CHAPTER III

Dusty gave himself the once-over, in the full-length mirror attached to the bathroom door. Boot-cut denim jeans fit well over the dingo style boots he wore. The sheathed boot knife, in his right boot, was properly concealed. The short-sleeved khaki shirt was loose enough to conceal his holdout-pistol, a Tiffani Self-Defender, in the special holster strapped to his body under his right arm. Dusty grabbed the holster containing his Browning Max Power and strapped it on. He dearly loved his Hammerli target pistol, but Max had stated he should come dressed for work. Work could mean needing heavy firepower. So like it or not, the Hammerli had to stay behind. Putting on his armored jacket, Dusty admired the fine black leather that hid the bullet-proof materials it consisted of. Running a hand through his unruly black hair. He gave the green-eyed image staring back at him, a grin. Everything looked STRAC. A quick glance at his chronometer told him it was 0847 hours. Making his way to the front door, Dusty grabbed an extra clip for each pistol and deposited them into the jacket pocket that had been tailored-made for holding them.

Securing his domicile, Dusty negotiated the stairs and entered into the light of a new day. Or at least what passed for the light of a new day, in Seattle. Looking up and down the street, Dusty satisfied himself that everything was normal. As luck would have it, a cab was passing down the street, as the shadowrunner reached the curb. A quick hail later, he was on his way to downtown Seattle and the posh restaurant known as Royce’s. A glance at his chronometer told him it was 0915 hours. He had plenty of time to make his meet with Max. As Dusty was settling in for the drive downtown, his wrist-com began to vibrate persistently.

"Howdy, who is this and whatha hell ya want?" asked Dusty in a playful voice.

"I want to know how you can drink almost a fifth of vodka and sound so damn cheery in the morning?" came a deep, rumbling voice from the com. "I want to know why you didn’t geek those little drek-suckers outside of my house last night? They deserved it. But most importantly, I want to know why a wired-up company man from Telestrian Industries woke me, out of my beauty sleep, to ask me questions about a fragged-up Texan norm like you?"

Dusty’s heartbeat jumped with sudden rush of adrenaline. Speaking in what he hoped was a playful voice he said, "Vince, to answer the first question, I have had plenty of practice. The answer to the second question is that there wasn’t a percentage in killing the little hoopfraggers. And your answer to the third is that your joke isn’t all that funny."

"Omae, I ain’t joking," replied Vince. "About fourty minutes ago, an elf in a very expensive suit, supposedly representing Telestrian, knocked on my door. Dusty, he was chromed to the gills. He asked if I knew anything about the altercation outside my place last night. When I said no, the keeb tried to get rough. By the way, you owe my landlord for a new window. You also owe me a new living room set."

"Vince, you stupid trog, " hissed Dusty into his wrist-com, "If that was a Telestrian company man, you may have put yourself in a world of hurt."

"I see that you lose that stupid drawl of yours when you start to get nervous, cowboy. Don’t worry, the suit wasn’t seriously hurt and we actually talked after our little tussle. He gave me a number for you to call. Seems the keebs at Telestrian want to give you a reward for being a good samaritan last night. And you better collect that reward, ‘cause me and the keeb really tore my living room up."

Dusty chuckled in spite of himself. "Okay, hang onto that number Vince and quit calling elves, keebs. You don’t like it, when you are referred to as a trog do you? I got some biz with Max. I’ll get in touch with you when I can. By the way, Ah ain’t ta blame for ya wrecking ya little pad. Buy yer own damn furniture, ya’ll have a nice day now, heah?"

Grinning as he disconnected, Dusty felt his heartbeat slow down to something more normal. He would have Max check out the "reward" that Telestrian was offering. If it turned out to be good, then that was chill. Telestrian was one of the biggest corporations in the Elvish nation of Tir Tairngire. It couldn’t hurt to have a company with that much clout owing him a favor. If it turned out to be something else, then he would deal with it. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more cautious until he knew the score. Dusty took another deep breath to completely calm his nerves. He knew he had better get his mind straight before he dealt with Max. The British-born elf wouldn’t have called for a face-to-face meeting, unless it was very important. Max usually did business over the com and through intermediaries. Dusty's gaze switched from the side windows of the cab to the back window of the cab for a few moments. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, he sighed and settled in for the rest of the ride.

Looking slowly around the restaurant, Max took in the rich surroundings of Royce's Bar and Grill. Plush carpet, furniture made of real wood, tables strategically placed and separated by lattices and plants, richly attired wait staff, and proper lighting created an ambience that bespoke of money and power. Royce's had the reputation, of a place where important decisions were discreetly made, and where big nuyen discreetly changed hands. It was a place frequented by Seattle's politicos, senior management of the megacorps, and the very rich. Because of this, security in this place was top-notch. White noise generators, astral warding, hidden security among the wait-staff, and secure, encrypted phone lines were just the start of the list. Dusty had chosen a good site for the meet. The fixer couldn't figure out how Dusty could afford to be a regular in such a place. Max knew he sure couldn't.

At that moment, a young, attractive lady approached Max and smiled, "Hello, I'm Elaine. I'm your hostess for the evening. You must be Max. Allow me to escort you to your table."

Max followed the blonde-haired hostess through the restaurant to a secluded table in the back. It made him rather nervous that a total stranger knew his name. Upon seeing that the occupant of the table was Dusty, Max relaxed somewhat. As Max seated himself, Dusty handed Elaine a sheaf of bills, Mitsuhama scrip from the look of it. Elaine gave Dusty a quick, sexy smile and then quickly left the way she had came.

"Elaine, had ya going thar for a minute, didn' she?" said Dusty with a grin.

"Look cowboy, you can just stop the country hic accent. For a man of your talents, it isn't seemly," said Max with a smile. "Where is the waiter and where is my menu?"

"No need for either," said the Dusty, "I ordered for you. Fresh tossed salad, grilled salmon, French-cut green beans, and a baked potato smothered in butter and cheese. I also took the order of ordering a pitcher of the finest beer imported from Cal-Free. Sit down, take a load off, no business until after lunch."

One excellent meal, two pitchers of beer, and a few pleasantries later, the two men were down to business.

"Dusty, I need someone I can trust to do this job," Max said seriously. "It's a courier job. The original courier got himself in some trouble and is holed up in a safe house. I need you to get the goods and finish the delivery. I have a personal stake in this job. Do you want the job?"

"Why me?" Dusty asked. "I'm usually just hired firepower. Courier work isn't really my bag. You said this job was right up my alley. What's going on here you ain't telling me Max?"

"Look Dusty, you are good with any weapon and your bare hands. You are dependable and you are smart," the elf replied. You are a damn one-man army and a wiz-worm to boot. Besides, I trust you."

"I'm not a magician," Dusty snorted. "I'm a sorcerer adept. There is a difference and you know it. But okay, I'll play your game. How much is the payoff?"

"Twenty thousand," Max said, "I won't frag with you Dusty, this is a hot little package. There is considerable risk involved."

"Holy piasma-drek," Dusty said quickly. "That price spells nova-hot. But I know you won't give me the details until I accept. So, this is what I want. I want the twenty thousand. Fifteen thousand in various corp scrip at today's market value, and the other five thousand in silver bullion. I don't care if it is in coin or bar, your choice. I also want a Ruger Thunderbolt™ pistol with five clips of ADPS ammunition. Throw in a pair of Optimax Sensor Suite™ glasses and check on what Telestrian Industries wants with little ole me."

"Fine," the elf fixer agreed, "you have a deal. I'll see that payment is dropped in the usual place. Here is the data you will need."

Max handed Dusty a datapad from his jacket. The runner sipped his beer and studied the information carefully. After memorizing the addresses and code words he would need, Dusty hit the erase button and handed the pad back to Max. Max stood up and prepared to leave.

"Cowboy, be damn careful, people who have been around this package have a tendency to die or disappear. Just complete the job, don't be nosy and don't be a hero."

"Don't worry about me Max," replied Dusty. "Just make sure my payment is in the usual place when I'm done. And next time lunch is on you."

Max nodded and left. Dusty watched the Elven fixer depart and wondered what was wrong. Max didn't even try to negotiate. Either he was slipping or he was really worried. Dusty didn't think Max was slipping. Sipping his beer, Dusty gathered his thoughts and put together a tentative plan. He then made a couple of calls to arrange for some transportation.

As he settled his bill, Dusty looked at his chronometer. It was 1345 hrs. Definitely time to get a move on. He sighed and thought to himself, "Well, at least I'm not bored now. I wonder what the hell I've gotten myself into."