The Last Run
London calling, yes, I was there, too
An' you know what they said? Well, some of it was true!
The Clash, London Calling
Setting: Inside a downtown condo – the sort of metrosexual bachelor pad that yuppies dream about in college before they realize that condominiums are only a small step up from apartment living. A tall, sweaty, yet handsome, elf in workout apparel walked in through the condo’s entrance and wiped his brow with a white moisture-wicking towel.
As Alexander entered the living room, the elf picked up his commlink from the entry way table. Most people would take their commlink with them to exercise in order to help monitor vitals, measure performance and augment the exercise machinery(
It’s ARObics Time!), but sometimes, the shaman liked to unplug – sometimes he needed to unplug.
An image of the boy, Theseus, came to Alexander’s mind. The elf recalled probing the boy’s memories the night before yesterday at the high school. Theseus had been so thoroughly brain-washed, that the boy lacked any true curiosity of his surroundings. Theseus killed without compunction and never asked why.
Perhaps to make him a better soldier someday, Alexander thought,
but it also made him hard to Mind Probe. The lawyer took that as a personal affront – Mind Probing innocents was Alexander’s specialty. The elf had managed to glean only one useful fact from the boy’s consciousness memories. The shaman wondered,
Who is Mr. Weissman?
Alexander activated his commlink and it re-subscribed his Personal Area Network to the appliances and utilities of the condo. Shortly, readouts of the temperature(
21 degrees Celsius), the current water bill(
46 Nuyen) and the inventory of his cupboards(
Time to shop! Head to the Stuffer Shack!) displayed themselves as Augmented Reality Objects in the smartglasses Alexander donned.
A blinking ARO caught his attention,
(1) Unviewed Vidlink Message. Alexander keyed the ARO and the object expanded into a vidlink window hovering in the air in front of him showing the annoyed features of Paula Peterson.
“Mister McQueen, it is 9:16 am on a weekday. Still sleeping? Please call me back at your earliest convenience,” stated Red with her mouth in a line.
Frak, thought the elf,
Who does she think she is? What a way to start the morning!
After Alexander showered and dressed, the elf decided to eat some breakfast and read the morning news off the Matrix. Around 11 am, the shaman got around to returning Red’s vidcall. “So Paula, how’s tricks?” asked the elf nonchalantly.
Red stared at Alexander coolly through the vidlink until the elf started to fidget under the salarywoman’s gaze. Once Red was assured of Alexander’s shame and humility, she replied, “I am doing well. I trust you and your team are well-rested from the other night?”
“Uhm, yeah, we’re fine, thanks,” stammered the lawyer.
The salarywoman launched into her proposal, “Good, we’ll get to business then. I have another job for you and your minions. I’m sending you an ARO with the Facebook profile of someone I want you to meet.” Alexander checked his commlink and an ARO blinked with a Facebook icon. The elf launched the ARO and the profile of one Svetlana Simoneov came to life. According to the profile, Svetlana was Single (Not Looking), of Russian ancestry, and listed her occupation as
Import/Export Broker. There was no picture.
“I want you to establish contact with this woman and enter into a negotiation with her,” asked Red.
“What sort of negotiation?” Alexander replied.
And here it is, thought Red,
Let’s see how far I can trust this Alexander McQueen. “We need her support for Proposition 1812 later this month,” sighed Red.
The ballot initiative? thought Alexander,
What’s that got to do with anything? But the elf replied out loud, “Alright, what’s the carrot and what’s the stick?”
“Excuse me?” questioned a confusing looking Red.
“Every negotiation needs a carrot and a stick,” replied the lawyer, “It’s about getting leverage on your adversary.”
“I see,” Red stated, “but you misunderstand, the negotiation has already been made.”
“Then why do you need me?” replied the elf with a sinking feeling.
“You, my dear Alexander, are the carrot,” smirked Red, but Alexander thought to himself
So, does that make you the stick?
Red continued, “You are to do a service for Ms. Simoneov – whatever she asks you to do – you do, no questions asked. Understand?”
“Do I have a choice?” replied a disgruntled Alexander.
“Need I remind you…” began Red. “…That I am on retainer,” finished Alexander.
“Don’t look so glum, Mr. McQueen,” smiled Red, “I think you have been doing a good job thus far on this contract. In fact, I have been authorized to give you an incentive bonus.”
Alexander could not help himself, his interest was piqued, “What sort of bonus?”
“I could not locate the relatives of your spectral comrade from the other day,” explained Red, “Therefore, I have decided to let you keep the Power Focus you gave me earlier.”
How magnanimous of her to give me back my own loot, thought the cynical elf but he merely mumbled his thanks to his superior.
“Oh, and Mr. McQueen,” stated Red as she was about to terminate the connection, “There’s one more thing…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Carlito received the call, he was working on repairing the CityMaster in Slone’s neighborhood sprawl in Auburn. Carlito’s jury-rigged repairs allowed the team to drive the jalopy out from the Barrens, but the scientist knew the repairs wouldn’t hold up over time.
Slone and Carlito had chipped in some nuyen to front the cost of repair parts for the CityMaster. The duo had asked Alexander if he wanted to contribute to the vehicle fund, but the elf had other ideas in mind – he planned to purchase his own ride.
“Screw him then, he gets to ride on the floor,” remarked Slone at the time. So over the last couple of days, Carlito and Slone had visited various pick-n-pull junkyards to acquire the necessary materials.
Carlito was a superlative mechanic – his Encephalon cyberware greatly aided his repair skills – not to mention that the human was highly skilled to begin with. Carlito’s Mother had never approved of his utility with vehicles – she thought it was beneath his abilities.
It’s so…blue collar, Carlito’s Mother would say.
But Carlito’s relatives on his father’s side, mostly working class Filipoinos, had taught him about internal combustion engines. Carlito learned a great deal about many things from his cousins – subjects his mother definitely would not approve.
Mother never did like Father’s relatives, thought the scientist.
Still, Carlito’s mind had wandered as it often did while he was working with his hands. Two nights ago, while the cleaning crew was clearing up the mess at Redmond High School, the human had scoured the medical database of the main console which Ariadne attempted to have him destroy.
The scientist had found an Access Code to a hidden matrix node. The console collected the data from the field tables, collated and sorted it, and then submitted tabulated results to another node via a satellite connection. Unfortunately, Carlito lacked the computer skills of a true hacker and was stymied when he had attempted to track down the physical location of the hidden node.
At least I remembered to inject those nanites into Theseus, Carlito thought to console himself over his failure with the console. Carlito injected the boy with Cutter nanites that were deactivated. The scientist figured that he would come across the boy in the future and then he would have some means of control over the brain-washed lad. With an order form Carlito’s commlink, the Cutters would activate and begin their single-minded destruction of organic compounds.
Of course, Theseus will pass the hard nanites through his urine if I don’t activate them in a week or so reasoned the scientist.
In any case, Carlito had spent his last several days very productively. In addition to working on the CityMaster, the human had added an external smartgun link to his weapon. During the run against the STTC, the trio had stolen guns from the three security guards. Stripping the components from the stolen weapons was not difficult for the human.
Good thing Father’s relatives were such 2nd Amendment wingnuts, thought Carlito, whom had learned to handle firearms from a young age,
Thanks, Uncle Santiago!.
Now that I’m getting more use out of my Fubuki, I could really use some help aiming, thought the scientist. The external smartlink would link-up with his commlink and smartglasses to improve his accuracy with the weapon and allow him to control some of the weapon’s functionality.
As Carlito was finishing up on the CityMaster, an ARO popped up indicating a call from Alexander. The two exchanged a few words and Carlito terminated the call. The human turned to Slone with a look of disgust on his features.
“I hate Dante's Inferno. It's dirty,” stated the scientist turning to the bleached skull sitting next to him on the CityMaster’s fender, “Tommy thinks so too!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Slone had been helping out Carlito the last few days while his numerous wounds and bruises healed up.
That kid really packed a punch, thought the taciturn troll. Slone winced a bit as he recalled the half-pint adept repeatedly striking him in the groin.
Gonna have ta’ go to Olga’s and have that looked at… thought the troll.
So far, Slone’s cyberware and body armor had prevented a major wound, but it was only a matter of time before the troll’s adversaries caught up with him. The bodyguard knew his days were marked.
Yet, it wasn’t in Slone’s nature to turn the other cheek – not when his mates were in danger. The troll felt Alexander and Carlito were splashing about in the shadows like they where in a kiddie pool while the sharks circled in the darkness about them. Slone figured,
That Pantsuit from the UCC will eat these two for breakfast and use their liquidation to pad the “Extra-Curricular” portion of her resume.
So Slone stoically followed Carlito around getting parts for the CityMaster – “Now that’s a Man’s Vehicle,” the troll had told the scientist. While Slone was an expert driver thanks to the aggressive driving courses he took as a bodyguard with Ares, the troll was no mechanic. In fact, Slone’s “help on the repairs” amounted to holding the tools for Carlito and fetching food for the duo.
While Carlito worked on the vehicle, Slone’s mind wandered a bit to his situation; being the only tough in this outfit was becoming a burden.
At least Carlito tries to shoot our enemies, reasoned the troll,
That frakin’ elf just turns invisible and runs away.
In more than one fight, the troll had been left fighting off their opponents by virtually by himself.
When will we fight a group that has one too many bad guys? thought Slone,
Either I need some back-up or these corporate hacks need to step-up their game.
When Alexander’s call came, Slone got some details of the assignment from Carlito. “A Russian, huh?” the troll repeated back to Carlito, “In the Import\Export Business, huh?”
I don’t need to look at a Facebook profile to know she’s with the Vory y Zakone, thought the troll to himself,
What’s the UCC doing getting involved with those gangsters?
Slone shook his head,
That Red-headed Pantsuit’s gonna get us killed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Even after calling Carlito to set up the meeting for later tonight, Alexander still felt the shame and humiliation from Paula’s earlier disapproval. The seething young salaryman was in the mood to spend some money -- Alexander often bought his way out of shame.
Flipping through some Matrix catalog sites sporting the sort of high-end clothing and accessories young professionals everywhere had to have, Alexander found what he sought – the 2070 Suzuki Mirage Sport Bike – an ARO promised
Just six easy payments of 999 nuyen plus shipping, handling and medical expenses related to delivery!. The lawyer keyed in the code to his personal credit account and made the purchase.
May as well get some use out of that Docwagon Gold Card, smirked the lawyer,
Besides, let’s see Paula try to get me to run the shadows from the hospital!
The lawyer was self-aware enough to recognize the passive-aggressive nature of his ways; he just didn’t care.
Just then, Alexander’s commlink indicated an incoming video call.
What does Jimmy Get My Coffee want? wondered the elf as he opened the ARO.
“Hey Jimmy,” greeted Alexander, “How’s it shaking in Corp-land?”
“I’m fine, Alexander,” replied the mousy lad in the vidlink, “How have you been doing since the layoff?”
I wish I was only laid-off, thought the glum Alexander, but he replied out loud, “I’m fine, Jimmy, is there anything I can help you with?”
“Yeah, well, Lollipop says ‘what-up’ and she wanted me to ask you if you still had any leads on the dock-worker strike?” queried the assistant. Alexander didn’t feel like dealing with the pop-tart at the moment;
Funny how dodging bullets gives you new perspective on matters, thought the lawyer.
Alexander simply replied, “I don’t work for Horizon anymore; if Lolli wants something from me, she can call me herself – and tell her to bring her credstick.” The lawyer pointedly jabbed the terminate call button on the ARO in front of him and the vidlink connection was severed.
“Frak!”
Jimmy’s call had jarred something in Alexander’s gut – emotions the he would have preferred left alone. The lawyer recalled the last action item from Paula’s call earlier that morning. At first, the elf simply chose to ignore the salarywoman’s request; yet Alexander was beginning to feel foolish for defying his superior on such a simple matter. Jimmy’s call made Alexander realize that he had made some decisions about Paula that had nothing to do with the salarywoman.
“Frak it all!”
The elf keyed in the access code for the contact Paula had provided earlier.
A vidlink opened showing the aquiline features of another elf. The other elf rubbed his eyes as though he had just woken up from a nap.
“Sorry to wake you,” asked the lawyer, “Are you Terrance Amond?”
“Why? Do I owe you money?” replied the rumpled elf.
Alexander grinned in spite of himself, “No, I’m a friend of Paula Peterson – She referred me to you.”
“That Bitch!” grunted Terrance, “What do you want?”
“My team is meeting around 7 pm at Dante's Inferno,” explained the lawyer, “I understand you might have some skills we could use if you’re interested in working.”
Terrance smirked, “Like either of us has a choice.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Getting fired from Security at Aztechnology wasn’t like getting laid off from other corps. Some corps provided generous severance packages; the Azzies preferred to settle their scores in blood.
The elf recalled the taste of coppery bile in his mouth. Terrance had been laying face-down in the gutter while Hector Guzman’s thugs were cleaning the blood off their knuckles. Once the goon squad had finished working Terrance over like a side of soybeef, they brushed off their cheap suits and walked back into the looming arcology’s service entrance.
Why didn’t Hector kill me? wondered Terrance. The elf knew there was no love lost between the Director of Site Security and himself. Normally, the corporation would have turned a blind eye to illegal deeds – as long as they were performed off-site. In fact, the literally cut-throat culture of Aztechnology often provided incentives for middle-managers whom dealt with their corporate rivals in a less than civilized fashion.
It helps sharpen our competitive instincts, Terrance’s boss had once told him.
The elf rolled over and groaned at a devil rat sniffing near-by; the rat was investigating the scent of Terrance’s fresh blood. The elf got to his feet and shambled towards the street. Yet, the devil rat remained undeterred; it followed the elf and called to its brethren. Still, the devil rats did not attack.
The rats are like Hector, thought Terrance,
They only respect power.
The metaphor was not lost on Terrance.
Someone higher up must have wanted me kept alive, reasoned the elf,
I wonder who that might be and why?
After the beating, the elf wandered back towards his apartment in the Auburn sprawl across Lake Washington from Downtown. As the former wageslave rode the ferry across the bay, he recalled that a firefight had recently shut it down; not to mention the dock-workers’ strike. The elf mused,
Good thing it’s back running, I hate taking the bus.
When Terrance got back to his apartment, he noticed a call on his home console. Terrance keyed the ARO and watched the vidlink message. When the message was complete, the battered elf deleted it and wondered,
Who the frak is Paula Peterson? And why does she want me to join the United Corporate Council?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The quartet arranged to meet later that night at Dante’s Inferno. Dante’s had come a long way in the twenty years it had been open. The first few years of the club’s existence marked its golden era – lines wrapped around the block full of trendily dressed hipsters waiting in the cold Seattle rain to get into the hottest club in town. A decade later, the gilt had worn off and you didn’t even need to have cosmetic surgery to make it inside. Now, the joint had devolved into a meat market for those lower middle class folks whom needed to make a hook-up and still preferred good, old-fashioned, exchange of bodily fluids over the sterile, yet safe, pleasures of sim-rigged cybernookie.
Slone was somewhat fond of the place.
The troll knew better than to pack his weapons – the club had placed Magnetic Anomaly Detectors at the entrance in a vain effort to curb synthahol-fueled assaults. Yet, Slone knew all the security tricks and had cunningly concealed his monofilament whip near the small of his neck. When the doorman stopped to search him, the troll knew just what to do.
It turned out that Alexander knew a guy who knew a guy and had sent an email in advance of their arrival to secure direct entrance to the club. The lawyer’s contact was a bartender, named Bobby Black. Bobby had placed their names on an ARO’d list hovering in front of the orc doorguard. As the trio walked in through the front entrance, Alexander passed the doorman 50 nuyen via his commlink and told him to let in Terrance Amond whenever he showed up. The orc grunted his acceptance of the bribe and went back to looking menacing for the rest of the herd waiting in line.
Once inside, Carlito looked about in a mix of apprehension and disgust. The crowded dance floor on the first level reminded Carlito of terrible middle-school dances when he would sit on the bleachers and look scared.
Don’t let those nasty girls dance with you, Carlito, they’re only after one thing, the scientist’s Mother would say.
Yes, Mother. The scientist held Tommy’s skull close to his body; concealed under his armored jacket.
Alexander led the way down to the deeper floors. Dante’s was arranged like the proverbial seven layers of hell with each subsequent floor going deeper underground. In years gone by, every floor in the club would have been packed, but these days, the establishment was fortunate to keep 3 levels full; the club had closed down the bottom four floors altogether.
The elf settled into a booth on the third level and selected an overpriced synthahol cocktail from the ARO menu at the table. Alexander asked his companions if they wanted a drink.
“What?” replied Carlito over the ear-splitting dance tracks, “I can’t hear anything in this place. Do you want to open a tab and get some drinks?”
Alexander gave up and ordered drinks for his companions via the ARO menu. Eventually, a disinterested waitress stopped by with the beverages. In spite of the streamlined technology, the drinks were all wrong – Slone ended up with a fruity concoction, Alexander got a SUDZ POWER LAGER CHUGGERBOMB, and Carlito distastefully pushed away a cheap glass of Nu-Berriz wine.
Shortly after the drinks arrived, a tall elf approached the table. Terrance moved with the grace Slone liked to call “The Million Nuyen Shuffle.” The bodyguard also noticed the butt of a katana sticking out from the back of the elf’s well-tailored jacket.
I wonder how he got that through security? Must be a Street Samurai, thought the troll,
Let’s see if he can help carry some of the load in this outfit.
The elf wore presentable clothing appropriate for the setting – sans the katana. Alexander was pleasantly surprised;
At least he knows how to dress, thought the lawyer,
But I wonder if he has a license for that blade. Alexander had briefed the rest of the team on what Paula had told him about the new guy. Alexander wasn’t sure if the elf could be trusted, but the lawyer thought it unwise to refuse help from his superior.
Better to have the spy close at hand, than shadowing us around on a job, reasoned the shaman.
“Call me, Viper” Terrance said by why of introduction to the group.
“Huh?” replied Carlito still unable to make conversation over the music, “Did you say Piper?”
The new elf rolled his eyes at the human and setup an ARO chat room via his commlink;
Call me, Viper
But the scientist was having none of it –
I think I’ll call you ‘Terrance’.
The street samurai narrowed his eyes;
I'll call you Dead Man!
Slone was having trouble getting his commlink to work;
SYSTEM ERROR:4004: Messaging CODEX not found. The troll grunted a loud obscenity and slammed a meaty fist on the wobbly cocktail table, causing their drinks to splash all over the sticky surface.
Slone says ‘Hello, Terrance’, relayed the scientist carefully avoiding the mess,
So what’s the scoop on this mission?
Alexander replied,
Paula gave us another assignment.
What kind of assignment? asked Terrance.
The kind where we don’t ask questions and we do what we’re told, the lawyer texted; but he thought to himself
Did I just say that?
Terrance nodded – he knew the score.
Alexander went on to explain the mission parameters to the group. The lawyer had already made contact with the Russian’s associates and had arranged a meeting later that night with Ms. Svetlana Simoneov. Once there, the team was to finalize the negotiations with the Russian and, in exchange for her support of Proposition 1812, the group would perform whatever task Simoneov had in mind.
Russians are dirty, the scientist texted,
But elves are clean, right?
Slone eyed Terrance over and whispered something inaudible into the scientist’s ear. Terrance noticed the exchange and saw the odd lump underneath Carlito’s jacket.
What is that? queried the street samurai.
My pet skull, replied Carlito pulling out Tommy and carefully depositing the skull on the sticky table.
Who was that? asked the mildly disturbed elf.
Our Johnson, Alexander replied,
He's having a tough time adjusting to life in the Shadows. The shaman lamented,
Aren’t we all..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Red Tide was upscale seafood restaurant which had recently opened near the bay north of downtown Seattle. With an open balcony facing the marina, the restaurant catered to the wealthy Queen Anne Hill set.
Alexander arrived first on his brand new Suzuki Mirage Sport Bike. The valet took one look at the crotch-rocket and smiled mischievously;
I'll take it for a ride thought the young human. The lawyer had other ideas;
No, you won’t commanded the elf using a little of his mojo magic.
Meanwhile, the CityMaster pulled up. The behemoth looked better than when the group had driven out of the barrens – at least it had a hood and doors – but the jalopy still seemed out of place next to the BMWs and Mercedes in the parking lot.
Another young valet requested the access code for the vehicle using an ARO, but he asked out loud, “What am I supposed to do with…this?”
“Park it,” Slone replied.
The troll was concerned about carrying weapons to the meet. Slone knew that the restaurant would probably have AAA-grade security systems in place. Furthermore, the troll figured it was foolish to meet the Russian mob without any protection.
Hopefully, we won’t need any weapons, Slone thought as he fingered his cybernetically-enlarged knuckles,
But at least I have my titanium bone lacing if things turn bad.
The troll had persuaded Carlito to leave Tommy in the car. The scientist protested at first but soon saw the wisdom of Slone’s advice. Carlito placed the skull on the dashboard of the CityMaster and instructed, “Tommy, you watch the truck.”
As the quartet entered the establishment, a live hostess moved forward to meet them, “Welcome, do you have a reservation?”
Alexander replied, “We’re with the Simonev Party.”
This place must be fabulously expensive, thought the lawyer,
They can afford the wages of a full-time hostess instead of a hologram.
The restaurant’s WAN automatically requested to subscribe to their commlinks. Slone’s commlink was on the fritz as usual, so the Hostess asked for a security scan. “Ah, corporate SIN,” replied the hostess when the facial recognition search returned the troll’s Social Identification Number and profile. The Hostess’s eyebrows rose further when the Magnetic Anomaly Detector went off the charts due to the metal in the troll’s meat.
“You're a Troll bunny, aren't you,” smiled the troll as he winked at the wary hostess.
The Hostess led the group to a private balcony on the second floor of the establishment. There was a team of well-appointed wait staff exclusively serving the private balcony. Terrance noticed the restaurant had placed a number of aluminum space heaters on the balcony to ward off the evening chill. “Way to over do it with the spaceheaters,” snarked the elf to the Hostess.
“They are not merely spaceheaters; but also the most expensive white noise generators money can buy,” replied a stocky woman seated at the end of a long table in the otherwise empty section. The woman was built like a mini-brick drekhouse; she could have been a member of the Ukrainian Swim National Team during the Cold War era.
The group’s sponsor stood up, yet there was little difference in height between her standing up and sitting down. Nevertheless, the team could tell Ms. Brickhouse ate well – very well.
"Have a seat, gentleman,” offered the woman.
Terrance remarked, “What gentleman?”
As the team took seats on either side of the table, Slone observed the pair of muscle-bound toughs standing behind Ms. Brickhouse.
They look kinda hungry to me, thought the troll,
Must be the food shortage.
That sentiment made Slone uneasy – hungry men were unpredictable.
“Well,” began Ms. Brickhouse, “I suppose introductions are in order. I am Svetlana Simoneov; it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I’m Viper,” the street samurai said.
“He’s really named Terrance,” replied Alexander, “My name is McQueen.”
“I’m Carlito Lontoh,” introduced the scientist, “You can call me Hamlet”
Slone snickered, “Are you turning into a girly man?”
“Possibly,” replied the human.
Ms. Brickhouse turned to the troll and made bedroom eyes, “And your name, good sir?”
“Darien Slone,” replied the troll, somewhat taken aback by their hostess. The Russian smiled at Slone and clapped her hands sharply. The wait-staff jumped up to fill the glasses at the table with fine wine. “Let’s eat first gentleman,” stated Ms. Brickhouse as she turned to Slone, “And then we can talk…business.”
The first course was an amuse bouche – tiny slivers of red snapper served sashimi-style over a garlic encrusted brioche.
Mmmmm, Real fish, thought Alexander,
But it could have used more acid.
The next course was a creamy green Alligator soup – Ms. Brickhouse explained that it was the fresh daily special. “Fish this out of the sewer?” queried Terrance – the elf loved being a prick sometimes. Nevertheless, Terrance slurped up the soup with gusto -- he had a suprathyriod gland to feed.
The third course was an Alaskan King Crab served on a giant ornamental skewer. Each pair of people at the table had an entire crab for themselves. The crabs must have contained 10 pounds of meat apiece. Carlito was un-used to dining on game food. The scientist quickly realized that in order to eat the crab, he would have to break off the legs and crack the shell himself; so Carlito asked the waiter, “Can you take the meat out?”
“What, you want him to cut the pieces into tiny-little bits and tuck in your bib too?” smirked Terrance. The street samurai noticed that some of the team looked full after the three courses – the elf also saw a waitress discretely munching on a discarded piece of crab meat as she cleared away the remains of the course.
The fourth course was steamed Mussels served over a bed of home-made pasta. Now Terrance was in full-on snark mode, “So when are we going to start eating?” The street samurai unbuckled his belt and tore into the dish.
The fifth course was a filet of Salmon served over a red wine reduction. By this time, Alexander was done eating – “I’m full, thank you.” Ms. Brickhouse smiled cruelly and simply waved the waiter carrying the plate away. When the waiter thought no one was looking, he slipped the Salmon filet into his trouser pocket.
Carlito was similarly broken by the time the cheese course came around. The scientist could not even feign interest in the varied assortment of real cheeses: creamy brie, crumbles of parmesan, even green-veined gorgonzola.
The restaurant featured a special delicacy for dessert – individual pieces of fruit and nuts hollowed out by hand and then refilled with gelato ice cream flavored exactly like the original; pecan shells filled with pecan gelato, peach halves filled with peach gelato, whole roasted peanuts filled with peanut-flavored gelato – it was utter madness!
In spite of his bravado, even Terrance couldn’t hack it during the dessert course. The samurai unbuttoned his pants like they where a can of biscuits. Alexander had begun to sweat profusely and Carlito laid his head on the table moaning softly.
Only Slone and Ms. Brickhouse remained undaunted by the gelato-fruit.
The troll picked up a walnut-gelato and casually tossed it into the air and caught it with his mouth; “I like your reception. Can I take some home in a doggie bag?”
As she popped a strawberry-gelato between her lips, Ms. Brickhouse coyly breathed, “You’re trying to ruin my figure!”
Slone’s stomach grumbled; this was a big meal – even for the 400 kg troll. The bodyguard gestured to the last piece of fruit, a plum filled with plum gelato.
“Ladies first,” offered the troll.
Ms. Brickhouse demurred, “No, I like a man who can eat.”
Slone grunted and popped the last morsel into his mouth; his stomach rebelled momentarily and then the troll issued a loud belch with a contented smile, “How about some coffee?”
Ms. Brickhouse guffawed loudly, “Let’s discuss business, shall we?” But first, the wait staff brought espressos for everyone served in fine blue china. Then, Svetlana shooed the waiters away and the guards positioned themselves near the balcony entrance.
“So, tell me about Paula,” began Ms. Brickhouse.
“She's a cold-hearted snake,” replied Terrance.
Ms. Brickhouse sneered, “We share that in common.”
Alexander decided to lay it all out on the table, “She would like your support for Proposition 1812 next month.”
“Like when you beat Napoleon in the Crimean War,” piped in Carlito.
“The Crimean War?” replied Ms. Brickhouse, “I thought we were talking about an election! Why should I help you?”
Alexander smiled, “You can have the troll.”
“Ha, I can have the troll anytime I want!” smiled Ms. Brickhouse, “But the amount has already been agreed to between Paula and me.”
“So, I’ve been told,” relented Alexander.
Ms. Brickhouse leaned forward, “Then, you also know my price?”
“Indeed,” sighed the lawyer, “What service would you ask of us?”
Ms. Brickhouse described in detail the mission she had in mind for the crew. The mob boss snapped her fingers and one of the hungry-looking guards sent the team an ARO containing the specifications of the buildings in question. As Svetlana laid out the particulars, the team grew increasingly incredulous. Finally, Ms. Brickhouse’s proposal came to an end; she asked the quartet, “My compatriots, have we got a deal?”
Alexander glanced around at his team – and sullenly nodded his agreement to the mission.
What have I gotten myself into? thought Alexander,
This is suicide!
Ms. Brickhouse accepted Alexander’s agreement and stood up to walk out of the restaurant. Passing by Alexander’s seat, the Russian whispered into his ear, “Cross me and I will end your pathetic bourgeois existence – believe it.”
Straightening up, Ms. Brickhouse said to the rest of the group, “Thank you for a lovely time this evening – don’t worry, I already took care of the bill.” As she walked out the entrance, she paused a moment and turned her head back to Slone, “You coming or not?”
The troll stood up and stretched. Slone headed to follow Svetlana out the door, but looked at Alexander and said, “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” After Alexander nodded agreement, the troll shrugged his shoulders and went to work off his dinner obligation.
Carlito muttered, “Good thing Tommy is in the CityMaster – he would not approve of this mission.”
Terrance simply shook his head in disgust, “I love Foreign Relations.”
The ice age is coming, the sun's zooming in
Engines stop running, the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear era, but I have no fear
Cause London is drowning and I, I live by the river
The Clash, London Calling
