“When will you be back?”
Warren shook his head. “Not sure, but it’ll be a couple hours, easy. Maybe more. Will you be here?”
She shook her head. “No. I think I’ll head over to my place. Get cleaned up to go to work.”
Just the thought of the having to go to The Joy Club made her tense. It wasn’t too far from Warren’s doss, just a few blocks over in yakuza turf downtown, but to her it was another world. She didn’t do any horizontal bop, so she didn’t make the money some of the other girls did, and she was sick of the whole thing. Rachel shook her head at the thought. There weren’t very many opportunities for someone like her, and strip-dancing was still one of the most lucrative. It was only lately that she thought she might have found a better way.
Rachel hadn’t told Warren yet, but she wanted to become a shadowrunner. The Joy Club’s bartender, a troll named Flak, had a team of his own and he’d been teaching her. Maybe he thought she was just another wannabe, but Rachel didn’t care. She was serious. From the scan she’d heard, running the shadows brought better nuyen than flashing your goods to drunk idiots. And according to Flak, every once in a while-not often, but every now and then-you got to do something good. Something that could help somebody.
She’d been practicing with a gun and saving up for a datajack. Recently, she’d helped Corinna, another dancer at the club, hire Flak and his team. Some guy had been abusing Corinna and she wanted to teach him a lesson. Flak had assured her that his team was more than up to the task.
Acting as a fixer for a friend had given Rachel a feeling unlike anything she’d ever felt, especially considering that her means of livelihood was taking off her clothes for the men and women who came into the club. The only thing that might have made it better would have been participating in the run herself. Flak had told her just the other day that she was close to ready, that her progress was excellent.
She looked at the small, old-fashioned clock on the night table. If his timetable were correct he and his team would be making their run in just a few minutes. Just thinking about it sent a small tremor of anticipation through her. Finally, a way out of the life she was leading.
Warren gave her sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Rach,” he said. “If I didn’t have to go. believe me, I wouldn’t.”
Rachel sighed, then nodded. “I know. But you remember this, Warren Storey. You owe me. A full day, no less.”
Warren smiled and kissed her. “Promise.”
He retrieved his sweatshirt from the floor and pulled it over his head.
Rachel leaned back against the wall and stared at him.
“You’re going to a funeral dressed like that?”
Warren looked down at his ripped Harvard sweatshirt and ragged jeans tucked into his boots. Then he grinned up at her. “I figure if the little shit is in Hell looking up, I should let him know exactly what I think of him.”
Rachel didn’t return his smile. “Be careful, Warren. You scare me when you’re in this mood.”
Warren bent and kissed her, then turned and walked out. He grabbed his black leather jacket and motorcycle helmet on his way out the kitchen door.
3
The racists of the Sixth World tell us that the newly Awakened races are demons, monsters-not human and therefore our enemy. But even as they rouse the ignorant masses against our harmless brothers, the real demonspawn lurk in the shadows, growing stronger on the blood of the living. They are the vampires, the so-called living dead.
–
Martin de Vries, Shadows at Noon posted to Shadowland BBS, 24 May 2057
Light morning rain spattered against the rusted, pitted metal of the fire escape as Sinunu Sol climbed, her heavy boots making so little noise as to be completely silent against the backdrop of the soft Street noise from below. The Capitol Hill district was unusually quiet this morning, with only the occasional car rumbling through the twisting, turning streets of downtown Seattle. That was fine with Sinunu. Considering the whammy she and her team were about to pull, the less people watching, the longer it would take Lone Star to scan to what was going on.
Dressed in skin-tight black synthleather and a dark brown wrap-around duster that contrasted with her albino skin, Sinunu caught a glimpse of herself in a dirty pane of glass as she topped the last landing before the ladder to the roof. Her shock of white hair was slicked back by the rain, and her pink eyes seemed to float in her ghost face, She smiled at her reflection as she moved past.
Sinunu was riding the groove, everything clicking on all twenty-four, and in the slot. It felt just fine. She and the crew hadn’t worked for almost a month, and she’d thought she might go crazy for the want of action, So. even though this was mostly a charity gig-with the little dancer squiff only able to cop up enough to pay expenses-it just didn’t matter.
She climbed the ladder quickly, feeling the grit of time under her pale hands. Stepping over the dirty brick of the caping wall, her foot touched the rooftop just as the rain started to slacken. Bits of grainy sand skittered under her heavy boots as she moved quickly across the roof.
She reached the large ventilation intake, and opened her duster. Strapped there, in six separate leather holsters, were the pieces of her Barret Model 121 sniper rifle. With precise moves that wasted no energy. Sinunu assembled the rifle in less than twenty seconds, taking the time to double-check the silencer’s fitting. Slotting the caseless ammo, she lowered the tripod and quickly carried the weapon over to the edge of the roof top.
From there, she could see the target’s front bay window on the second story. Through the window, the man himself was visible, talking to someone out of her Line of sight.
Probably that damn ork he’s got for a bodyguard, Sinunu thought. That puffed up razorboy couldn’t guard water from getting wet.
The target, a rich weasel named Carlos Sevase, didn’t look too happy, and that made Sinunu smile. Carlos was everything she detested about men. He was small-minded, petty, and came complete with a mean streak that included hurting pretty young girls who didn’t do exactly what he wanted.
Sinunu was fairly sure that Carlos had just earned that his latest punching bag had booked, and was nowhere to be found. At least not by him. The crew had moved her out of town last night, after Truxa had done her best to patch the girl up. Corinna was the girl’s name, and when Sinunu had seen that bruised face, she’d had to do a full ten-breath count to get her anger under control.
Corinna was going to lay low for a few days, just long enough for Sinunu, Flak, Truxa, and Sandman to convince Carlos that maybe he should learn to play nice.
Sinunu smiled again when she thought about how this was going to go down. Looking across at Carlos, her smile grew into a grin. Thirty seconds with Flak will have that boy in tears.
Sinunu forced the grin from her face, and Concentrated. She subvocalized into the headset mike of her Philips tacticorn. “This is Bird’s Eye, got the-”
Suddenly her senses kicked into high gear. The patter of rain had covered the approach and dampened the smell, but she still knew he was there before he even spoke.
“Well, well. What do we have here? I suggest you release your hold on the rifle slowly and roll over onto your back, hands on your head.”
Sinunu cursed under her breath and did as she was told.
The man towering over her was elven, a fact that surprised her because the only meta of record Carlos had on the payroll was the ork. This guy was tall, with jet black hair done in dreds down his back. His dark skin glistened in the rain.