Asher pays the agreed sum, and doesn't mention Dr. Nelson, or the extra job he tried to squeeze out of the team gratis, but his face betrays a lingering bitterness. Personal? Chaim wonders, but as tense as these payoffs can often be, he doesn't want to bring any sore spots to the surface. Asher would most likely not seek them out again, and for those kinds of paydays, that was too bad, but still one couldn't start a business relationship as some kind of pushover overly beholden to one's employers, now could one?
Or maybe I made the wrong call? he wonders, thinking about the new additions, about the fact that he couldn't keep Eddie from straying, and the short list of runners he would take a drink to every March 18, January 4, and October 17.
As Asher leaves, a briefcase lighter, and a medical breakthrough richer, Chaim says, "I'm heading out for a smoke," and retrieves a corona from the pocket of his Ulysses coat. Outside, he huddles under the eave of the safehouse, and toasts the end of his cigar. Why was he in such a gloomy mood? He was a clean 10k richer, enough to pay up a few months rent, maybe even get out of the drekhole he was living in off Ashburne. Or, he could blow it on novacoke and gin -- the real stuff for a change. It was when Chaim took his first full draw off his triple-capped maduro that he caught sight of Dr. Nelson, standing across the street, his white coat flapping in the wind for all to see. Chaim turns to join the others back inside, but Dr. Nelson shakes his head with a pernicious grin and draws a clean line across his throat.
The corona falls from his hand as he activates the gun-slide on his 75, but the doctor takes a quick step back into the shadows as Chaim fires, the silenced pistol's report drowned out by the rain. He knocks on the door and yells for the team, crouching low, but he can't see anything through the rain. Pale Horse is the first one out, and Chaim points in the direction where he last saw Dr. Nelson, and motions for her to cover him. Using parked cars, and trash cans, he makes his way across the street, but once he reaches the spot where Dr. Nelson was standing, there's nothing.
<<You see any movement?>> Chaim comms.
<<Clear on my end>> Pale Horse replies.
Back inside, Chaim fills in the team. "Look, a call needed to be made, and I made it. But it looks like I'm at least on the good Dr.'s drek-list. Ya might wanna keep your hoops away from me for a bit."
Pale Horse declines his offer, and offers to watch his back. "'sides, we can't say for sure he's gonna stop with you, natch."
Smiling with relief, Chaim say, "Ok, well I should probably take off first. I'll catch a car down to Touristville, and we'll see who follows."
"No, no, no," Pale horse says. "Spikes and I will go first, get ourselves set up with some kind of a view. You head out after."
Chaim nods, and they lay out the rest of the plan. Within 20 minutes, he's out in a car, and in another half hour, he's been dropped off at one of the busier corners in Touristville, between The Nomad Club and Trixie's 8. About 20 meters behind him, Chaim sees two men exit, young anglos, looking like they're out for a night on the town. Right. . . Chaim pretends not to notice them, even as one pulls out a comm and starts talking. No DNI, eh? That one must be the adept. The other's probably as cybered up as Casket. Just look at the way he moves. Chaim pretends not notice them as he joins the line in front of Trixie's 8, and again pretends not to notice them as he comms the team.
<<@Team [Chaim] In position.>>
"We see you," Pale Horse's muffled voice comes in over comms.
<<You see the two at the corner, heading my way? They came in a cab just after me?>> Chaim comms, while keeping a close eye on his surroundings. And then he notices another man, decked out in Ares' best. He's trim, young to be wearing a 2,800¥ suit, and especially oblivious to be spending that kind of nuyen on such an anonymous piece of attire. Chaim notices the tell-tale bulge at the small of the man's back, while he pretends not to notice Chaim, not to be here for him.
<<6 o'clock. blond hair. blue suit. Got Ares written all over him>>
"So?"
<<Ares set this up. He's gotta be with Nelson>>
"Think about where we are, Chaim. Every fourth hoop here is employed by one of the ten."
The man turns to face him, begins walking toward Chaim -- or the line -- but Chaim is sure it's the former. There's a small flash of steel, mostly muted from the rain, but there's enough light coming down from all the projections and AROs that Chaim sees it, nestled in the man's right hand.
<<He's coming for me. Abort>>
Chaim abruptly leaves the line, and crosses the street, toward the coffee shop, disabling his wireless devices. He glances to his right, and sees that the pair from the taxi are already on the other side of the street, and he turns sharply to his left, and then ducks into an alley. He finds himself face-to-face with a burly human selling some party favors to a dwarf woman, and the pair eye him coldly. Nothing to see here, and I didn't see nothing, Chaim thinks, as he pushes his way further into the alley. Don't look back, don't look back. Can't have them think I give frag all about what they're doing with their life, or their nuyen, or their body. Shit.
Chaim reboots his comms, the light blinking as it powers on and searches for his network.