Shadowrun - 36 - Crossroads by Kenson Stephen

Author:Kenson, Stephen [Kenson, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

13

Kelly’s was an old-fashioned Irish pub in South Boston, the kind of place where I would have hung out as a street kid fifteen or so years ago. Just walking in the door brought back memories of my old turf and all of the people I used to know. The interior was dimly lit and smelled strongly of smoke, scotch whiskey, and sweat. It was an honest place, with no pretense of being anything other than what it was.

Even in the late afternoon, many of the tables were occupied. The regulars looked at us with no small amount of suspicion and distrust, but they carefully minded their own business. I’m sure the presence of the big troll watching my back had a lot to do with it.

I walked over to the bar and ordered a couple of beers, slapping some scrip on the countertop to cover them, along with a generous tip. The bartender took the bills without comment and waved us toward a table in the back of the room. I sat where I could see the length of the pub and keep an eye on the door. Boom sat watching the rear area. The beer was good, and made me realize how much I missed some parts of my old life in Boston.

“You should probably let me do the talking at first, term.” Boom said. His Cockney accent was back in evidence, although I suspected it would disappear again when there was a need. “The man’s interested, but he doesn’t know you from a hole in the wall. I think I can get on his good side.”

“Okay.” I said. “I’ll leave it to your courtly charms. I’m still impressed you managed to set up this meeting.”

“We’ve got something he’s interested in.” the troll said. “And I’ve done him a few favors in the last couple of years. He owes me at least this much.” It was still so hard to think of Boom as a fixer, dealing in favors, services, and information, rather than as the down and dirty shadowrunner I used to know.

The door of the pub opened and a dark figure appeared, silhouetted for a moment against the brightness outside. He scanned the room before allowing the door to swing closed. Even in the dimness, he wore a pair of dark shades that I was sure covered cybereyes capable of adjusting to any level of gloom. His suit was dark and conservative, neatly pressed, with creases sharp enough to shave with. The cut of the jacket almost completely concealed the slight bulge of the holster under his arm. I wondered for a moment if he and Boom frequented the same tailor.

He walked up to the table with purpose in his stride. I felt Boom tense slightly beside me and I did the same, ready for the possibility of a double-cross, but none came. The razorboy looked us over from behind his shades.

He said simply, “My boss is waiting.”

Boom and I exchanged a look, then rose and followed the razorboy out of the pub.

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