“We’re in position. How do you want to handle this one, Sensei?”
I pondered that question, leaving the ’link open as I walked through the front door of Tony’s Place in Tacoma. It was busy for a Tuesday night; mostly crewmembers from a Wuxing freighter, but the regulars were in their usual places. I was looking for one regular in particular.
My augmented vision cut through the bar’s smoky haze and neon-sign glare as I scanned the back tables. Sure enough, there he was, right where my contact said he’d be, holding court at a large, round table with his back to the wall. I strode past the sailors working hard to get drek-faced, right up to the table. In the corner of my vision, a countdown continued to tick away; only two hours ten minutes to go. There wasn’t time to frag around, I needed answers now.
“Follow my lead. If we can do this the easy way, fine. If not, be ready.”
At the table were three individuals wearing typical blue-collar fashions and one in expensive business attire. He stuck out like a handful of sore thumbs, but Tommy always preferred to do his business down by the docks. He was busy telling one of his famous dirty jokes, but stopped mid-word when I stepped up. I stood there for a moment, hands in my long-coat’s pockets all casual-like as Tommy leaned back in his chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand and a smug look on his face.
“ Jimbo. Holy drek! Never thought I’d see you again; not after that business in L.A.”
“Stow it, Tommy. I’m not in the mood. Tell your chums to clear out because we need to talk.”
“Why, Jimmy that’s not nice,” Tommy said. “These fine people are trying to enjoy a nice drink. You wouldn’t want to cause any trouble.” He put his glass down, and his hand moved slowly for the gun I knew was on his hip. Gods, he really was stupid.
Before Tommy could do anything else, I kicked the table into his gut, pinning him against the wall. Tommy’s two pals at my right stumbled with their chairs as they tried to draw weapons, but one on my left was smooth, too damn smooth. From the corner of my eye, I saw he had a Warhawk out and pointed at my head. But before he pulled the trigger, there was a flash and he crumbed to the floor. I love manabolts.
With Mr. Smooth out of the fight, I drew my Predator and put a Stick-n-Shock round in each of the two fraggers on my right, but one got off a shot. I felt a sharp sting in my side, then wetness formed; fragging cheap Kevlar. Riley could handle it later, though.
I’m getting too old for this drek.
The sailors started to riot, but a couple blasts from Buster’s combat shotgun into the ceiling ended that noise real quick. Both walked from the bar toward me, Riley’s hands glowing with magical energy while Buster covered her. “Keep it frosty boys, this’ll just take a minute” she said. The sailors backed down, not wanting to take on a magician and a troll packing heat.
I reached over and grabbed Tommy by his expensive shirt and hauled him over table and escorted him out the back door. In the putrid alleyway, I slammed him up against a rusty dumpster with Buster and Riley flanking me. “Okay, asshole, we’re going to have a nice conversation about the psychos you hired to kidnap the McCabe twins …”