Setup: Eric McCalin, a Elf detective (freelance) is asked to meet an employer at a bar for details about the job.
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The
Black Card Bar had a reputation for being a place of numbers and as such it
could afford to keep the neon lights lit. The outside of the bar had five giant
black-light backlit cards, four aces and one plain black. It was the most
professional place in this part of town. Inside was smoky, dark, and sparsely
populated with people that either had their face in their drinks or cards.
People were ether depressed or were betting that they would be by days end.
Eric
strode toward the bar at a careful pace, he couldn’t be sure if anyone wasn’t
packing and twitchy. Though he could be sure that almost everyone was packing.
The bartender was ogre in croupier outfit, the white undershirt was suffering
from overuse, and the vest was frayed at the sleeves. The ogre seemed to be
continually scanning the room, “Need something Elf?” he grunted, nodding
towards Eric without looking.
“A
whiskey,” Eric looked toward the entry to the backroom. “I’m meeting Mr. Johnson.”
“Should
you really be saying that aloud?” the ogre filled a glass and slid it in front
of Eric, still not looking at him.
Eric
shrugged, “It’s not like this thing doesn’t happen often enough.” The ogre
nodded, “What can you tell me about the one I’m meeting?”
“He’s
here already… ordered a glass of my finest, pale, and pointy-eared...” The ogre
looked at Eric “…sorry…”
Eric
was in mid-sip. “It’s whatever.” He set his drink down, “Male albino elf with a
taste for the expensive… is he a prick?”
“Aren’t
they always?” the ogre smiled a little. “He has a couple dwarves with him,
probably protection.” Eric nodded and slipped the bartender an extra ten nuyen.
The hall to the back room was ill lit; the smoke from the rest of the bar
seemed to gather thicker turning the lights to a dim diffuse glow. Eric pushed
the thick wooden door lightly. It opened as he peered in seeing a pale elf in a
suit and shades. Flanked by dwarves in trench coats holding shotguns firmly in
both hands also with shades.
“Mr.
McCalin?” the voice was soft.
“Yes,
I am a Mr. McCalin. Called here for a meet.” He sat in the chair across the
table form the elf. “Are you my Mr. Johnson?”
“I
don’t remember giving a name during my call.” The elf’s voice seemed irritated
but, also, shaky?
Eric
rubbed his temples, the dwarves looked at each other. “So you are my Mr.
Johnson, which is what runners call their employers who don’t like to give
their names.” Eric rolled his eyes. “So, why did you call me? Mr. Johnson.”
The
Elf frowned and fidgeted a bit, “ahem, yes, well… I have a job for a group of
individuals…”
“Runners.”
“…Yes,
Runners for a job and I need someone to help clear the way.”
“They
have guns for that don’t they?” Eric reached slowly for his cigarette
subconsciously aware of the dwarves watching.
“I
need them to steal something, and I need them to be discrete about it.” Mr.
Johnson obviously annoyed.
“Of
course you do,” Eric reached for Betsy, when the dwarves caught a glimpse of it
the raised their guns. “Easy now boys, its just a lighter,” he pointed Betsy’s
barrel at the end of the cigarette, held his thumb to the hammer to the trigger.
The click caused Mr. Johnson to jump in his seat. Eric smiled, “Want one?”
Mr.
Johnson shook his head and lifted his hand. “I want you to clear the area they
will be operating in.”
“I’m
not a Runner,”
“You
know people,”
“Yes
I do, so…” Eric took a drag, “So I burn through some goodwill and in return,
get what?”
“One
grand.”
Eric
thought, “I suppose that’s fair. What building do you need cleared?”
“Money
Row.”
Eric
paused, “Money Row. Money Row? The financial district, Money Row?”
“Yes.”
“That’s
more than a one grand job. A building is fine, or a block at a stretch, but the
whole district? I’ll be burning through more than just a few favors for this.”
“I’m
not telling you what building it is or else you might sell them out, the
district should be enough, but if payment is really the issue…” Mr. Johnson
straightened his tie, “consider the grand up front, and another grand once the
Runners are successful.”
Eric
leaned back and examined Mr. Johnson. Besides the fact that this particular Mr.
Johnson was new to this there was something else about him that was off. That
and even if Mr. Johnson didn’t want to tell him what building that needed to be
clear Eric could always find out. He knew people. He threw up his hands, “Fine,
how do I contact you when it’s done?” Mr. Johnson leaned forward and put a
playing card face down on the table. Eric took it and put in his inside coat
pocket. “All…right…” Eric stood up, “If that’s all,” He nodded to the men. The
dwarves nodded back, Mr. Johnson stared. “I’ll be off.”
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next week I'll have an avie or two done
