Footwork

A stream of large rats fought and ran after a morsel of some kind, forming a ball of wiggling fur at times. He thought he saw a finger with a ring on it, but dismissed it. One of the rats stopped and stood in front of him, staring, as if trying to make sense out of Daniel, its eyes glowed pink, and the nose twitched before following its brothers. The rodents eventually flowed into a drain and out from sight, though the screeching could still be heard a dozen paces away.

It was the muscle that gathered to the lamplight like deadly moths that slowed his steps. His eyes verified the logo of the gang; silver cleaver on a red background. He instinctively knew it would be the Choppers. Of the eleven members there, the third from the right closest to the main strip was the Asian/Black he had let run earlier. He had a sense of odd coincidence, if he believed in it.

As he got closer, the survivor spotted him and started tapping his leader and whispering. He didn't need to heighten his hearing to know the information of the message, 'That's the one that did Billy, Marco, Jams, and Lu.' He never took his eyes off the survivor as he walked up to and then past. He turned right under the light of the lamp, passing several of the thugs. Once the twisting of his neck started to tighten, he relaxed his neck taking his eyes off the survivor and looked down the path his body was already on.

The moment he heard clothing rustle behind him, he stepped side ways and drew his pistol. The smart link activated smoothly and without stutter, as it projected a dot on the forehead of the leader, range displayed and taken in account by the software. Looking down the length of his arm, he knew he didn't want a fight.

He knew he would win but the chances of not being hurt were very poor. So he did the only thing he could, he had to establish pack dominance at once. The nature of humans to run in packs is so biologically instilled that it can't be disrupted, he knew this and exploited it. He had to grab the leader by the throat and clamp so hard the leader knew who was alpha.

The Choppers were lit completely by the overhead lamp; Daniel faced them, his body sideways and his gun arm directly in front. It was a trick gunfighters used in the old west, presenting as little target as possible. Though he couldn't remember where he had heard it, he knew it was true.

Daniel maintained the dot on the leader's forehead as his eyes scanned the next four he would kill. After that he knew the chaos of battle would cause any plan he had to be useless. But the plan wasn't to fight but to let them know death would occur if conflict happened.

Daniel's eyes didn't blink, being cyber enhanced he didn't need to, his silhouette slim and unmoving. The pull of his breath was even, the muscles of his arm and wrist didn't move; keeping the pistol so still a ball would balance. He didn't know if any of the gangsters would be conscious of these things, but the subconscious would scream at the danger.

The leader was staring directly at Daniel, the press of his pack closing around him loaning him courage and numbers. The entire exercise was a sign of support for their chosen alpha. The pack slowly started to draw weapons. Daniel looked directly at the leader and moved his head in a negative. His pistol never wavered.

"No," the leader said as he motioned for the weapons to stay. As the pack started to relax he gave Daniel an ample nod.

Turning Daniel holstered his weapon, and started to walk away knowing that they would be attacking someone soon for some infraction. It was a reward the leader would allow his pack for the support and obedience of the encounter.

"Ya bitch is dead. Julius wants her. Nuttin' you can do about dat," his howl of subdued victory stating this encounter wouldn't be the last. Daniel's steps never stopped.

The main strip was really two roads that the met in the heart of the Gulch. Nicknamed Sex and Drugs, each lane had its own control on vice. If the alleys were dark the strip was day, the flashing signs and holographic ads flickering and alternating. The area gave off a sick red tinge with the placements of red lanterns swaying in the night breeze above the center of the strip. It reminded him of blood washing along a beach.

Drugs was controlled by the Triad, having the best contacts with the heroine farmers. That being the basis for most newly designed chemical highs gave them a leg up. Sex was controlled by the Bratva, or Russian Mob. Having long time ties with human trafficking, they had set up an informal alliance to push out other organized crime. The uneasy alliance has resulted in large sums of money for both sides, though that will only last till one side got greedy enough to start a war.

He turned right on Drugs and made his way past all vendors selling anything from the latest designer drug to fake Rolexes, and from the most poisonous booze, to stolen Rolexes. Shifting of languages could overwhelm a person if not ready for it. From one stand to the next barkers would shout in as many as three languages trying to draw business. People strolled down the center of the street avoiding the pickpockets that would hide between stalls, waiting for a mark.

Grizzly's was a small bar located underneath a VR den, with ropes and poles extending to the street, showing boundaries for the vendors. Even in the slums there are second-class citizen and vendors were it. Since most of the street merchants didn't use themselves, the area needed to take the money by another means. The gangs would call it a sidewalk tax; building owners would call it lot rent. The more expensive a rent the better the location, the more a vendor paid in tax, the less he or she would lose to thieves. Gulch economics 101.

Grizzly's had an interior that always surprised him though he had been here a couple times. An odd mixture of a Wild West saloon and a Boston sports bar, it seemed to put most North Americans at ease. The crowd was engrossed in a game happening as it was displayed on the largest Holo. American football had grown on the world stage dramatically as they were the first to allow cyber and bio enhancements. Would-be pros from other sports moved towards it after an injury mandated cyber replacement. Even with all the modification players had, protective gear was so advanced few deaths occurred. He wasn't a fan, but knew some who were so he kept up with it for social purposes. There simply wasn't enough poetry in the game for his tastes.

The three thick black men sitting around the bar at strategic positions told him who would be protecting the John. He didn't like the term, it made him feel like a prostitute, and in truth he knew he was; whoring his soul for money. He just didn't like it was all.

Daniel took the only empty booth in the far right corner, his feet sinking uncomfortably in the sawdust floor; a small card on the table stated reserved. Tossing the card on the floor and he sat in the corner openly watching everything and everyone. The table was a stained, scarred slab of early synthwood with a number of dirty jokes and scratch porn covering its surface. Anytime eye contact was made he would hold the gaze a second and offer a polite nod, only the three black bodyguards returned it.

A Japanese man came out of the bathroom and walked directly towards him, dodging a waitress dressed in a bad Indian outfit. He stopped and bowed formally at Daniel before slipping into the booth opposite. His stature and posture a perfect show of respect and honor. Boring Japanese.

"Thank you for coming Mr. Waters, I thought that maybe with your American background, it would be pleasing. I have what you might call a "job"? My family would lose much face if this..." John stopped talking as Daniel leaned in, his hand extended to the middle of the table and thumped it like a gavel with his trigger finger, letting the guards get the idea of speed and strength they would be dealing with.

"To the job. What, when, where, how, and most importantly why." he said as the pale John started to understand the fact that he was dead before the guards could react.

"My family is prepared to pay..." John quieted as Daniel leaned back in his seat.

"Where in my sentence did I ask amount?" he sighed looking out at the guards. "Get me your boss, and walk him here, or I walk."

John slid out of the booth straightened the suit unconsciously and walked towards the closest guard. He whispered to the guard, who nodded and followed John back to the booth.

The large black man was heavily modified, a loose suit hung on him with a crisp corporate cut. His shoulder holster barely showed with the sway of movement, walking like a boxer. He extended a large hand as he sat where John had a moment ago, now regulated to stand just outside the booth.

Daniel met the handshake with proper courtesy, both hands tightened in a firm grip, an unmodified person would have screamed.

"Tanaka, leave." The guard's voice a deep baritone, the smooth and softness evoking command with every syllable. Here was a man Daniel knew must have practiced his voice, maybe even sung in a church choir, full of range and capable of deep passion. John bowed low and walked from the booth.

"Mr. Waters, my name is O'Hare, last week one of our children took something he shouldn't have. An entirely in-house affair, but when tracked down, our wayward son had been killed, and the stolen item, missing. A Chang Industries now possesses this stolen data. We are currently negotiating a contract with Chang, direct corporate conflict would hamper these goals of profit," the black man said, his voice a soothing tone mixed with the white noise generation that occurred throughout his speech.

"The data stolen is information on a new synthetic skin that would revolutionize cyber implants. It is carried in a portable computer the size of a briefcase. It is, of course, encrypted with the most modern defensive programs. However it is a time specific encryption, in five days, nine hours and forty six minutes the data will unlock ,." O'Hare said. The silence after a white noise was like chasm that needed to be filled. Daniel resisted the urge to speak and silently watched as O'Hare licked his lips after a small throat clearing.

"My company wants the data back in three days, the current owner is hiding at The Embassy. We are prepared to cover as much as 100k." O'Hare said, opening his in a small waiting manner, a data chip left on the table. Daniel pulled a noise generator out of his pocket, the size of a cigarette box; its blanketing effect covered the entire bar. Sharp comments and swearing started as the game was interrupted and reception lost.

"200k for the Embassy, 200k for the three day time limit, and 100k for talking to Tanaka, 250k of that upfront." he said, a little arrogant. The crowd rejoiced as the game reappeared when he switched off the noise. O'Shea sat there quietly, relaying information for an approval to the demand.

O'Hare's eyes narrowed at the amount, he had to know it was an incredible price even for the job they were asking for. Daniel saw the slight widening of his eyes as he got the response, if Daniel hadn't been looking for a reaction, he wouldn't have even seen it at all.

"That is acceptable Mr. Waters. By midnight of the sixteenth you will have my data, and I will have your money," he said nodding. "You'll contact me by..."

"I'll contact you here at the bar, have my money ready, the next time you hear from me I'll have the box," he stated confidently. Taking the chip, he wrote an account number on a napkin. "I expect the deposit by 09:15 Hong Kong time, if it isn't, no deal." Rule one never, let them see you sweat, and he was.

He dropped his active sneer; leaving the bar for the cool, almost clean air. He started walking, footwork complete. It was time to work, and the first thing was to establish a team. He just wished the ache of intuition would stop its nagging.