AT THE END OF THE WORLD
A gentleman in a gray suit and dark green tie approaches Torley and gently pulls him away from his group. He hands him a card with a familiar logo. (Somebody is paying a FORTUNE for Horizon execs to keep killing trees for these nice cards.) It says“Andre Guiles, Media Arts manager, Charisma Associates.”
“Evening. I’m Guiles—I’ve heard you are on retainer with Richard Fermin,” he says. “Can I have a private word with you to discuss additional business?” He leads you to your partners and giving them each cards repeats his introduction, then leads you off and down a hallway to a room guarded by a man and a hulking mastiff (don’t get nervous, mastiff NOT BARGHEST). Almost everything inside the room is black, with only a partial non-black frame. In the middle is a set of tables and chairs—sturdy, functional, and not at all comfortable.
Once everybody’s seated, he continues, “I have something that needs to be taken care of with the maximum discretion: the retrieval of an item for my client. Fermin and I have discussed this, and we agreed that I can pay you for this job in addition to your retainer. While I am sure that we can reach suitable arrangements, I need to know if you are willing to take on the assignment before I divulge any details.”
AT THE DATA HAVEN
Snow’s assurances have certainly put Crenshaw at ease, well, not too much at ease, but that isn’t really a bad thing. His crew, when they arrive is a friendly bunch, and is more than willing to answer technical questions on a variety of topics. It is rare for them to have someone as charismatic as her ask intelligent questions and actually listen to the answers. Few of the topics are of real value to shadow work, but she hadn’t talked to such people since she left the University.
As the night goes on, O’Connor is also enjoying himself. Brenda and Bridgett do not seem to be competing for his attention, it is more like a tag-team and he is enjoying being outnumbered. A desperate effort at professionalism has kept him from getting completely wasted, though he is really hoping that the contact Snow is waiting for shows up soon. The girls have a Zen hookup they will hit on the way to their flat (roommates! Bonus!) and he is feeling an itch.
The clientele entering the club has been relatively easy to keep track of, apparently the real party, for them, is on the Matrix side, so the few meat bodies coming in are not staying on the premises long, so to speak, unless they are joining Snow’s group across the club. With the redhead’s tongue in his throat and the bottle blonde’s hands at his belt he almost didn’t catch the new arrival. His scan of the room paints him as a regular, but when his eyes settle on Snow’s back, the initial appreciative appraisal turns into squint of serious examination, then he seems to be reversing course to leave rather than settle into the club.
