The Rattle of the snake
Stryker's appartment. The mage is out as usual fixing people, Cursor is sitting on the small bed. He's often out and that's good. Otherwise in a place this small you'd have hated each other by now. It’s another late afternoon in the sprawl, and it’s shaping up to be about as exciting as watching educational trid. Your commlink chimes in to let you know your debt is due next month, and you begin to wonder why you’re sitting in somebody else's doss doing jack shit when there’s money to be made in the streets of Denver.
You’ve been working your contacts for a solid week, asking them to keep an ear to the ground and find you some work before you get kicked out into the street by Stryker, or pulled below the street some six feets or so by the Triad thugs. If you keep calling, they’re going to quit answering. There are limits after all. No one wants to be compared to a needy ex, and that’s what’s going to happen if you ring your buddies one more time. But still, no dice?
As if in answer to your prayers, your commlink notifies you of an incoming call. Shooter help me. You almost connect before the first ring is finished, but discipline yourself to wait until at least the third. Then you put your game face on, and answer.
Your image link reveals the face of an attractive Asian woman, her skin like porcelain and her eyes like ice. This definitely isn’t one of your contacts, but neither does she look like your typical Johnson. Her shoulder length hair cascades in short, tight dreads. The collar of her leather jacket is upturned and raises high to her jaw, concealing the entire nape of her neck. Her voice, smooth as the silk of her hypercolor tank top, greets your ears. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time. My name is Ms. Johnson, and I have some business I’d like to discuss. Let’s meet for dinner, bring your team, my treat.” She pauses just a moment, and then adds, “Do you like rattlesnake?”
From there the matter was simple you made your calls, forwarded the recording. Mata immediatelly recognised her Asian features as Japanese. Stryker pinpointed that she might be implying Rattlesnake grill. Higher class restaurant in Pueblo Sector, several blocks from his appartment. Eight-stone had found himself a job already, and you had to find somebody else. Going for a job without some pointy stick would be reckless. So you called Tabby if she could find anyone quickly. And there she was - Calico Cat in her black jeans, shirt with the catty pattern, lined leather duster and form fitting body armor. Mata was furious We traded Trog for a slitch ?!?.
Wilco was already popping a beer in the van waiting, so you packed in and rolled. There are very few places in the Denver sprawl with food as good as The Rattlesnake Grill, especially if your preference is southwestern flair. The burritos are heaven, and the rattlesnake is to die for. As you cross the threshold into the restaurant, an ARO pops up welcoming you to the restaurant, and presenting you with an option to view the menu. For now you close it, and instead focus on locating Ms. Johnson.
You spot her flagging you down from a corner booth, and snake your way through the tables and servers working the floor. Drinks have already been ordered you notice, as well as a spinach con soy-queso appetizer. Ms. Johnson scoops some onto a tortilla chip and tosses it into her mouth as you slip into your seat, chewing and swallowing before speaking. “Thank you for coming. I know it’s short notice, but I appreciate your punctuality. Shall we order?” She smiles lightly. “I’m starving.” Without another word, she tunes you out and begins manipulating the trackball on her commlink, no doubt browsing the menu in her image link and placing her order directly with the kitchen. Perhaps you should do the same...
