Kross waved the fog away. Below it were several small metal vials, lined up tightly, like extra-large bullets in an ammunition belt. Bannickburn counted maybe sixty of them. Sixty! True, there was an awful lot of blood in the human body, but sixty pieces of Blood Ice in a single place was a remarkable sight. Nearly two hundred thousand nuyen worth, if Bailey played his cards right. It would either be a nice little payday, or a really helpful haul for any mages Bailey might be working with.
Still, it didn’t seem to justify the effort. A fifth of a million was nice, but paying Kross, Bannickburn, and whatever Yamatetsu people Bailey had to pay off wouldn’t be cheap. But if Bailey could live with a narrow profit margin, then Bannickburn had no reason to be concerned.
They arranged the metal vials in the briefcases. Either the vials or the briefcases were magnetized—the vials stuck firmly to the inside walls once placed. Once all sixty were placed, Kross sealed the briefcases and pressed a button on the side of each one. Air blew out of the briefcases, dropping the internal pressure and temperature, preserving the ice.
“Let’s go,” Kross said. “Ensign Teskiev, please convey my compliments to your superiors.”
“Of course. The corporals will see you out.”
Two of the identical guards stepped forward, and Bannickburn and Kross followed them to the foredeck.
Then it started. Quickened heartbeat, dry mouth, clammy hands. On the surface, nothing changed. Inside, Bannickburn was all adrenaline. He hoped he’d get to punch someone.
“So what’s the plan from here?” Bannickburn asked. “Nightrunners waiting for us on the other side of the boat? Secret passage from the prow to the docks?”
“We walk out the same way we came in,” Kross replied. “Hold these.”
Bannickburn took the box of caviar Teskiev had given Kross along with the two cases of Blood Ice. He wasn’t sure why he needed to carry everything, but apparently Kross thought he’d need his hands free in the near future.
Bannickburn didn’t know what to think of Kross’ exit plan. Waltzing the goods right out the front door seemed risky, but it also increased the odds that he’d get to punch someone. “Okay,” he said.
They walked down the pier. Disappointingly, the Lone Star guards were gone—either bribed away or called to a scene where something was actually happening. They had been replaced, though, by five people whose appearance screamed “hired muscle,” right down to the spiked brass knuckles being lovingly caressed by a man each of whose hairy hands seemed only slightly smaller than Bannickburn’s chest. The dockworkers that had been there before were still waiting, eyeing the newcomers cautiously, while making certain not to appear intimidated.
The sailors of the Juniper parted to let Bannickburn and Kross through. The five hired goons tightened together in a line, leaving no room to get around them on the pier. The two people on either end of their line each stood with half of one foot hovering over water.
The man in the middle, the one with the brass knuckles, held out a single thick arm, palm up. He looked like a grizzly bear in a suit.
“Stop,” he said, somewhat unnecessarily. “Jig’s up.”
His voice was a low rumble that Bannickburn more felt in his spine than heard.
Kross seemed affronted at such an ancient cliche being used in his presence. “I rather think it isn’t,” he said.
“We want those cases,” the bear-man said.
Kross snorted. “Funny. So do I. And I have them.”
“We’re doing you a favor,” the big man said. “You and your people wouldn’t know what to do with the stuff. We do. Give it here.”
Bannickburn leaned closer to Kross. “Who is this guy?” he whispered.
“No one you need to worry about,” Kross said, loud enough for everyone standing around to hear. “Just a speed bump.”
The big man wiggled his fist in front of Kross and Bannickburn, so that the spikes on his knuckles glistened in the sun. For the first time, Bannickburn saw that the weapon was actually a permanent part of the big man’s hand.
“Might be more trouble than that,” the big man rumbled.
“I’m sure you’re very tough,” Kross said, his voice oozing condescension. “But your timing’s bad.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really. You see, I understand some of the ship’s guards are getting ready for target practice. And I also understand they’re rather poor shots. Stray bullets everywhere, if you understand what I’m saying.”
The bear-man glanced quickly at the foredeck, where ten guards had appeared. None of their weapons were pointed at him or his friends, but it was quite clear that the weapons could be pointed at them without much effort.
Kross glanced at them, too. “You could probably kill us both. You might even get a hand on one of the cases. But then you’d be completely shredded by their deck guns, and they’d just take the case back on board. Hardly worth it, don’t you think?”
The hairy man looked warily at the guns. “Fine,” he finally said. “But they can’t keep you covered for long. Once you’re out of their range, those cases are gonna be ours.”
“If you say so.”
Bannickburn was poised and ready. He knew they couldn’t just saunter away with the bear-man and his friends in tow. If they were going to get away from the five of them, it was going to happen right here. He just had to wait for it.
The five assorted goons lined up on the dock didn’t have enough space to turn around easily. The two on either end waited while the middle three awkwardly stepped back to let Kross and Bannickburn through. It was all Kross wanted.
He raised his right arm over his head. A burst of fire clattered from the Russian guards, coming nowhere near the goons, but close enough to startle them. Kross charged, Bannickburn right behind him, with the dock-workers bringing up the rear. Bannickburn didn’t know who the workers were, but they were clearly on his side.
Kross had one goon off the dock and into the drink immediately, but two others grabbed him. Bannickburn headed for the middle of the group, swinging Kross’ box of caviar. He hit something firm but rubbery, and the box shot back.
He had caught the bear-man in his midsection. The hulking man looked at Bannickburn with beady eyes burning under his thick brown eyebrows. He wasn’t happy.
The dockworkers—minus one, who had fallen into the bay—were grappling with a goon to the left, who had enough hidden blades to keep them wary. Kross was still struggling with his two assailants. That meant Bannickburn had the bear-sized man all to himself.
He suddenly realized he wasn’t ready for this. He’d prepared for some talismongering, not for hand-to-hand combat against someone twice his size. He had no weapons, potions, foci, or anything else useful with him, and his opponent could easily rip him in two with his bare hands. Still, he’d get to hit someone.
The bear was reaching for a gun at his waist. That was bad. Bannickburn’s left arm, holding the caviar, was moving away from the bear. He hoped the Blood Ice was packed well.
He raised the steel case, twisted hard, moved it forward as fast as he could. It caught the bear solidly on the forearm.
The bear shoved Bannickburn’s arm away, rotating the elf’s torso. Bannickburn didn’t fight the momentum he took from the blow, but instead raised the box of caviar as the left side of his body pivoted around. The box slammed into the bear’s face.
Both men staggered backward. Bannickburn’s wrist had jammed, and his arm fell loosely to his side. The bear blinked in pain, and there might have been a few drops of blood falling into his thick beard, but Bannickburn couldn’t be sure.
“Dammit, elf! Careful with the caviar!” Kross yelled. His cultured tones had vanished, and his voice was a mean growl.
“It’s the only weapon I’ve got!” he yelled back.
“Then use your fraggin’ legs'.” Kross yelled. He shrugged off the one goon still clinging to him and barreled toward the still-unbalanced bear, wrapping him up around his midsection. He hit,
and a combined mass of over 225 kilograms slammed into the pier. A plank cracked loudly.
Bannickburn moved, running past the bear. This didn’t seem like a great plan, but it was better than hand-to-hand combat.
He was one step past the bear when a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. One of the goons Kross had been fighting had caught up to the elf.
Bannickburn reacted. The caviar fell to the pier. His fist clenched and slammed into the goon’s chin. His knuckles exploded in pain as the goon’s head jerked back. The goon wasn’t knocked out, and he wasn’t going down, be. iif didn’t have a hand on Bannickburn. It was enough.
Bannickburn ran. He was startled by heavy footsteps behind him, but when he turned he saw it was Kross.
“You nearly left my caviar. Stupid fraggin’ elf.” Bannickburn noticed Kross was still talking in his growl.
“Just . . . stupid . . . had to . . . bloody hell.” Bannick-burn’s breaths came in gasps too short to let him put together any kind of sentence. He decided he’d better just run.
Footsteps like an earthquake let him know the bear was on his feet and after them. Bannickburn longed deeply in his soul for the power of invisibility. He’d have to go shopping for some foci when he had the time. And a lot more money.
“Right. Right!” Kross yelled. Bannickburn turned right.
“Second door, left!” Again, Bannickburn obeyed. He was inside a dim warehouse. He couldn’t see much, but a beam of sunlight piercing a filthy window showed him the only thing he really needed to see. Light fell through the dust-clogged air and illuminated salvation.
“Is that—?” Bannickburn started.
“Sidecar!” Kross barked.
It was a Harley. A beautiful black-and-chrome hog. No fancy paint, nothing to its design that wasn’t muscle. Its engine was already rumbling. Bannickburn was in love.
He jumped in the sidecar just as the box of caviar fell into his lap.
“Hold on to it this time! No using it as a weapon!” Kross ordered, then passed along his briefcase. Bannick-burn had an awkward fit with the two cases and the box, but it beat running.
Heavy footsteps came after them. The floor of the whole building shook, sending shivering waves of dust into the air.
But the bear was too late. Kross put the hog into gear, squeezed the throttle, and the engine pushed them immediately out of reach. Bullets flew to their right, to their left, and between them, but drew no blood.
Calls had already been put out. Other security would be looking for them. But they were in the warehouse district, and they were mobile. It was too chaotic there to pen in a single motorcycle. They might have to circle around a few times, but they’d make it out.
Bannickburn spent most of his time on the ride nursing his knuckles, watching them swell around the abrasions from the goon’s face.
Kross took a brief moment to look at Bannickburn’s hand as he drove.
“You’re supposed to punch with your hand, not your knuckles!” Kross yelled over the noise of the hog. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”
No, Bannickburn said, but only to himself. Haven’t had to fight with my hands much.
5
If any birds more musical than pigeons had a reason to live in Avondale, Bannickburn was convinced they’d be singing. The sun shone, Jackie was smiling at him, and he had excess cash—excess cash!—in his pocket. Life was as close to good as it had been since Valinscarl had left him crumpled in the mud of the Stinklands.
He frowned as he sat on his battered chair. He remembered the way the sky had looked—purple and orange, like a burning vineyard. Valinscarl had stayed to gloat as long as he dared, until Bannickburn’s friends arrived to scoop him off the dirt. Valinscarl’s right arm hung limply at his side, his face was burned, his scalp blackened and hairless. He was entirely spent, or he would’ve cast the spell to finish Bannickburn off. But he was still standing, and someday, soon, when he had healed, Valinscarl would cast magic again.
The fragger knew. As he stood over Bannickburn and laughed through his scalded throat, Valinscarl knew that Bannickburn was finished as a mage. And the toxic mage enjoyed the moment more than Bannickburn had ever seen anyone enjoy anything.
But Bannickburn had rebuilt. He had a life. He had money. He had, to some small degree, respect. Sure, no one feared him. But it was only a matter of time.
He sipped at his tea. Earl Grey, the real stuff. He’d bought an entire case after the Blood Ice run, and he hadn’t managed to drink his way through it yet. A few times, he’d even wandered off to find real milk, not powdered, to pour into it.
“I’m as good at burying information as I am at finding it,” Jackie said, talking to someone on the telecom. “There’s a real art to it, you know. It doesn’t take much effort to hide something where no one can find it, but the true skill is hiding it where only a few people—the right people—can get to it.”
She fell silent as the other party spoke into her ear. Bannickburn loved hearing only one side of her conversations, so he could guess at the other.
“I’ll spell it out for you, then,” she said. “I’ve got the information. It will get out. The only question is how. Either you live up to the agreement as I described it— as / described it, not the curious version you claim to remember—or the information goes to a place where you won’t find it, but anyone you don’t want to find it, will. It’s as simple as that.”
Another pause.
“I’ll send you the routing instructions. I’m glad we understand each other.” She terminated the connection.
Bannickburn smiled in admiration. She was barely over a meter and a half tall, weighed under forty-five kilos, had a face (to Bannickburn’s mind, anyway) like a granite angel, and the soul of a shark. On the Matrix, she was a samurai.
“Scare them enough?” he asked.
“Think so,” she said with a demure smile. “If I did, I’ll buy you dinner tonight.”
“Wonderful.” Things just kept getting better. A couple of months ago, before he’d met James, he and Jackie were scrounging for food, once even holding up a delivery boy in what was a leading contender for the most pathetic moment of Bannickburn’s life. Now, thanks to the Blood Ice run and a continuing series of odd jobs Bailey kept throwing him, Bannickburn could buy his own dinner—but he didn’t have to, because Jackie was finally getting paid.
He could almost feel the rhythm of the world welling up from the ground. In the old days, in the Scotsprawl, he could always feel the currents of power flowing beneath his feet, pulling him. He knew when the flow had been interrupted, could feel disasters from hundreds of miles away the moment they occurred. He was not just standing on top of the world—he was an integral part of it.
After Bannickburn’s battle with Valinscarl, when his abilities had been seared out of him, he went numb. He had literally stumbled around each time he tried to walk, his feet feeling like they never really touched the ground. He hadn’t just had a leg or arm amputated; the whole world had been cut away.
That had been just over two years ago. Now, for the first time, he could feel it coming back. Not like it had been; nothing that happened more than a block or two away registered with him. But he was in touch with the way this city moved now—he’d thrown himself into its current, let it take him along, and he was prospering. Sure, he wasn’t wealthy yet—if all of his prospects and plans went away today, he only had enough funds to get by for a month or two—but he was in the current. If he let it, it would keep carrying him.
In fact, he really must be getting more attuned to the city’s rhythm—he could even hear it now, a light, rapid tapping, like the amplified heartbeat of a hummingbird.
Then he looked at Jackie. Her leg was bouncing up and down like she had a spring welded to her heel. That was the source of the noise. Her eyes darted back and forth, looking at him, looking away, looking at him.
“Something on your mind?”
Her eyes focused. “What? Mine? No, not really.
Why?”
“Your leg.”
She looked down at it curiously. It kept bouncing. She squinted at it, apparently willing it to stop. It didn’t.
She gave up on it. “Since you ask, I should tell you I’ve found something interesting,” she said. “I’ve been doing a fair amount of negotiation lately, buying and selling a few items I’ve come across, and I’ve met some people who know your friend James.”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“Did you know he has a nickname?”
Bannickburn shrugged. “Most people do. I didn’t know a particular one for him.”
“Well, it’s really not a nickname. . . . What they call him is ‘Jimmy the Shiv.’ ”
Bannickburn smiled after a brief moment. “I suppose that’s somewhat clever. James Shivers, Jimmy the Shiv. Maybe a little obvious, but it gives him an aura of toughness.”
Jackie’s leg stopped bouncing. Her eyes were focused on his. “This is not just something to give him an aura. This is something he’s earned.”
“We’ve all been in rough spots, haven’t we? So he used a shiv. Good for him. Shows he can improvise.” “You’re not getting what I’m saying.”
“That’s because you’re not really saying anything, dear girl.”
Jackie took a deep breath, either to gather her thoughts or prevent herself from cursing him out. “It’s a mob nickname. It’s something that made guys call him.” Bannickburn blinked, considered what she said, then blinked again. “He’s Mafia?”
“I think so.”
“Think so?”
“He walks like a mobster, talks like a mobster, smells like a mobster ...”
“Smells? What does a mobster smell like?”
“I don’t know, gun oil and blood. Look, it’s just an expression, okay? I haven’t tied him to any group yet, but only because I haven’t tried. Give me an hour or two, I’ll have your proof.”
“Don’t bother,” Bannickburn said airily. “It doesn’t matter. So what if he’s a made man? Do you trust anyone in this city who is not a criminal?”
“No. but . .
“Then what’s the difference? He’s a criminal, like everyone else, he’s just more . . . organized about it.”
Shadowrun 44 - Drops of Corruption Page 5