Shadowrun Legends: Who Hunts the Hunter by Nyx Smith

Author:Nyx Smith [Smith, Nyx]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
Published: 2017-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The subway runs him straight across the Bronx to the Pelham Bay Projects, a crowded cluster of concrete blocks each rising up forty stories. A mini mall leads directly from the subway station to the Projects’ entrance. Ivar cools his heels and stares into space while the crowd ahead of him moves slowly inside. Must be evening shift change. A couple of uniformed trolls from NitroSec, gripping SMGs and grinning, keep watchful eyes out for anyone with ideas about cutting ahead of the queue.

When Ivar’s turn finally comes, he puts his palm to the printscanner at the entrance, then steps briskly ahead. Door Number Six gushes open half a step before him and gushes shut at his back. That puts him in a mantrap—door ahead, door behind, both closed. Blank walls to left and right. Mirrored ceiling above probably concealing a bank of security scanners, not to mention the things those scanners ignite if the wrong sort of personal goods are detected.

“Identify,” says a honey-toned female voice.

“Ivar Grubner.” He recites his ID code, then adds his personal password, “Hurry up.”

The door ahead snaps open, and Ivar steps into a wonderland free of offensive weapons, theoretically, not to mention a lobby unmarked by laser burns or bullet holes: simulated marble flooring, pastel-colored walls, and a couple of simplas decorative plants. It ain’t much, but it’s better than most places one might find in the killzone known as the Bronx. A consortium of corps, including KFK International, owns the place.

The elevator runs him up seven stories. Two doors down the pastel-shaded hallway, he steps into the chrome and mirror-plated haven of his living room. Novangeline’s sitting on the black neovuelite sofa in a silver Mercurial tee and shorts. She looks kind of anxious. Sitting next to her in a dark gray executive suit is Amy Berman.

Ivar stops, staring, almost gaping.

“It was very nice meeting you,” Novangeline says to Ms. Berman, and then she’s up and walking briskly to the bedroom, just flicking a glance at Ivar before disappearing behind the bedroom door, which, for once, closes without a sound.

Ms. Berman looks back and forth.

“Uh. . .heh,” Ivar says. “Want a beer?

“Thank you, no,” Ms. Berman replies. “Novangeline made tea.”

“Ah.” Ivar nods. “Good.”

“I apologize for intruding like this—”

“No, no,” Ivar interrupts. “No, it’s. . .nothing like that. Not at all. I mean, what a pleasant surprise! What’s tox? Well. . . “

“Ivar, I need your help again.”

“Hey, sure. Whatever. You name it.”

Whatever it is, it must be serious. Berman’s got that kind of look on her smoothie face. She opens her executive briefcase and takes out a sheet of hardcopy, and says, “I need to check on some people. I can’t tell you why, but I wouldn’t ask something like this if it weren’t very important.”

“Sure.” Whatever. “Check ‘em how?”

“Well, I need as detailed a credit history as I can get.” Ms. Berman seems really determined. “In particular, I need to know if any of the people listed here have recently come into any large sums of money.

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