"I'm sorry"
Hermes gets up and straightens his suit. "The job really sounds tempting, but business prevents me from staying abroad a lengthened span of time. I have to thankfully refuse your offer, Mr. Johnson."
Hairy Johnson follow Hermes with his eyes, chaws twitching. You can see he doesn't like it. He even likes less what's happening next.
"I'm out as well"
It's Mercy's voice. "No way I'm going to friggin' Russia. In Seattle I get twice the dough in the same time without freezing my ass off. Night, chummers."
They both leave the room, before Harry is able to say:
"Ummh..."
It is FY's deep, dry voice that interrupts us. "There go our gunslingers. I guess, Russia is no safe spot for a runner team without some muscle.
I know someone. She's good and she's professional. I'll call."
You see Mr. Johnson is uncomfortable about losing control, but then, he seems to lack a better idea. He just nods approval to at least maintain the illusion of being in charge.
FY takes up his 'link. After less then two seconds he says: "Who am I talking to?"
His voice is rough but pleasant. He waits for a response, than smiles his predatory smile of his says with a perfectly calm voice: "16k is what I'm calling for."
Another span of silence, then FY smiles again, this time friendlier. Or amused. "To keep it short. I'm in a meeting with Mr. Johnson right now. Our muscles jumped off because they don't fancy spending some time in Russia, cuz that's where it's going. Sabotage. You wanna do the gilette, now is a good time to say so"
Silence.
"Mr. Johnson is from TerraFirst! We get the flight and a heli in Russia. 16.000 Nuyen each. There is a weapon factory we're supposed to blow up. And we are to secure some plans. Are you in?"
Response time.
"Meet me in two hours at Dave's. I'll give you the details and introduce you to whoever wants to come."
"She's in," FY announces.
Hairy Johnson nods in appreciation, but doesn't smile.
"Good... Well. Are there, um, any other questions? Otherwise I will take your presence as a yes."