Nyx Smith - Fade to Black

"As do we all," Mr. Victor replied. "We live in troubled times. How may I help you?"

Rico said, "The job for L. Kahn is as good as a snatch. Surikov and his wife both tell me that he went to Maas Intertech as an infiltrator. A spy. That ain't how L. Kahn told it. He said Maas Intertech stole Surikov away. So either he was lying or his client was lying. Either way, the deal's off."

Mr. Victor's expression turned grave. "There will be repercussions," he said. "I regret that under the circumstances I am not able to intervene on your behalf."

"You didn't contract for the job," Rico replied. "It ain't your problem. I just want you to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing."

"Of course," Mr. Victor said. "I understand completely. You know which is the honorable path, my friend. The man of honor takes responsibility for his own acts. He faces the consequences for what he must do. However, there must be some way in which I can aid you. Be candid."

"You could talk to Prometheus Engineering."

"In what regard?"

"That's where Surikov wants to go. He likes their style, some guano like that. Surikov's supposed to be a real hot property. Some hotjack scientist. I figure we could get a finder's fee."

"Call it a delivery charge."

"Si. Whatever."

Mr. Victor seemed to consider briefly, then said, "Perhaps I can do you this service. Let me see what I can arrange. Excuse me for a few moments."

"Si, Gracias."

"De nada."

Rico got up and walked around the perimeter of the garden. He made a point of gazing mostly at the ground or up at the tree limbs and birds overhead, anywhere but toward the table at the center of the garden. Mr. Victor wanted to do his biz in private. Rico had no problem with that. None whatsoever.

Maybe twenty minutes passed before a servant came to lead Rico back to the table. Mr. Victor invited him to sit with a brief gesture. "As it happens," Mr. Victor said, "I have a contact in a position to negotiate on behalf of Prometheus. They are interested in obtaining your man. He is known to them by reputation. They are also interested in his wife."

"She don't wanna go to Prometheus."

"I understand. I merely held out the possibility of the wife being part of the deal. It is no matter. Your fee will approximate what you would have gotten if you had finished the job for L. Kahn."

"You know that? what I agreed to?"

"My friend, it is my biz to know such things."

Rico nodded. If he had hesitated a moment to think, he could have saved himself a question. Mr. Victor had contacts, lots of them, practically everywhere it sometimes seemed.

Had anyone else spoken like this, alluding to privileged info of this type, Rico might have pulled a gun, forcing a confrontation from which there would be no turning back. Mr. Victor he could trust Mr. Victor understood honor and knew when to speak and when to keep his mouth shut.

"This price is acceptable to you?" Mr. Victor asked.

Rico nodded. "Absolutely."

The portable telecom on the table bleeped. Mr. Victor picked up the handset, telling Rico, "Un momenta, par favor."

Rico began to get up, but Mr. Victor motioned for him to remain seated. The phone call lasted maybe half a minute, then Mr. Victor broke the connection and said, "All is arranged. Pickup will be this evening. Your man must pass a DNA and retina scan prior to transfer. Payment will be made in certified credsticks. I trust that is also acceptable?"

Mr. Victor was only asking as a courtesy. It wasn't necessary. Rico nodded. "Muchas gracias"

"De nada. My friend, once this job is done, you will come and see me and I will have a real job for you. Mucho dinero. Your are into the big time, now. Serious nuyen. Congratulations."

"There's one other thing I need."

"And what would that be?"

"A meet with L. Kahn. It has to be by telecom."

"That is easily arranged." Mr. Victor replied. "Allow me to ask what matter you will discuss."

Rico put it on the line.

By the time Ravage was finished, Willy Hogan had several cracked ribs, two broken arms, a broken leg and his face was practically unrecognizable, battered and drenched in blood. Hogan's wife and child shrieked from the bedroom doorway. The others crowding this tenement apartment in Sector 11, a mix of orks and norms, waited motionless, silent.

This was Hogan's payment for taking nuyen and providing no information for it.

L. Kahn watched without really watching. He had other matters on his mind. Hogan, a former Fed, a supposedly skilled technician, had been just one of the many ways in which L. Kahn had arranged to keep tabs on the team hired to extract Ansell Sunkov from Maas Intertech. The client had ordered multiple backup, and L. Kahn had delivered, yet every one of those backups had met failures of varying degrees.

The mission assigned to the backups was simple: track the runners who had Surikov, be prepared to move in ' if anything went wrong. How difficult could that be? L. Kahn had little patience for incompetents or self-styled experts like Willy Hogan. Even less when he was feeling, pressure from above. He had ambitions. He would not be scammed by the many jokers and con artists running around the Newark plex.

Ravage finished her task, leaving Hogan sprawled in his own blood, just barely alive. L. Kahn turned and found his way back to his black Toyota Elite limousine. Ravage climbed in after him. Once inside the car, she tapped the intercom and told the chauffeur, "Drive."

They were soon down the great ditch of the Garden State Parkway and into the tunnels of the Westfield transitway. L. Kahn looked at the boy lounging on the seat beside him. His name was Jared. He wore a bluish synthleather bodysuit He was cruel and cunning but malleable. And very attractive.

Unfortunately, the phone picked that moment to bleep. L. Kahn directed his eyes to the limo's center console. The telecom screen there opened a window to display the image from an incoming call. A second window displayed the code of the originating phone, and the location-Sector 9, proximate to the border with the Passaic metroplex and immediately adjacent to Sector 20. The so-called "Executive Action Brigade" had finally located the runners in Sector 20.

L. Kahn reached out and tapped the telecom key to accept the call. When he saw the dark-skinned Hispanic face that appeared on the screen, he forced himself to remain calm.

"Mr. Rico" this one liked to be called.

"You lied," Rico said.

L. Kahn felt a twinge of anger and puzzlement, but suppressed it Half-truths and lies were an integral part of the biz. Even a rank amateur should know that. What mattered most was the money, money and power. What inspired this razorguy Rico to cloak everything he said in pretentious moral language, L. Kahn did not understand. "You will make delivery tonight," L. Kahn said simply. Twenty-three hundred hours. Sector 17."

"Wrong."

"You refuse to make delivery?"

"Like I told you at the start, I don't do snatches. I'm no dog you can just order around, amigo. We know who your client is and the man don't wanna go. Your money's on its way back to you. The deal's off."

"Turn the subject over to me and I will forget you said that."

"Not today, amigo."

"Your lives will be forfeit."

"We was born that way."

The image on the screen froze and held as the disconnect icon appeared. L. Kahn maintained his composure for a few moments longer, then cursed. That face glaring out of the screen, it was too much to endure. He should have known that pretentious slot Rico would be trouble. A shadowrunner with ethics.

Who could believe it?

L. Kahn leaned back in his seat, growled with frustration, then smashed his boot heel through the telecom display screen.