Shadowrun
Shadowrun Play => Play-by-Post => Topic started by: adamu on <02-25-16/1848:27>
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Tuesday, 19 November, 1400; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
Serge was doing what he did most days - taking care of kids. Hang a shingle and they came, came out of the woodwork. First from the slums around T-ville proper - vaccinations, flu, skating spills - and then from deeper into the Barrens - TB, polio, STIs, systematic abuse - and lately from afar afield as Glow City and the Plastic Jungles - sepsis, malnutrition, radiation poisoning.
But the screech of tires and then the crunch of a semi-controlled crash outside told him he was about done with kids for the moment. He cleared the small operating theater he'd been working on bringing up to speed and then Bruiser staggered in with another ork draped over his shoulders and bleeding everywhere. Behind them four other walking wounded followed, all wearing the purple bandanas signifying them as T-dogs, the small neighborhood gang that Bruiser headed and that Serge relied on for security.
This was getting to be a weekly thing, and even though he lost one for each one he patched up, they never failed to find more new recruits. More kids.
He did a lightning triage - they all could wait, except for the one Bruiser was holding. He'd be dead in minutes without some plasma and surgery to stop wherever all that blood was coming from. They got him on the table and by the time the gloves were on half a dozen more armed gangers had crowded in to watch their friend live or die.
Serge knew better by now than to try throwing them out.
But some did not know better.
There was violent shouting outside, sounds of weapons being drawn and angry curses in Or'zet. The ugly command of a shotgun's pump action.
Then four Knight-Errant officers crashed through the door. The first was covered in blood that couldn't be his or he wouldn't be standing, or holding his Colt Manhunter icy still on Bruiser. Half a dozen makeshift firearms and blades appeared in the hands of the gathered T-dogs.
The next cop was supporting the third - a woman, a young blond rookie - her leather flak jacket was off and her uniform shirt was torn aside revealing a vest scored with ballistic impacts and a widening stain where one had gone through. Her hand gripped her neck, which was also gouting blood. She was crying like a baby. Or trying to as she choked on her own blood.
They were followed in by the fourth cop, walking backwards, Mossberg shouldered, scanning the pack of gangers hot on his heels.
The cops were hopelessly outgunned, but it was clear they wouldn't go down easy. And even these stupid ganger kids knew that making a move on them would be the end of their gang, their families, even the whole neighborhood.
But that didn't mean they weren't all thinking about it.
Serge looked for Markman - that would have made things easier - but he wasn't one of them.
The lead cop spoke - "She won't make the trauma center, doc." It was true, she wouldn't make it another thirty seconds without help.
And neither would the young ork on the table.
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"All right you lot," Serge commanded everyone assembled, "there's enough gorram blood dripping from these two. PUT THE DAMN GUNS DOWN!"
Holding pressure on the ork on the table to stem the tide as best he can, he looks to the officers saying, "Get her on that table over there and hold some pressure on her wound. Hell, screw that, there's a small medkit on the shelf over there that can stabilize her while I keep this kid from bleeding out. Don't worry, there's as good as we can get in the way of Matrix service here for it to access the net and operate on its own for that much."
With that, he proceeds to try to stabilize the kid on the table.
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No one put their guns down.
But no one shot anyone either.
One cop put the injured woman on the other table as directed. He tried to keep pressure on her bleeding and use the medkit at the same time but it was a complete disaster. His two friends watched him nervously, eyes flicking back and forth between the cop who was bleeding out and the dozen guns in adrenaline-shaky hands pointed at them. The first cop was finally getting the trodes attached when the whole kit slipped out of his hands, which were too slick with his partner's blood to hold anything properly.
It was all Serge could do to keep clamping off bleeders in his ganger patient, but it was clear they lady cop would buy it. Then one of the gangers stepped forward and picked up the dropped medkit and got it working, while another slapped a universal dressing on the woman's neck.
They worked for another few minutes, Serge on the ganger, the cop and two gangers on the other cop.
There were sirens outside. Then more sirens. Then more. The already unbearable tension in the room crackled with renewed electricity as the cops relaxed slightly and the gangers read the writing on the wall. "Yeah, that's right, assholes, my gang's just a little bit bigger than yours," said the lead cop. Then the storm broke and within twenty seconds everyone with a purple bandana was proned on the floor and a Doc Wagon team was whisking the lady cop out.
All Serge could do was keep working - the ganger was not out of the woods yet. No one bothered him. The original lead cop spoke quietly to the HRT lieutenant, and as quickly as they'd come the cops left, no arrests. The cop spoke to Bruiser. "We owe you one."
Then he sidled up to Serge. "Your house, your call. But you made your choice, Doc."
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"All I did was keep working on the patient that came in first," Serge said, "Had the situation been reversed, I would've stayed with her." He sighs and adds, "Sorry to be so blunt, but I have to stay fair and impartial in this business."
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Tuesday, 19 November, 1436; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
"Seriously Doc? Moral equivalency?" The cop looked around at the assembled orks in their street leathers and face piercings. "Not to worry," he said on his way out, "you got the T-birds in your corner now. Sure you'll be just fine."
And because it couldn't possibly rain without pouring, one of the young orks almost crashed into the cop in the doorway to the now filthy operating room. The cop left, the ork came in, said, "Doc, there's a couple of suits out in reception, armed escort, say they got biz with you."
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Putting the final stitches in on the ork kid's wound, Serge looks up, pulling off the surgical gloves and says, "He should recover fine now, but try to keep him out of the line of fire for a while." Turning to the ork that just entered, he says, "Let them know I'll be right out." At that, he tosses the gloves in the bio-hazard box, throws the now blood soaked surgical apron in the receptacle for such things and starts the cleaning drone to getting the blood cleaned up before ushering the orks out of the O.R. and steps out.
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Tuesday, 19 November, 1441; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
Serge came into the reception area to find four people he didn't know.
Two were large - a human and an ork in the uniforms of Wolverine Security. They were in modified dress uniforms, sidearms but tactical kit kept understated. They sent a message of necessary precautions prudently taken, but without coming off as menacing.
They flanked the two smaller humans - the ones that had prudently taken the necessary precautions. A man and a woman, nice suit, understated cornflower tie on him, skirt suit on her with hem below the knee and blouse buttoned to the collar. The woman took a step forward on her sensible, expensive heels and extended a hand. "Lars Sandstede and Minerva Gatling, Redmond Reclamation REIT. Is there somewhere quiet we can sit?"
It did not seem to cross their radar that they might need an appointment or that the coterie of women and small children fussing and coughing around the room might compete for the clinician's attention.
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Seeing the newcomers assembled in the waiting room, he approaches the one who addresses him, shakes her hand and says, "There are a few people here who need treatment, but I can take you into the office to talk as long as it doesn't take too much time." He motions to the children specifically at that.
"If you'll come this way," He adds flashing a look of apology to the waiting patients as he motions toward the doorway to his office.
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Tuesday, 19 November, 1443; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
The two suits sat down in the chairs offered opposite Serge's desk. The guards stayed outside the office.
Having already introduced themselves in the lobby, they now simply slid embossed business cards across the desk, each physical item tracked perfectly by a matching ARO. The cards had a slick logo - RRR, with the full name of the organization across the bottom - Redmond Reclamation Real Estate Investment Trust.
The woman, Gatling, was again the one to speak. She had a lovely face, but these days anyone with money did. Her golden hair was tied back in a bun, but despite that and the modest attire she in no way came off as grandmotherly. "It's clear your time is precious doctor, and we don't want to keep you from your charges, so I'll get straight to it. We are the owners of this building. And considering the good you are trying to do in the neighborhood, we are eager to work out a way for you to stay here."
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Sitting behind the desk, he leans forward looking at the card and says, "I know that I'm well ahead on making the rent payments, so there must be something else."
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Tuesday, 19 November, 1444; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
She smiled kindly. "There is no question of being in arrears. Not according to your terms with the previous owner. However, our trust's acquisition of the title on this block, pursuant to the new municipal reclamation initiatives, renders your previous agreement void. Of course we acquired your balance along with the property, but I'm afraid at the new rate it will only cover the next three days." She smiled, as if explaining the terms of a new gym membership. "Which is wny Mr. Sandstede and I are here - fact-finding on your ability to continue to pay, but also of course to do what we can to allow you to continue the wonderful work you're doing here."
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"I will admit," Serge responds, "I picked this location for two reasons. Number one, being a former animal hospital, the facilities were already present to get this clinic started without as much initial outlay. The second part is that twenty thousand was enough put pay up for four months at a stretch. If twenty thousand only covers three days at the new rates, I'm not sure what more I can do."
He lets out a sigh and says, "The people living in this area can't really afford to pay much more than they do now."
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Tuesday, 19 November, 1446; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
Gatling nodded in understanding. "It's always such an impossible situation. We see it all the time. We are in the business of revitalizing neighborhoods. But it is a business, and as an investment trust, are obligated to maximize dividends to our shareholders. But if the current residents have scant resources, organic growth can be a challenge. It's a Catch-22, but we've become quite creative at solving it. Case in point, your clinic is key to the revitalization process. Yet we cannot afford to take an annual loss on the property. Maybe in a better economy we could invest over a longer time horizon, but in the current climate, we need to think about short-term returns first, and then medium- to long-term investment in the community. So what do you think, Doctor, are you willing to think creatively with us about a way for us to meet our bottom line and also keep your vital work right here where it is doing so much good?"
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"Look," Serge says simply, "What I charge for services here is the highest that the people here can afford while being able to make the six thousand per month rent on the building that was negotiated previously. The only way I can pull in more is to get a way out of the security deal I made with some local toughs in exchange for cheaper treatment. The problem there is doing so will end the security, and the additional income would have to go toward other security arrangements."
He leans back and continues, "I sympathize with the monetary situation for your group, but to be honest, six thousand per month shouldn't be presenting a loss for your bottom line."
[spoiler=Out of Character]
I think I may have said the wrong amount before, but I checked my HeroLab file for the lifestyle cost, and the six thousand is correct.
Honestly, it makes no sense if, in the area of town he's in, that much rent is a 'loss' for them. That's an extremely high payment for the area.
[/spoiler]
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Tuesday, 19 November, 1447; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
The woman smiled patiently at Serge. "I appreciate your concern, and at some point when we are not both so pressed for time, I would be happy to help illustrate for you some of factors that go into a market-driven determination of rent levels. Perhaps over lunch sometime," she added, leaning forward almost impercptibly as something changed in her smile.
"For now, though, if getting you a better deal on security would free up cash flow for you, I think we can help with that. Don't worry, not only might the terms be agreeable, the quality of service will be significantly higher, not to mention the facelift a shift in providers would offer - to not have thrillgangers loitering about your clinic. It is very much in our interest for your operation to continue to thrive, and I'll have a consultant contact you within twenty-four hours. In the meantime, please give some thought to other revenue streams, as I doubt cutting your security costs will get you all the way there. Now, I am conscious of your time and the needs of your patients." She and her companion rose. "But you have our information. And I've added my personal number - feel free to contact me anytime."
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Rising from his seat as the others stand, Serge says in a politic tone, "I'll certainly take what you've said under advisement."
Once they leave, he goes about the business of taking care of the patients until closing, at which point he returns to the living area loft upstairs after bidding the nurse and receptionist good evening and places a call to Doctor Stein.
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Tuesday, 19 November, 1945; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
Dr. Marcus Stein, chief of staff at Overlake Medical Research Center - one of the metroplex's premier healthcare facilities - was not much given to answering his own phone. But of course he kept a personal number known only to his family and closest personal associates. Serge was one of these.
"Justin, to what do I owe the pleasure? We're on speaker, Liliian is here," he said, referring to his wife of thirty-two years, "say hi Lil." "Hi Justin," came over the commline, a bit distant. Then Dr. Stein spoke again, "Finally over your lost-cause complex and ready to do some real work?"
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"I'm still running the clinic, yeah," Serge replies, "But there does seem to be some kind of an issue on that end. You know I hate asking for anything, but I'm wondering if you'd ever heard of a group calling themselves 'Redmond Reclamation Real Estate Investment Trust'. They're getting a bit strong arm over here."
He pauses for a moment before adding, "How did you guys like the anniversary gift I sent you?"
[spoiler]
Gift can be whatever, but more than likely something akin to a gift certificate for a fairly nice restaurant or perhaps a 'spa day' type deal.
[/spoiler]
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Tuesday, 19 November, 1946; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
Lillian piped up: "Oh Justin, that place really was lovely. The view of Lake Washington..."
"And the lobster...sub-orbitalled across from Maine that afternoon," added Marcus. "Damn, that's making me hungry. Justin, we haven't eaten yet, and I'm willing to bet you haven't either. Why don't you wash the gutter off yourself and come over? I'll call some real estate friends and see what I hear about your, what was it? Never mind, I'll play back the call. Just get over here quick - I'm famished."
"See you soon, Justin!" called Lillian, and the connection cut.
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Looking at the time just before the call cut, Serge says, "I'll be there as soon as I pick up Veronica. She'd never forgive me if I came without her." With that, he sends a quick message to her as he gets into the shower letting her know to be ready. After cleaning up and getting into his best suit, he heads to pick Veronica up and proceed to the Steins' residence.
[spoiler]
Not that big a deal, but they'd more likely know him by his real name than the alias.
[/spoiler]
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Tuesday, 19 November, 2125; Rosemont Beach, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex
Veronica Dain was not a woman of means, but knew how to turn out well with simple clothes that complemented her fine elven features. She certainly did not appear out of place walking through the marble-tiled foyer of the Steins' Rosemont Beach home. They had both been greeted with handshakes and kisses and whisked into the smaller dining room. Lillian had taken a subdued approach to dinner - yes, catered in, but staff sent home once the meal was plated. Wine had flowed with the dinner, though no one was boorish enough to overindulge.
After dessert, Lillian whisked Veronica off to show off some new antiques she'd added to the banquet room, and Marcus invited the younger physician to his office. They sat on the leather Chesterfield and sipped brandy. Mostly they talked about a recent M&M at Overlake, with Marcus providing the behind the scenes skinny on a scandal that had left three promising young doctors - ork doctors - scrounging for patients in the Barrens. Then, as an afterthought, he said, "Oh, yes, you asked me to look into Redmond Reclamation. I called a few friends in real estate." Serge translated 'friends in real estate' into 'real estate moguls' and hoped to hear something he could use.
"They're pretty much what the name says, a REIT focused on revitalizing cheap Redmond real estate. Their sponsor is Greater Seattle Properties, which in turn is an MCT subsidiary, but I'm told they're pretty arm's length from the parent. And yes, it's Redmond, so they're doing what they have to do in some places to civilize it. Nothing beyond the norm for any corp with an eye where it should be - on the bottom line and shareholder returns. And certainly nothing illegal. Can I freshen your drink?"
Once he'd done so, he asked, "So what's your interest? Looking to invest?"
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Giving a nod at the offer to freshen the drink, Serge replies after the glass is filled, "I was mainly asking about them because I got a visit from them earlier today. Tried to squeeze me for more money on the clinic to ridiculous proportions of claiming that well over twenty thousand would only be worth three days with what they're wanting to begin charging. Seemed a bit fishy at the time."
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Marcus chuckled. "Ouch. Well, I don't need to tell you that, since our society thankfully returned to a laissez faire stance a half century ago, the only fair price is the one that the consumer willingly pays and the supplier accepts. If they are asking that price, well, it may mean they think they can get it from someone else if they can't from you. Or they're bluffing and will take less. Or a million variations thereof. But I don't see anything fishy about it....Though actually, that REIT does have a CSR clause in their municipal operating license to do just what their name implies - they are supposed to be revitalizing the neighborhood. You've got a good argument that your service is essential to that, and you could use that. Of course, the Catch-22 is that once the revitalization succeeds, then rents go up even higher."
He swished the brandy around in the big cup. "Fact is, no one you're treating will ever produce enough to be worth the quality of care you're providing. Of course we all feel for them, but there are realities to be faced in a world of limited resources. Frankly, you solve this problem, another will arise, because by operating in that neighborhood, you're living an economic contradiction. You'd do more good for them by working for me at Overlake and sending twenty-percent of what you can make there to a good medical non-profit."
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Chuckling as he takes a sip of brandy, Serge says, "I have considered it at times, mainly when it seems like I'm shoulder deep in blood from GSWs, but then I see the little kids that come in, and I'm reminded why I entered medicine in the first place."
He leans back a bit and says, "I did have a thought though. Perhaps there is a way to help Overlake and the clinic at the same time. I wonder what the board would think of another tax write-off through giving a bit of support over there."
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Tuesday, 19 November, 2300; Rosemont Beach, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex
"Taxes. The enemy of all productive men. Well, you are indefatigable, I'll give you that. I'll talk to some key members of the board tomorrow. Now, billiards?"
The ladies rejoined them, but declined to join in. All too soon the evening was over and Serge was walking with Veronica to his Honda. "Night's young, lover..." she said.
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Opening the passenger door for Veronica, Serge says in response, "That it is. What do you say we go out for some dancing for the rest of the evening?"
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Tuesday, 19 November, 2300; Rosemont Beach, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex
Veronica's eyes went slightly wider. "Ooh - you usually work so hard, I was just thinking of your place and a...snuggle. But if you're up for a club...first...then lead on, soldier. I know a great place just down in Vasa Park."
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Reaching over to slide his arm around her shoulders, he he gives a grin and says, "Then let's go to Vasa Park."
"After that, it's either your place or mine," he adds giving her a quick kiss while the car's pilot drives.
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Tuesday, 19 November, 2355; Tiger Tiger, Vasa Park, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex
The drive had been quick, and they'd only had to wait twenty minutes or so before someone pulled them out of the line and bumped them up to the front - it hadn't hurt that Veronica had brightened the red of her lips, darkened the cast of her eyes, teased out her hair, and ditched the blouse in favor of a bra/jacket combo while they made their way south. Serge checked his Colt with no hassle at all, and they'd hit the dance floor with a gusto. Once they were good and sweaty, the found a booth and Serge went for drinks.
A man was next to him. Serge couldn't recall if he'd approached, or already been there. He was human, medium height, medium build. He wore a suit - nice, but casual enough that it didn't seem out of place here in the club. He looked maybe thirty, but didn't most people, these days? He leaned in a did a good job of making himself heard over the relentless music. "I've been waiting for a chance to speak with you. Thought it would be rude to come to the clinic, and didn't want to disturb your lady friend. So here we are, standing at a noisy bar."
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After finishing up placing the drink orders, Serge turns to the man and says, "What is it you're needing, then? If it were medical treatment, I'd have to think that you could come to the clinic."
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Tuesday, 19 November, 2356; Tiger Tiger, Vasa Park, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex
"No no no. Not medical." He kept his communications short and simple in a bid to be heard clearly over the pummeling decibels. "I do security. Much better than your pet gang. And I can do so you don't pay me. I would pay you. I have a meeting room upstairs. If you want to hear more."
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"I would, but I need to get back with the drinks," Serge replies, "Could I get a contact number? This sort of talk will take more time than I have tonight."
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Tuesday, 19 November, 2359; Tiger Tiger, Vasa Park, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex
The man smiled in polite acknowledgement and flashed a data packet to Serge's commlink. "I have a meishi as well," he said, producing an embossed bit of cardstock, "if you're the traditional type." He placed it on the bar. It contained a simple commcode, nothing else. "Call day or night. But don't take your time. Those gangers are not the look we want." He turned and left, moving smoothly through the crowd and briskly up the steps, finally going out the main doors.
When Serge returned to his table with the drinks, he found another man there. This one had a dark cast to his features, possibly African or South Asian descent. He was human, medium height, medium build. He wore a suit - nice, but casual enough that it didn't seem out of place here in the club. He looked maybe thirty? He was sitting with Veronica, but not too close. Seeing Serge approach, he smiled and stood, relinquishing his seat. "Thank you," he said to Veronica, with enough volume to be heard over the electronic din. She gave him a friendly wave. Then the stranger said, "You're a very lucky man," to Serge as he moved to take his leave.
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Serge lets the man pass and takes a seat beside Veronica, handing her the drink and giving her a quick kiss before saying, "Make a new friend, Love?"
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Wednesday, 20 November, 0006; Tiger Tiger, Vasa Park, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex
"Me? He told me he was your friend." She grabbed her drink. "Really nice anyway," she said in a way that made Serge think the man had flattered her shamelessly. She always was a sucker for that. "Said he was here to help you with your money problems, but then as soon as you got here he left. What kind of old friend is that?" Her drink was empty - she didn't usually indulge so much, but she also usually didn't have much chance to get him away from his work for an evening at a club as nice as this. "Do you want to dance some more...or go home?"
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"Said he was my friend?" Serge repeats, "Didn't look familiar, but then I did encounter a lot of people that I can't quite remember back in med school days."
Slipping his arm around her, he motions to a passing waitress to refresh her drink saying, "We don't get out anywhere near often enough. I say we take the whole night." Looking into her eyes, he adds, "When was the last time I told you how much I love you?"
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Wednesday, 20 November, 0008; Tiger Tiger, Vasa Park, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex
"If it was ten minutes ago it was too long," she answered. "In fact, if you think saying it like that will do, well, it won't. Just be a man and come out with it straight, Justin Feron."
She kissed him to let him off the hook, then said. "I am up for all night - just as long as you get me home in time to love you good and proper before you run off to your true love - you know, the place filled with all the poor unfortunates you're so wonderfully, nobly determined to save."
They danced for a while, and when next they sat down for a drink break, she asked him, "So why is it you feel such a need to help those people?"
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Leaning back, he says with a shrug, "Helping people is why I became a doctor. Though that isn't the only thing. You know about my brothers losing their SINs back in the last crash. I just can't help but think that some of those who come to the clinic are in the same boat. Not to mention how many kids get brought in."
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Wednesday, 20 November, 0439; Vasa Park, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex
Serge's straightforward answer earns him a warm hug from his fiancee, and soon they resume dancing and drinking the night away. It is well after four in the morning when they decide to head home for some private time. Veronica is a bit unsteady on her feet, but Serge has been pacing himself and expects he will have no trouble driving.
He pulls smoothly out of the lot, heading for her place. Another car pulls out closely behind you, and sticks close. It soon becomes fairly obvious that the other car is following them.
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Not wanting to worry Veronica once he realizes the other vehicle is following him, especially considering that his path would take them to her place, he surreptitiously sends a message to Markman letting him know about the tail.
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Wednesday, 20 November, 0441; Vasa Park, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex
<<Dude, you are lucky I'm on tonight, cuz you didn't make a lot of friends among the pawns this morning. I'm gonna have to buy the drinks for my partner here just to keep him silent about me helping you. But we're rolling in your direction right now, got you on the map, just keep it a bit slow and we'll be talking to your friend in about five. If they haven't done anything, though...they're rocking a nice solid security reg, if what you flashed over to me is accurate.>>
Serge thanked his high school buddy and followed instructions, staying on well-lit public avenues and making sure they didn't reach or go anywhere near Veronica's house in the next five minutes, all without deviating from the norm enough to alarm her at all. Within three minutes there were blue and red lights behind them, and the car tailing them pulled over right away, his headlights getting smaller in Serge's rearview.
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On arriving at Veronica's place, making sure to not mention the tail at all to avoid worrying her, Serge puts his arm around her waist as she unlocks the door saying, "Good thing we got here when we did."
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Wednesday, 20 November, 1100; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
They had indeed gotten to Veronica's place just early enough to share some very high quality time, but the cost had been any sleep at all. As it was, there was already a line of patients in the reception area when Serge rushed in just before eight, leaving Marisa, the girl that helped out at the desk, overwhelmed and harried.
He got washed up properly and was about to get to work when he got a text from Markman. <<Sorry about delay, busy night. But not with your friends. They were kittens. Two guys, thirty-ish, nice but non-descript suits. Looked like sec operatives, and that was indeed what their rock-solid licenses said they were. Both packing, but again, licensed. Polite and cooperative even when we pushed them a bit. Absolutely denied they were following you, even though they and we knew that was bullshit. Hadn't done anything remotely illegal, and in seven minutes they were on their way. Later, dude. Good luck.>>
Serge then attended to the most urgent cases, and then Ms. Gatling and Mr. Sandstede showed up with their Wolverine minders.
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On the arrival of the two representatives, Serge has the nurse take over for a bit and heads into his office where he takes a seat behind his desk and says, "Well, what brings you back in today?"
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Wednesday, 20 November, 1104; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
"Well," beamed Minerva Gatling, "I first want to congratulate you on the excellent progress you've made in just twenty-four hours. You are living up to our expectations and more. I had a call not half an hour ago from the chair of the Overlake board, and while nothing is official until their next full meeting, he quietly assured me that they'd be sponsoring 45% of your rent. And not five minutes later, hardly a coincidence, I think, I had a call from the comptroller's office of revitalization and welfare. We were able to review the contributions your making here and matrixing them with our license conditions, and I'm pleased to say that the REIT itself will be subsidizing another 30% of your rent. With the funds in your balance, we're only thirty-thousand short for this month. Excellent progress for a day's work, wouldn't you say?" Her smile revealed impossibly perfect teeth. "And I also want to ask - because of course this could be another critical step as we head down the home stretch - I wanted to ask how your meeting with our security contact went..."
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"Don't know what meeting you're referring to," Serge replies simply, "The only people I don't know who attempted to contact me since you left this office were rather shady individuals who tried accosting me at a club or tried to intimidate me through tailing my vehicle."
He takes a breath and adds, "I don't respond well to such tactics."
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Wednesday, 20 November, 1105; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
Gatling pursed her lips in sympathy. "When he really wants to help someone, he can be...Listen, i went to Yale, and I know you're an Ivy Leaguer yourself. So you know how we have to make allowances for those that haven't had all of our advantages. Realize they're doing the best with what they have. People skills may not be his strong suit, but I guarantee you that he and his people are top notch at what they do. And since we still have some distance to cover, I really do think it would be constructive for you to meet with him before you and I continue our discussion on closing your gap. As I said, his unique business model is such that he would pay you for the opportunity to provide your security, so you'd benefit on both sides of your cost-benefit profile. And," she added consiratorially,"I'm not sure how keeping these gang members around all the time will affect your insurance eligibility."
She leaned back and crossed her slender legs. "What do you say, Doctor? Can I have my contact swing by your place this evening?"
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"The man can come to this office for a meeting," Serge responds.
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Wednesday, 20 November, 1106; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
"He might not like that," the woman simpered and then there was a knock on the door and it opened before Serge could respond.
Two middle-aged men with conservative suits and more conservative haircuts walked in. Outside the door, there was no sign of the Wolverine officers that had accompanied Gatling and Sandstede.
The men held up badge/ID combos accompanied by official-looking AROs. "Pardon the interruption doctor," one smiled briefly, then continued, "I'm Smith, FBI."
The other said, "And I'm Smith, SEC. Ms. Gatling, Mr. Sandstede, you'll come with us please."
Gatling attempted to come off nonplussed. "Of course. I'll just need to check in with my office. Do you have some documentation I can show them."
Smith said, "Just sent it to you. Please keep your communications on speaker." His tone was that of no-nonsense command.
Still fairly confident, the woman made the connection, and was immediately answered by a male voice. "This is Smith, Justice Department. The operation at this commcode has come under the jurisdiction of an interdeparmental UCAS task force. How may I help you?"
The woman simply cut the connection and stood quietly, followed by her associate.
"Apologies again for the interruption, Doctor," said Smith as they ushered the prisoners out of the room.
-
As the purported FBI agent escorts the pair from his office, Serge looks to the man and says, "Agent...Smith was it? Will this have any effect upon my practice here? Apologies, but it does tend to make one a bit nervous when federal agents come into one's office and take people away."
-
Wednesday, 20 November, 1108; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
The agent turned and faced Serge. "Doctor, the Federal Government of the UCAS is here to protect you. No good citizen should feel nervous in the company of its agents. Good luck with your practice here. If you have any questions, please direct them to the local FBI field office's non-emergency line, open ten to two Monday to Thursday, with an hour off for lunch and subject to the usual charges. Wait time averages seventy-four minutes. Have a great day, sir. We know the way out."
And with that they were gone.
Almost immediately Serge's comm beeped an incoming call. Answering it, he heard a familiar voice: <<Well, that was a show. I'd heard that might happen, which is why I was reluctant to meet at your practice. But that problem seems to have resolved itself. i still have a very attractive proposal for improving your security arrangements if you don't mind me stopping by for a longer conversation.>> It was the man from the club the night before.
-
Clicking the comm, Serge sends back <<This is a slow day for medicine, so you can come by to speak any time between now and shortly before the clinic closes for the evening.>>
-
Wednesday, 20 November, 1120; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
Ten minutes later the man from the club was sitting in Serge's office.
He was wearing a much more expensive suit than he had at the club.
After sitting down, he made a show of reaching for a business card, but then smiled in self-deprecation and put it back, his face saying - I guess I already gave you one of these.
Serge did not offer pleasantries, so the man spoke his mind. "My name for you will be Rafferty. I imagine you are paying these gangers something to protect your place here, be it cash or trade or both. Whatever it is, it's too much. They're as much a liability as a help. Their colors attract random violence from rivals, if anything goes down they're as likely to shoot some patient as put down any threats, and they're scaring away in customers that might actually have money to pay you. Not to mention the way they've alienated the pawns, and that's the overarching security we all rely on, isn't it? So what I'd like to do is offer you reliable, professional security services twenty-four hours a day at a cash cost of exactly minus one-thousand nuyen a month."
-
Serge nods and says simply, "They're not paid in money, but rather that they receive a fifty percent discount on treatment in exchange for keeping the area around the clinic safe be it from members of their own number that get too rowdy or the worse case of other, much worse, gangs roaming in to create mayhem."
He gives a sigh and says almost with the air of a professional politician, "Assuming that I can manage only continuing to pay, in rent on the place, what I am now, I think I could manage an extra thousand per month especially if more well-off people start coming in to the clinic. The only issue would be reneging on the deal with the gang, and they're leader is very touchy on those matters. If you can deal with them without much increase in cost and keeping my involvement on the down low, then I think we can strike an arrangement."
-
Wednesday, 20 November, 1121; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
The man smiled. "Just leave your pet gang to me. I can make them leave the place in peace and make them think they're the winners. But I fear I was not clear. I would be happy to pay you one thousand nuyen per month if you'll let me provide this service to you."
-
"My mother didn't raise a fool," Serge says, leaning forward and steepling his fingers in front of his face, "A deal like this sounds too good to be true, so I have to ask. What's the catch?"
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Wednesday, 20 November, 1121; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
"Nothing much different from the deal I imagine you have with your street gang friends. Occasionally people I represent are injured, but find hospitals and even private services such as Doc Wagon or Crashcart inconveniently public. They need a safe place to go where they know their treatment would be competent, discreet, and, above all, prioritized. Such places already exist throughout the metroplex, but most are unhygienic at best. We are looking to change that."
He paused to gauge the young doctor's reaction.
"Also, occasionally, for very special tasks, a fully-trained physician is required for work...on-site...if you will. As such, it is in our interests to maintain relationships with such individuals so that they would be available if called upon. I should stress, however, that such, um, field services, while expected, would receive generous additional compensation - generous enough to, say, hire additional staff or buy needed equipment for a struggling charity clinic."
-
Being no fool, Serge cracks a bit of a grin and says, "Given that info, I think I know the sort of people you represent, and I do imagine they would be a bit less rowdy--for the most part--than Bruiser's boys are."
He leans back and continues, "I think that we can come to an arrangement on that end, though, I would need to be able to decline if one of these 'on-site' endeavors went too far against my conscience. I'm certain it wouldn't happen often, but it is enough of a possibility that making the stipulation is prudent."
-
Wednesday, 20 November, 1121; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
"Excellent. Excellent. Give us just a couple of days to transition your gangers out - don't worry, the way we'll handle it, they'll like you more by the time we've eased them back into the gutter."
He laid a black certified credstick on the desk."That covers our first month payment to you, plus you'll find quite a bit more on there. Because there's one thing I need to let you know before I leave. The first on-site job will be this Friday night. It's a big one, as you'll see from the amount on the stick. And it's strictly a defensive job, so absolutely no moral considerations. As I understand it, you'll be there in support of a group of security specialists protecting a major smuggling transaction that's been under some hostile pressure lately. You'll get a call tomorrow with more details. The caller ID will show a Red Ribbon Productions. That ends my involvement with that operation - I know nothing else about it and you'll receive your back-end payment on site once the transaction is concluded. But if you have any other questions for me about our ongoing arrangement..."
-
Picking up the cred-stick, Serge looks it over before saying, "I think this should work out well. Though, at some point, your associates may think it prudent to spring for a second medical vehicle for me that is solely for use in backing them up 'on the fly'. Can't really have the clinic's being seen near endeavors like what you say is coming on Friday."
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Wednesday, 20 November, 1122; Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex
The man stood.
"Certainly something that could be discussed if thing work out. Remind me of the idea after we get a couple of jobs under your belt."
He smiled and extended his hand.
-
Taking the proffered hand, Serge says, "We'll see how this arrangement works out."
With that, he goes to finishing off a bit of paperwork before heading back out into the main clinic area to call the next patient.