Midday; the rigorous odor of smoke clung to everything but her black stained leather jacket and matching jeans. Over this, conspicuously, was a grey hooded cloak that wafted around long legs and toned, bare arms covered by tattered gloves. She strode confidently, as one who knows the lay of the land, raising the half-lidded eyes of those who knew she was a stranger. From the street to the alley and around a narrow corner into a bar room just long enough to throw a man over your shoulder without hitting a wall or patron.
She sat herself down on one of the five stools before him and the well muscled bartender grumbled and said, "Eh, 'naffa that. Yer puttin' the scare in mah patrons, woman." His frown was the most welcoming things she'd seen all day. Even white teeth glistened unexpectedly in his mouth as he said, "What brings ya t' the Rough'n Tumbler?"
She felt the right corner of her mouth twitch, and knew that she was sending all the right signals to the five men who wanted to do terrible things to defenseless folk. She examined the grubby looking man behind the counter, pulled five credits from a pouch and pushed them toward him under her long fingered left hand. She said, "Looking for a no-account stub who gutted a defenseless idol two sunsets ago."
"Two sunsets?" questioned the fellow, thin blond hair yanked back into a stylish ponytail. Probably the most fashionable part of his whole being. He said, "You mean days. Feh, I knows you. Gots a rep, you has."
"Sure ain't Ruby Tuesday," she said in a throaty growl. "She's the one who got diced. Who am I, then?"
"Odd thing, that. Ain't got no name, jus' word some leggy thing been makin' trouble for the scrags what do business 'round here," said the fellow and tucked another spotless glass under the counter. He snatched up the credits and said, "Look now, don't get yer pantsu in a twist, but...should ya survive them ah'll tell ya all ya want."
Her instincts said 'duck', so she did, and heard wood crack and splinter on the counter around her head. She whirled to catch sight of her assailants. Both were pudgy, squat and loaded with cybernetic enhancements that glinted and vibrated threateningly. They could have been twins, but all that mattered was the high pitched hum of the daggers in their hands. One stepped into her space and thrust his short blade into her midsection where it scraped against thick but flexible plating. She countered by taking hold of the arm in both of hers and breaking it across her upraised knee. Howling pathetically, he dropped to the floor.
"Teddy? Teddy!" railed the second, who launched forward with a three point strike well behind her swift evasion. Resisting the urge to get personal, she watched the fellow yank a energy pistol out of a concealed holster. Her foot snapped up and the weapon spun in the air as he yelped in surprise. She eyed the weapon and made a snatch for it, but it clattered to the ground and skipped out of reach. The fellow snarled at her and raised his dagger, but then stopped at the three narrow blades just inches from his throat.
"Probably took you thirty minutes to figure out how that was going to play out," she said, eyes following the extension of claws from the back of her hand to his face. "Too bad for you that you're lousy players. Take a seat. What's your name?"
"Scram," replied the fellow who then obliged by moving to sit at a nearby table. She could tell now that his hair was thick and babyish; it jutted out in different angles like the scars across his heavily tanned, narrow head.
"I'm not going...oh, that's your name," she said and chuckled. Her eyes moved toward Teddy who was asking the bartender for something deadly to drink. She projected her voice at him, "Teddy."
Teddy had shock red hair and a tattoo across his round face that she couldn't make out. His eyes bulged at her. He swallowed and said, "Yeah, jus' wanna—"
"Get a round for Scram, here. I'll have a Grounder."
The tension in the room dissipated, and she was glad that it had. Han was right. Show the scrubs who the boss was and you'd have them by the...she didn't use that word, but...he was right. They were quiet while drinks were quickly, and expertly, served. The establishment was a hole in the wall, surely, but its owner was a professional. She knocked back the lime and...tasted like fermented weeds, but was probably local, whatever it was. Tasted like hell.
"Tastes like dirty shirt, Rail," said Scram with an appreciative smirk. "You told ol' Gramps where t' go, din't ya? You growed this yourself?"
She wondered…then decided it wasn't so strange to imagine he knew what that tasted like.
"Shore did!" Rail said and laughed hard. The ripple of muscle told her just how fit he was: Like a flakkin' gorilla. She looked away abruptly and Rail caught a glimpse, then smiled at her. He said, "Like what y'see, do ya?"
She smirked and said, "Yeah, y'remind me of Hanlan."
That brought him up short. His grin cooled and he said, "Flak me sideways. You're in with that grummox? Yer even tougher than ya look."
"Shi-Con menace. Takin' all the jobs this side-a town," said Teddy with a slur, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. He grinned at her and said, "Don't mean tunn...feh, nuttin' by it. Work's work, an' we'll leave ya be. Hanlan ain't fair sharin' the girls with the trade."
"Take it up with him," she said and tapped her glass on the counter, indicating another round. As Rail refilled it, she asked, "What you attack me for."
Teddy stared into his empty cup like it was going to spontaneously refill itself, then glanced at Scram, who said, guiltily:
"Eh...we've had a bad run of late. Din't see them blades, din't see th' armor neither. Get maybe a few creds for anything we picked off ya, but we weren't gonna kill ya. Just...ya know..."
"Desperate?"
Scram shrugged. She sighed and said, "I understand. Been so long since I've seen hope I barely remember what it looked like."
"Aw, shi—" Scram began and she cut him off.
"Ya don't have to say more," she told him, tossed back another gulp and gasped loudly. She looked at Rail and said, "Really does taste like hell. You tried growing wheat out here? Plenty of sun in New Alberta."
"Try gettin' wheat seed," Rail countered. "Coalition keeps prices high. Can't even afford hops, lessin' you plan to do somethin' about that."
There it was. What will do you for us? She considered it. These men were exactly what she had called them before. Under the stranglehold of the Coalition, they were powerless. Good men, however, did not brook excuses; to do such was morally corrupt. Weak. Cowardly. Hanlan did not make excuses. If these men wanted help, they would have to be willing to pay for it. Finally, she said:
"Not unless you got a word about Ruby Tuesday."
She watched Rail saw his jaw while he toiled about preparing some manner of heated protein for a new patron. Expectant, she continued to watch until the room was empty and Rail closed the bar's front door with a heavy clank of the sway bar. He frowned and said, "You come with me."
She rose and waved an arm as if to say, 'lead on.' He did so, through a narrow cubby that served as a kitchen into a turn of stairwell that descended into a basement bedroom. He proffered a chair next to a little desk and plunked himself on a mattress that nearly folded in on itself with his weight. He reached toward the headstand and grabbed a jack, lifted his shirt and jabbed into a port in his left side, close to his stomach.
"Need t'recharge, see," he said lightly. Several missing pieces of interaction fell into place for her.
"You're a cyborg."
"Yeah," he said, "I don't make cracks 'bout havin' no stomach for things."
The room was surprisingly well lit for such a dingy operation, but she supposed he might need to do more than just recharge every so often.
"Han's a friend o' mine," Rail said. "Ah, y'might say he saved mah neck. You prolly know Doc Conroy, judgin' by yer claws."
She nodded and admitted, "He mentioned you."
"Who did?"
"Han, not Conroy," she said.
"Of course 'e did," Rail said with a crooked half smile. "Yer fella's a dangerous man, but a good'un. Ah like 'im well enough. Ruby an' he were close. S'at why yer here? He ask you t' find her killer?" She shrugged. He nodded and continued, "Be that as it may, y'won't like what ah'm 'bout t'tell ya. Them mugwort thugs blame yer man fer their slackwit excuse fer bein'. You an' I both know he ain't at fault. Trouble is, he's made enemies of the State, an' they're takin' it out on us. Rather...one man in p'ticular is."
She sat forward. This is what she had been waiting to hear.
"Lieutenant Ackroyd Fellermeller. He's been puttin' the screws in the farmers, ol' Gramp an Gitty t' keep prices up. I din't tell no feller where ta go," Rail said crossly. "He done try t' sell me reasonable stock, but last he got caught he claimed one o' his children were makin' trouble 'gainst the State and threatened t' take 'em t' Lone Star."
She stood and flipped her hood back over her head, then said, "Thanks for your time, Rail."
"Ah guess..." he began as she turned away, "I wouldn't wanna tussle with them folk either. Lookit me. Can't hold a charge more'n a day. Best ah kin do is keep folks boozed up, let'em forget their troubles fer a while." He looked pathetic, and it struck a chord in her, but she couldn't summon up any words of comfort. He said, finally, "Smack the switch at the back door. You'll find yer way out t' the streets an' back home. Dunno what comes next, but ah know it weren't yer fault."
She turned back to him, raised her eyes to his and half smiled.
"Y'know, Rail, you look like a half-starved puppy. But the first friend I had after my greatest loss..." she said, reflecting on a dumpling haired blond bubblehead, "...was just like you. A lost cause. Buck up. Makoto Kino excels at lost causes."
Rail smiled softly and said, "Than 'ave I got a tale for you..."