Day 234

Sig’s first address is a club; some sucker going by Jones rents a space out of the back. Nothing on the books, but there’s always a money trail if you know what to look for. Judging by the power bill, Jones might be a runner. I check my weapons and head inside.

The music deafens even with my implants, enough to keep me on edge as I sidle up to the bar. There’s a crowd here, the party never ending if you have the credit to back up a good time. I find a quiet corner with a good view and order for two, looking equal parts bored and miffed like I’m waiting for someone. In a way I am.

I scan the bar, watching for Jones while ice melts in the drink next to me. Thirty minutes go by with no activity near his door and no one matching his description. I might have to do this the hard way.

“Want another, sugar?”

Her accent is southern, probably fake or an implant, with the kind of drawl that makes a man loose with money.

“Might as well,” I tell her with an edge of bitterness.

Her eyes linger on the untouched drink next to me, sliding back to mine. “Waiting on a him?”

I give a small smile and lean towards her. “This time.”

She quirks an eyebrow and smiles, sliding a drink in front of me. “He’s a fool to leave you waiting.”

“It’s rude, right?”

“I’d never stand for it.”

“I shouldn’t,” I confess, sliding some credit across the bar.

She takes it, sliding a small card back. “In case you get tired of waiting.”

I sneak a peak, logging her number in my contacts and giving her a wink. “Maybe dancing will clear my head. Thanks for the drink.”

“Anything for you, sugar.”

I leave the bar and wind my way onto the dance floor, winding and grinding my way through the crowd until I’m sure she’s lost sight of me. Jones’s door is semi-secluded, enough that I should be able to sneak it. I make my way over, readying the persona of a lost party girl as I throw the door open and spill my way inside.

My laughter dies as I stumble and spill a little more of my drink, pretending the blaster pointed at my face scares me. “Uhhhh easy dude I’m just looking for my friend.”

His face is hard and expressionless as I stare back with feigned bewilderment. I duck and keep moving around, shuffling like his blaster is making me nervous, backing towards the door.

“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt or whatever, I’ll just-”

“Hold still.”

“What?”

“Stop moving or I shoot.”

“Dude, what the HELL?”

I widen my eyes and give him a look of disgust, straightening as I slip a knife from my sleeve to my hand. I test it’s weight, judging I have about 10 seconds before he figures out who I am and pings the net.

“Take your picture, creep,” I say, shifting as I pretend to drop my drink, dipping and throwing the knife.

40 minutes of cleanup later, I sneak out the back with as much intel as I can carry without getting noticed, hoping Sig’s other two addresses pose less trouble.