Robert Charrette: Choose your enemies carefully

Sam felt an elbow in his ribs as Dodger said, " 'Twould seem that everyone is running ahead of schedule tonight."

Following Dodger's eye line, Sam saw Andrew

I Glover crossing the dance floor to the bar. The ATT an was of middling height, narrow-shouldered, and slim. His long, slightly horsey face was relaxed, suffused with the calm of a man assured of his proper place in the world. From his clothes, that place was a comfortable one. His shiny black shoes and grey gloves were spotless, showing no signs of wear. The rest was hidden under a long, caped coat of natural tweed. Despite its expensive material, it would be lined with ballistic cloth. The wealthy took as few chances as possible. Dark spots marred the perfect tones of the coat's shoulders. He slid a hand through his sandy hair, flicking away the water in a casual gesture. His walk was casual, too, as if he was striding through some ancestral manor.

Surveying the club with what appeared to be simple curiosity, Burke followed Glover in. The bodyguard moved with a predator's gait, smooth and calm but ready to explode into instant action. Penumbra's protection would not allow Sam to make a successful astral check, but you didn't need to be a magician to know that Burke had some kind of edge over ordinary people. Dodger had said the man's services were expensive. Since there was no reason to expect Dodger to have gotten bad information, Burke was likely very good at his job. That meant cyberware or magic; simple skills and knowledge weren't enough anymore.

The barkeep directed Glover to their booth. As soon as he saw that it was occupied, Glover put on his corporate smile. He removed his long coat and handed it to Burke who slung it over his arm. The guard seemed to find its weight far less than Glover had. Burke stayed back, letting his charge approach the booth alone.

Glover seated himself on the empty bench, but before he could speak, he was jostled by a new arrival.

Sam hadn't seen where Jason had been hiding. He hadn't even known Jason was in the club until he materialized at the edge of the booth. Maybe the kid had learned something from Ghost. In any case, there had been no time to warn Glover that he was about to have company.

Jason pushed his shoulder against Glover. The roughness of Jason's dermal armor implant snagged the corporate's silk jacket, tugging strands free. Jason placed an Ares predator on the table, the gun's huge barrel pointing in Glover's direction. Jason removed his hand from the butt and rested his palm on the table.

The ATT man reacted well. He expressed only surprise at the Indian's sudden appearance. A quirk at the corner of his mouth hinted at annoyance. Other than that, there was no sign that he was bothered by Jason's typically over-stated threat. Sam was impressed, and warned, by Glover's cool. Some corporates would have started yelling murder at such an unexpected appearance. Glover merely slid over to make room for the broad-shouldered Indian and brushed at the shoulder of his jacket. A negligent wiggling of his fingers sent silk fibers drifting to the table top.

Sam would have expected Burke to intercept Jason. Curious, he looked over and saw the bodyguard standing side-by-side with Fishface. It was unlikely that the professional guard had been intimidated by Fishface's ragged presence. Burke's failure to interfere was more likely directly related to Glover's lack of alarm. Glover cleared his throat. "This is a bit irregular." "So was the run, chummer," Jason said. "You ain't got problems so long as you play clean, Johnson. We got your warm body for you and want our nuyen." Glover stared at Jason for a moment, then turned his head to look at Sam. "Am I dealing with a new principal?"

"No, you're not," Sam replied firmly. "But he is right. The situation was not as you led us to believe. I would like an explanation."

"I just want the creds," Jason said.

The look Glover gave him spoke volumes about the trials of dealing with the lower classes. With slow deliberation to show that he was not reaching for a weapon, Glover slid his hand into his jacket and removed a credstick. It was unmarked by bank seals or the banding of a certified stick. "There is no intent to defraud you. I believe that this will cover the remainder of the agreed-upon sum."

For all his obvious greed, Jason didn't snatch it up when Glover placed it in the center of the table. Instead, Jason poked it with his gun, rolling it toward Dodger. Peremptorily, he ordered, "Check it out, elf."

Dodger plucked the stick from the table without a word. He recovered the minicomp and slotted the credstick. His fingers danced on the key membrane. After several flurries, he looked up at Glover. "Pray tell, Goodman Johnson. Why are the funds locked?"

"What!" Jason's eyes narrowed.

Sam tried to forestall any further reaction by asking, "Is there an explanation you'd care to offer, Mr. Johnson?"

Glover ignored the agitated man at his side, focusing his attention only on Sam. "I believe that I have a question of my own which must be answered before we proceed. Where is Mr. Sanchez?"

The man was so damn sure of himself.

"Being delivered as we agreed."

Glover's face remained deadpan. "I am quite sure that you understand. I must have that confirmed before I authorize the transfer of funds.''

Hoping that he had called it right, Sam tried to keep his own voice calm and assured. He hoped he hid his growing trepidation. Corporates away from their safe turf didn't stay so unruffled unless they had hidden assets.

"Then we wait." Jason looked like he was ready to do something else, so Sam said, "Got that, Jason? We give the man a chance."

Jason's sullen glower was his answer.

They sat in stony silence for some minutes until Glover's wrist beeped. He slid back his pristine cuff to reveal a multi-function watch. Tapping in two code sequences, he waited for a response. He seemed satisfied when it came. He tapped in another longer sequence.

"Right. That's it, then, gentlemen. You will find the complete fee available to you now, as well as a substantial bonus in recognition of the alacrity of your performance. I would like to say it has been a complete pleasure doing business with you.'' Glover started to rise. He made no gesture but it was clear that he expected Jason to get out of his way. "I am a very busy man and I must be getting along."

"Just make yourself comfortable, Mr. Johnson," Sam told him. He was pleased that his voice remained steady. There had been no sign from Jim at the bar that anything was out of place, but that was no guarantee that nothing was wrong. Especially if Glover was an agent of Lofwyr. "You're here until Otter calls in."

Glover drew in a long breath and pursed his lips.

He reseated himself stiffly. "I see."

"No need to be put out, Goodman Johnson. 'Tis a simple bit of business assurance. I'm sure you understand."

Glover returned Dodger's smile with a stiff mask, but his detachment was evaporating. The corporate's annoyance was starting to grow. In the middle of the room, Burke was tensed. Sam wanted to defuse the situation before someone did something that they'd all regret. But how?

Forcing a smile that he really didn't feel, Sam called for a round of drinks.

"There's no reason to be concerned, Mr. Johnson. This is simply a business formality. We can still complete this deal without impediments."

"Let us hope so, Mr. Twist."

"I have confidence. However, my friends might feel more confident of our good will if you were to answer my earlier question. They would be relieved if you were to offer some reasonable explanation for the screwup."

Glover shrugged away the importance of the matter with the merest shift of his shoulders.

"It was a simple communications slipup. Mr. Sanchez never received the word that his extraction was to take place. That same glitch deprived him of your descriptions. He would have had no idea that you and your friends were my agents."