Bottoms Up was the usual kind of seedy strip joint you could find in just about any part of the 'plex. It was the kind of place squatters went to spend what little money they still had and run-down strippers went to wither up and die. A pink neon sign above the awning blinked incessantly, advertising nude girls and 3 nuyen vodkas. The dive's brick face was covered in grime, much like the dirty mugs of the squatters and winos that slouched beneath the awning, huddled next to each other for warmth against the chill rain. I left Sugar in the van and jogged across the street to the front entrance. The squatters hardly gave me a glance as I shook the rain off of my jacket and stepped inside.
The first thing that struck me was the smell. It was that sick combination of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and sex common to all strip clubs. The inside was nearly as dark as the outside except for the black-lit stage where a pair of strippers danced and gyrated to the pounding beats that reverberated throughout the club. The bouncer, a young man with a flat top and several tattoos that he thought made him look older, sat on a stool near the door.
He got off his chair as I entered. I didn't know him, but evidently he recognized me because he flashed me a shit eating grin. "Good to see you again, Peaches. You know the deal. Check your weapons here."
I opened my jacket and slipped the Warhawk out of its holster, handing it to him hilt-first. He worked his mouth curiously, running his hand over the inscription on the barrel. "With this bullet, I thee wed," he intoned aloud. "Heh, sounds cool. What's it mean?"
"I'll tell you some other time—maybe when you're older." He started to protest, but I ignored him. Instead I turned my back on him and headed for the usual table.
The booth sat to the right of the center stage. A human and a dwarf sat on one side of the table. The human wore a pair of dark sunglasses even in the gloom of the club and had a datajack set against his temple. His Amerindian-toned skin was framed by the ebony locks that fell down to his shoulders, and he wore a wife beater with a pair of oddly out-dated suspenders. In the three years since I'd seen him, he hadn't changed a bit. He went by the name Jesus, though whether that was his real name or a moniker he had adopted to sate his cosmic sense of humor, I didn't know. He claimed to be blind, but with the advent of cybernetics, I found it hard to believe. Whatever his true nature, though, I had learned to trust him—as much as you could trust a fixer, anyway.
The dwarf I had never seen before. Strange for a dwarf, he was mostly clean shaven with a pair of long side burns and a pointed nose that made him look like a badger. He wore his hair short and had a nasty scar that ran down his neck. He ogled one of the dancers like a hungry dog eyeing a steak as she shook her ass over the table, but Jesus didn't seem to notice. He kept his gaze forward, his face expressionless. As I reached the table, he turned to rake his sightless gaze across me and flash me a knowing smile.
"Peaches, good to see you again."
"You too, Jesus," I said, a bit unnerved at the precognizant recognition. I slid into the seat across from him and reached over the table to take his offered hand. "I didn't know you were going to bring company."
The fixer shrugged. "This is Boris. He's an associate of mine. On the phone you said you had something to show me, so I figured I was going to need an extra pair of eyes." He chuckled at his own joke, but I didn't feel much like laughing.
The dwarf tore his eyes away from the gyrating stripper to give me a once over. He frowned. "Damn boy, what happened to your face?"
I swallowed a retort and simply glowered at him. "Couple a' yabos busted into my place last night and tried to geek me."
"Is that what this is about?" Jesus asked.
"Yeah, I think they were just some street muscle. If they were real pros, I wouldn't be alive to talk about it. Anyway, I took a couple pictures on my way out. Take a look." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a slim optical chip, sliding it across the table.
The dwarf snatched the chip off of the table and took a personal secretary out from the folds of his coat, inserting the chip into it. He hit a few keys, then gave a low whistle. "You worked these two over pretty good."
I shrugged. "Yeah, well at the time, they weren't too interested in holding still for a photo shoot. You recognize any of them?"
"I've never seen the young one before, but the girl with the Phantom of the Opera mask—yeah, I've seen her." He ejected the chip and tossed it back to me. "She goes by the name of Mantis, specializes in wet-work and things like that. Mean little bitch, too."
"Yeah, tell me about it," I said, indicating the wound on my face.
Jesus smirked. "Well, jokes aside, what is it you need help with?"
"I'm looking for information on these guys—who they were working for, why, where they live, all that drek."
"I'll see what I can dig up. Anything else?"
"Yeah. Sugar and I need a safehouse to lay low for a little while."
Jesus nodded. "I think I can fix you up with a place."
"How much?"
"For all of it? A thousand sounds about right."
"Done. You want certified cred?"
He smiled. "Always."
The dwarf fished a cred stick reader out of his coat and held it out to me. I inserted my cred stick in and authorized the payment. After Boris grunted his approval, Jesus nodded in satisfaction.
"The flop is in Renton. Hillside apartments, room 504. I'll put a call in to the desk manager. He'll let you in. Anythign else?"
I shook my head and moved to get up.
"Say Peaches, didn't I set you up on a couple jobs for Ayanami Incorporated way back when?"
I stopped and looked back at him. "Yeah, so what?"
"Well evidently they're starting to throw their weight around again."
I frowned. Ayanami was a mom and pop corporation based in Seattle. They didn't have that much weight to throw around, but his comment piqued my interest anyway. "How's that?" I asked slowly.
"They're looking to hire another team of runners for a job. If you're back in the game again, I figured you might want to take them up on the offer."
I shook my head. "I ain't back in it for biz. This is personal."
"It's when you take things personal that you start making mistakes," he warned. "If you keep a cool head, you'll live longer."
"Don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing."
The fixer shrugged, "Suit yourself."
"Yeah well, we'll be in touch."
"I'll let you know as soon as I find something out."
I nodded my thanks and headed for the door.