Choi.

"The drop is at..."

"Wait a second." Choi growled. "I want proof this is fixed if I leave you my cash, man." Irritation, not helped along by the aspect of coming home in the morning to DuJour all worn out from a night with Pony, had him steam-rolling over this bastard who presumed to tell him his business. "I want to know my car is waiting for me when I hang up this phone."

"And how would you like me to do that?"

"I want a gesture of faith on your part."

"Do you?"

"Listen," Choi bit down on his lip to keep from snarling, "I'm going out on a limb here. I have work to do and I need that car. You jerk me around and I don't get it, I want to know I can take it out of your ass. You dig?"

"That hardly seems an incentive for me to trust you."

"I don't have any reason to trust you, man. I'm asking you for a show of good will here, then I'll see about trusting you."

"And I thought you wanted to deal."

"I do, fool." Jesus, this guy's green. How the hell did Pony get his number from any one? He sounds like he's never done this work. "But a partnership requires give and take, buddy."

"I prefer silent partners."

"I am silent, man," Choi focused on putting more sweet-talk into his pitch. "You think I'm going to go about calling attention to anything that gets done tonight? Wrong, my friend. You just need to prove to me I'm getting what I need out of this before I roll you the cash."

"How do I know you will once you've got your car?"

Choi grinned. This was going to be fun. "I guess you'd have to come meet me face to face."

A pause. "I don't work like that."

"But I do. I told you that. And besides, can't tell anything about you from a face, partner."

Another, lengthier pause. "I'd prefer a drop."

"Compromise, man, or I go talk to a meter-maid with a grudge."

"You can't threaten me."

True, Choi chuckled to himself, but I can make you sweat it out a little. He'd let on how much he needed his wheels, that had been his mistake. This guy had let it slip, through his penchant for overly dramatic espionage tactics, that he was no expert--even if his paranoia could pass as professional--and that was his mistake.

"Buy you a drink, too."

"Hardly an incentive," the voice repeated, but he wasn't hanging up, wasn't giving up. Isn't giving in, either, Choi conceded, though he imagined this guy was worrying that maybe, just maybe, Choi wasn't bluffing.

"Let me tell you how it is, boss. In this business, you wanna stay unknown. I get that. I'm just betting there's no way I can pin this little favor you're doing me to the you that shows up, is all. You follow?"

Silence. Then, "I'm not happy about this."

"First time for everything, cochise."

"I don't have to ask if you'll be alone, I trust?"

"Sent my crew packing. I'll meet up with them later. Can drop you off wherever you like once my baby's free of the crib."

"Crew?"

"I don't work in the dark like you, man." He worked at night but not exactly in a fog of secrecy. His kind of activity worked best through word of mouth. It was the same principle this guy was toying with but trying not to buy totally into. Business didn't work that way. You needed a friend to tell a friend to tell a friend to form a network of clients. Then they came to you and all you had to do from there was pick and chose the ones you allowed access. If he went looking for clients by hiding like this dude, he'd have gone broke ages ago.

"Your car."

"Yeah, what about it? You change your mind?"

"No, not that." Of course not. He wants money. Or, Choi blinked stupidly as it hit him, or he just really, really wants to see if he can do this. He'd come closer to the truth than he'd even guessed when he'd sized this guy up as a freshman on the market. It wasn't about the money--it was a test of nerves. Like him when he'd first started, playing it so cool while secretly daring customers to make the request that would evolve him into a criminal, a real scumbag. This guy's all about being blooded. The analogy worked pretty well--hacker wants his first crack at The Life, wants to be a real terrorist and not just a pest. The difference between a boot camp recruit and a career soldier was experience.

"What then?"

"Meet at your car."

"Works for me, I'm not too far away...again," he let the intended dig carry along the rest of his frustration, removing it and settling him back into placidity. "You need time to get there or what?"

"I'm there already."

"Excuse me?" It wasn't the cleverest retort, but Choi had only just managed to switch it for the stunned "huh?" or the hostile "what the fuck you talking about?" he had instinctively almost said.

"Gesture of faith," the voice mocked.

"You. At my car. When?"

"While you were going to this phone." Son of a bitch. Choi whistled. The voice laughed.

"Faith, huh?"

"If you didn't pay, I got a new car."

"Hang on," Choi blurted out. How the hell was he gonna know I made the drop if he was at my wheels? "What the hell are you up to, man?"

"Insurance."

"How were you planning on getting the money?"

"Long story. But you were right. Better this way."

"But you wouldn't have known I'd dropped it..." Choi felt like he was whining; he also felt entitled to whine. His head was spinning.

"I have my ways." This was said in a tone that brooked no opposition and no more questions. "Be here in ten minutes."

"Shit."

"Agreed." This was more nervous.

"I owe you a drink or the gut-busting of a lifetime, pal."

"You can thank me after you get your car."

It was a dare. A fucking dare! This guy had seen his inexperience exposed and was playing at balls again. Maybe he ain't playing. God, how did he end up with people like this all the time? People like Sita and The Dude who were too doped up to know they knew nothing and so acted like they knew everything. DuJour who was too feral to restrain herself and keep to veiled threats, and now this guy, putting on airs while walking in the land of sweet ignorance.

"Jesus."

"Not quite."

"Very funny," Choi grumbled. "I'll be there in ten. You better be there man. My wheels better be there."

"As I live and breathe."

Choi hung up. Yeah, we'll see about that.