Dirty Work: Volume 2

Story Six - The Breaking Storm: Part 1 - 4

I went into the bar as agreed and ordered a beer. It was three hours after I'd called. She looked like she was a decent ways away, so I wasn't sure if she'd make it in time, but I'd sort that out when the time came. I took the drink across to a booth, slipped in, and sipped the foam casually. The place was quieter than I'd hoped, not enough bodies to soak up dialogue, but there was a couple over on the other side of the room having a loud discussion, tears in the girl's eyes, so at least that was a decent distraction.

I checked the time. Still five minutes to go.

Z11 had agreed to meet me, much to my surprise, but specified not at the club. I'm not sure if that's because she didn't approve of it (there are still a few that find the idea of watching someone slowly take their clothes off to music uncouth; each to their own as long as they don't harm anyone for it, I guess), or because she knew something we didn't, and didn't want to be traced back to it. I had a suspicion that it might be the latter. It made me even more nervous.

I tapped my hands on the table in time to the song. Maybe she'd got held up.

The front door opened and I cast a casual eye over. A soorvite with both arms and hands (including all four thumbs) replaced with mechanical ligaments which were starting to go rusty, came in and waved to the bartender, sat down, and started to spill a story which required no small amount of pats on the back and promises that they wouldn't close until he was ready to go back out again. Whoever had made him break down like that was obviously a bitch.

'You've got a new coat.'

I looked up. Z11 slid into the booth, removed a shimmering hood, and let her chestnut hair spill out luxuriously into the open air. It was a gesture intended to get my heart caught in my throat, which for a moment, I'm not going to lie, it did.

'You've still got a flair for the dramatic.'

She smiled. 'Sometimes you need a little drama in your life.'

'Not me. I'm all set.'

'Quite.' She waved to the bartender and the old man behind the counter nodded and began pouring a drink.

'Friend of yours?'

'Saved his life once. Hunting down a middle-man for a branch of the Black Members Resurrectionist groups. He was held with a knife to his throat, so I shot the guy's wrist off.'

'Crack shot, then.'

'They don't breed 'em bad in my job.'

The bartender brought over Z11's drink, and gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. He looked me over with a shrewd eye before leaving but said nothing. Z11 looked to me in turn and smiled.

'Jealous much?'

'I would be lying if I said no,' I replied.

'You flatter me.'

'And now you can flatter me in turn. The last time we met, when you had me at gunpoint I might add...'

'Dangerous times...'

'You were also a lot more ditzy then.'

Z11 smiled and shook away a bad memory from her head. 'I'd had a tough day. Break up. You understand.'

'Glad to be your rebound.'

'You're not my rebound. I haven't slept with you, yet.'

'Are you planning to suggest it?'

'I would be lying if I said no.'

Now that was a comment which caught me off guard. I looked across the room to see if the couple were still arguing, more to give me an excuse to try and recover than anything else. Thankfully, their discussion had devolved into raised voices and a tight grip on their glasses which would no doubt find their contents slung at the opposing faces before long.