A few dark days had passed. The heavens had kept pouring the rain down since Leandro's passing. While the weather was still keeping the streets quiet it was beginning to grate on all the Enforcers; not least because they, without fail, were having to be out in it. Each and every day had brought new and more deadly skirmishes with the Pathers as the hostilities escalated into more of a full-on gang war. DJ had been tearing his hair out, trying to organise squads, partnerships, teams from those left and in able. The hardest part was proving to be equipping them. The invading Panthers had been using more of the impromptu explosives that Syke and Lorry had had first-hand experience of, but seemed to also have a source of firearms. Facing them down without similar resources was resulting in a lot of running and wounds. Archer had been sent to find, apprehend, and commendere Bo'Geo and all his various illegal goods in case anything of use could be found amongst his suspect wares. It was early morning; early morning as in the dead of night. Things had just settled on the streets and the Sub was full of enforcers wondering how to face the day ahead. Syke had managed to put a lid on the manic, and was trundling about offering insults and ideas with icy calm, while Lorry was ignoring the wandering insult machine, playing with Markus by himself.
"Where are the technomonkies, Wheelchair?" Syke demanded of DJ. "Are they drinking the fucking molotovs I ordered, or what? Don't make me send Van down there to sober them up."
A sigh predicated the response. "They've been needed out and about like the rest of you. You know that." DJ paused then smiled wanly. "Sparky and Bones were out together looking for relevant salvage."
After a pause in which the only sound to be heard was the rain, Lorry stood up.
"I can't just sit here. Something needs to be done."
Syke paced, but slowly, nodding at DJ and Lorry. "Alright. Yeah."
The wheels of DJ's chair squeaked as he made his way back to his office in what was once platform-side toilets, and the response was from Johnson instead.
"Things do need to be done, yeah - but lets just see what Archer turns up, first?"
"Assuming she doesn't just turn Bogie into the world's ugliest pincushion, you mean?" Syke grinned, without real venom.
A muted laugh, female. "I bloody wish." A ruffled form staggers down the steps onto the platform as Archer shoves Bo'Geo in the back.
"Finally," said Lorry.
A shrug from Archer. "He's harder to find than you'd expect for a pimp with bad dress sense."
Closer inspection of the newly delivered operator of the local one stop crime shop revealed the reason for his uncharacteristic silence. Archer had taped his mouth shut with duct tape on the trip back to HQ. Syke eyed the scout's handiwork with quiet appreciation, but kept silent. He motioned for Johnson.
"So what do you got there Bo'?" Lorry moved towards Bo'Geo over the platform.
A muffled noise is all the reply, but recognition is writ large on Bo'geo's face.
"Leave him" said Johnson, "I'm sure there are plans for him." He gave a slight smile as he responded to Syke's summons. Archer, non-plussed by his request, just shrugged and indicated for Lorry to go ahead and do as he will. Stepping up to Bo'Geo, Lorry spoke.
"What did you say? We get what we want for free?"
The pusher's reply to the burly questioner was just a firey glint in his eyes, the efficacy of Archer's gag muting his efforts to communicate and Syke, evidently having changed his mind, motioned for Johnson to forget it and waved for everyone to let Lorry take the lead.
"I can't hear you. Speak up!" Lorry reached down and ripped the duct tape quickly, and painfully, from his mouth.
"Oh, good," muttered Syke, "I wasn't looking forward to have to explain how the tape works."
Bo'Geo's yelp of pain was pathetic, but he was clearly both hurt and shaken up by the sudden violent removal of the tape, the sticky side stained with blood after shredding the mucosal layer on his lips.
"Bathardth!"
Lorry gave him an angry look. "WHAT did you call me?"
The spectacle of the would-be pimp stumbling around, bleeding over his innapropriately white suit and spitting lisped curses was enough to bring DJ wheeling back out onto the platform, followed by the goon brothers. Bo'Geo did not notice them though fixated as he was on the figure of Lorry, who stood over him.
"Thucking Barthtard, my lipth!"
Syke blinked, looking from one face to the next. Quietly, he said "this is one for the books." He signalled for everyone to let Lorry continue.
Lorry gave Bo'Geo a thump with his right fist, causing him to stagger back and fall to the ground. DJ glanced across at Syke, glaring, but simply nodded.
"Damn you!" Lorry kicked the downed man. "Damn all," and another kick, "damn everything," and another.
"What the thuck?" As the object of Lorry's attention curled up into a protective ball, his words supplemented by grunts of pain. "Whathever it wath I didn't do it!" Lorry's kicking countinued on, getting more violent. The pimp's protestations became less persistent as he concentrated all his efforts on keeping himself from being stomped into nothing.
"Uh, Archer?" Syke tried to get the scout's attention. "Got an elephant-sized dose of that tranq you use on hand?"
The curses and kicks from Lorry kept coming.
"Alright Lorry, stop. Now." DJ's voice was cold, dsipassionate. "We need him alive and able to talk."
Archer looked from Syke to DJ, flipping a syringe from her belt and holding it aloft. Markus, sensing something wrong with his master, started barking in an agitated manner. The sound caused Lorry to stop, then walk away. Archer lowered the tranquilizer again as Lorry backed off. Passing Syke, he muttered a few words.
"You better make him talk."
As if in response, bloody and beaten, Bo'Geo moaned with discomfort, stretching out from his foetal position then lying still. Syke threw Archer a grin and a shrug, then nodded in Lorry's direction.
"You did all the work, Van. Fucking adequate." He then turned his attention on Bo'Geo while on the other side of the platform Lorry sat down on the ground, now clearly more calm, tending to Markus.
"Alright, then," said Syke. "That was our main argument for you being a cooperative, non-lippy bastard for once. Are we clear?"
A groan, and a weak response "Verry thunny. Damn it! What the thuck do you thucks want throm me?"
"Well, for a start, everything you got. Gear, info, connections. I'm sure we'll get more demanding eventually." Syke bent down to look Bo'Geo in his swollen eyes. "As you may be aware, we're at war. And you don't get to sit this one out."
Flinching away from the interogator, the pimp's laugh is hollow and mirthless. "I'm not going to be thitting anywhere thoon. Bethidth, I ain't got thit now. Thuckink Pantherth took motht of it." He coughed up a glob of blood. "But..."
"Yeeees?"
A sudden expression of fear. "You promith to keep that lunatic away throm me?"
DJ spoke from somewhere further back. "Co-operate now and you'll be harmed no more by anyone here. Mess us about, and Lorry's brute force will be the last of your troubles."
Bo'Geo slowly pushed himself slightly more upright. "Fine." His broken visage a horrid mess, he raised a hand to the bridge of his nose.
"Can thomeone get me thome water and a towel, I'll tell you all I know oneth I can thpeak promperly."
Syke smiled pleasantly at the battered pimp. "Actually, I think this is an improvement. But, sure." He tossed Bo'Geo a rag and a water bottle of dubious quality.
"I don't think anyone's pissed in that recently. Have at it."
With a noticeable lack of enthusiasm the captive accepted both offerings, and DJ motioned for Archer to take him off to one of the side offices. Show over for now, a sense of normality returned to the Sub - as much as anything had been normal lately. Bo'Geo would talk, and soon.
Syke headed over to where Lorry was. "Gotta say, Semi, you completely fucking stole the show there. I was all set to play good cop, bad cop, trigger-happy cop, crippled cop and big scary lug cop... But noooo."
Lorry stood. "Can I speak to him a bit? I want to make sure it's not his fault I kicked him."
The smaller enforcer blinked in perplexion. "What? Errrr... What? Oh, sure. Fine." Shaking his head, Syke rifled through a supply box.
"I'm sorry Syke. Not everyone is like you who, just making a joke about everything and then it's fine..." Lorry started to walk towards the side office where Bo'Geo was held, then stopped.
"You know, while it's just us two..."
Staring into a pile of junk, Syke responded evenly. "Very few things are actually ever fine, Lorry. You just live with- yeah?"
"I've got this really bad feeling about this war. I can't describe it really, it's just damn annoying feeling inside that there is more than just this... You know what I mean?"
Syke simply nodded. A beat, then:
"Trying not to think about it, myself. Bastard pimps, we can deal with. Crazy fucking Panthers, sure. But the Suits..." He shrugs. "Yeah, we're probably royally fucked twelve ways."
Lorry turned around, no facing Syke. "Yeah exactly, the Suits. I hope they don't have more to it than we know."
The smaller Enforcer just shakes his head. "Pretty sure we're in over our heads. But," a shrug, "we'll fight all the same."
"Yeah, I wish we didn't have to." Lorry added "I think I changed my mind. I'm taking Markus outside for a minute. Give your best words to Mr Lips." And with that Lorry and Markus walked up and out onto the street, into the rain.
Syke blandly waved a goodbye to Lorry, and muttered to himself. "Everyone has already tried running..." Johnson stuck his head out of the side office in which DJ and Bo'Geo had vanished, beckoning Syke over.
"Guy's going to spill - think it's something big."
Tossing the box of useless crap, Syke walked up to Johnson. "Alright, then."
Inside the room, the captive was stood over a spartan chair. He had been able to clear his face of loose blood but the puffyness was still present and the bruises were beginning to colour. Nonetheless he was looking infinately better than he had outside.
Stepping into the office, Syke waved cheerfully at Bo'Geo, then took a seat. "Oh, Lorry says hi."
Assembled around the room were DJ, Johnson and Archer who snorted as their guest jerked backwards, banging his head on the wall.
"That boy is fucked up, man" Bo'Geo's response. Evidently the clean up helped his lisping, too.
"Why, of course," smiles Syke, "but he's our fucked-up boy. Now, you were saying?"
"Alright. I said I'd spill. I tol' you folks that the Panthers stole most o' my shit and that's the truth, I swear it. Bastards didn't shake me down though... wondering if they wouldn't be better turf." He glanced at the faces present, then laughed. "No thanks. Fuckers are working with Corps, man. Nasty fucking Corps. The gear they've been using? New stuff. Not mine - dunno why they wanted my crap actually given what they had. Fucking Big Men are supplyin' them with stuff in exchange for somethin', but I dunno what. Likely this war though, eh?"
Syke nodded and, glancing pointedly at Johnson, said "looks like."
DJ's eyes flared with anger. "I knew it. Couldn't have found all this stuff themselves, it's no wonder they're so bloody cocky." He paused, "but that's shit all stuff we could have guessed ourselves. You got anything to add to that, or shall we reconsider our level of hopsitality?"
There was an unpleasant pause as Bo'Geo calculated his response. "Well shit. And here I thought I was Mr Knowitall." A cocky grin. "I know more, don't worry about that. You've a fight on your hands over what your boys witnessed. Streets talk if you konw how to listen."
Syke rolled his eyes at the smart-aleckry. "HEY! DUMPTRUCK! Our guest thinks you didn't kick him properly!"
A cringe. "He hit me plenty. I'm pliable, man - just leave the big guy outta this shit." Bo'Geo sighed. "I'd have thought the bastards would just napalm the entire turf, but it seems that might cause too much disturbance to pass un-noticed. Better that their elimination be done "natural," right? Gangbangers are warsome fucks. People die all the time down here..." he left the thought hanging.
"Any idea why the events of that night merit this?" DJ spoke clearly and precisely.
"Not a clue, geezer. Not a clue. Except..."
"Give the bastard credit," mumbled Syke, "milking the fucking scene for drama with a Lorry hanging over his head."
"Look, this sounds whack, right? But there's something goin' on out in the Feral zone. Something big. I been hearing from scavs a lot that 'copters and cars have been seen detouring from major routes entirely too often out some mile or few. I reckon that stiff saw somethin' 'e wasn't meant to see, and the bastards gunned him down. Didn't expect to be caught doing it though. An' also..." he paused, looking at DJ as he continued. "I was gettin' word of an arms deal. decent gear. Hoped I might pick up scraps but soon became clear it was too big for little ol' me, right?"
Syke snorted. "Modesty looks like shit on you, Bogie. But do go on."
Outside, the weather was miserable, but at least no-one was out and about at this shitty hour. Markus was overjoyed to be out in the fresh air, running free. Lorry wandered around and thinking to himself about all the things that had happened lately when suddenly there was a noise, as if something had just been knocked into and someone was desperately trying to prevent it falling over. Lorry looked up, and Markus growled, turning to face down the street to the north, away from the Sub. A small figure stepped out, now holding a small torch, which it shone right in Lorry's eyes. Shielding his eyes with one hand Lorry spoke.
"Direct the torch somewhere else or I'll send the dog on you."
A laugh, jovial and friendly. Familiar. "Lorimer you dolt, Markus couldn't bite a flea, you know as well as I. Damn it man, have you grown even more?!" Miles stepped closer, smiling.
Lorry raises eyebrow, "He can catch sticks well though. Where the fuck have you been? You better answer me truthfully or you'll end up as Mr Lips."
"Yeah? Mr Lips - not one of those chat-line workers you like so much?" A snort. "I've been... busy."
Lorry replied. "BUSY?! You expect to just come back smiling and be fine, eh?"
Miles paused, sizing Lorry up. "Say, you really mean it don't ya bigboy? Shit man, just... look - I was caught. Embarassing to admit alright?" Miles winced. "Fucking Panthers' been interrogating me for a week now. Tonight was the first chance I had to escape." Miles reached Lorry and stood in front of him, arms out wide and a tired but friendly smile on his carrot-topped features. Markus, on the other hand, was still staring off down the northern street.
"Good you escaped then." Lorry Looked past Miles for a second. "Have you been followed?"
"Damn straight. What's it been like here, then? Survived the stich-up thankfully... Followed?" He looks back over his shoulder. "Me? As if..."
"Markus has picked something up at least. Give me the torch!"
"Eh? The old mutt onto something? Perhaps we should check it out, then." Miles extended a hand, offering the torch to Lorry, who grabbed it.
"Thanks. You can go down, they're in one of the offices. I'll take care of this."
Miles nodded. "No back-up? Fair enough" and he stood there watching, waiting for Lorry to move.
Inside the makeshift interrogation room the questioning was progressing. Bo'Geo was elaborating on the arms trafficking of which he had caught wind.
"A few renegade corps, y'know. Crate of goods that fell of the back of a lorry. Such I heard anyway. Turns out it was more than that. Made a few enquiries. The goods ain't fallen off the truck yet, if you see what I mean."
Syke stood up. "Let's assume we don't. Also, assume our patience is growing thin. Who's robbing who, and what's the damn score?"
Bo'Geo shrugged, the motion freeing some of the dried gore from one shoulder, sending it skittering down onto the floor.
"Think it's part of thie war thing. Word is the shipment is government. Word is jackers are rogue corps." A long pause. "Word is the jacked goods are due for sale on site."
Taking a deep breath, Syke looked at the others. Then he got in Bo'Geo's face.
"If you're shitting us about a single fucking detail, you know... With that in mind, what's the word on the goods? Rifles, tasers, grenades, cyberware, WHAT?"
The unwilling informant twitched nervously as DJ looked from Syke to Johnson and then back to his captive. "I fuckin' swear. On the level. Pretty sure the damn Panthers are due for a re-stock. Heard some ginger freak was to make the deal. Shotguns. And good quality shot, too - explosive stuff, not fucking shingle. Look. When it was small scraps I was into busting the deal myself. So I dug. Turns out its fuckin' suicide for me, so I bailed on the idea - but not before I'd marked the location."
"Oh, I fucking KNEW it!" Syke hissed, then mutters to no-one in particular. "Paranoia is just a fucking heightened state of awareness."
DJ looked at Syke. "You think Miles...?"
"No, don't *think* anymore. Know." Syke turned back to Bo'Geo. "You are now officially a DogTowner. If it's not abundantly clear, you start out as Bitch. We're jacking the jackers, oh yes."
The wheelchair-bound makeshift leader of Dogtown scowled. "Syke, are you sure about this?"
"Wheelchair, do you see any options? I'll grant you, you're not completely sucky at the thinking, but sooner or later... words aren't going to cut it."
"Hey, look man. You want in, it's your funeral, but don't drag me further into this shi..." Bo'Geo dropped silent as the faces around him made it perfectly clear he had less than no say in the matter.
A resigned tone rang through DJ's reply. "We're outgunned. Outmanned. Place is going to shit. No - you're right, we have no option. It's just," he paused and rubbed his temples with both hands. "Jacking Suits is suicide in itself. It half makes me wonder if the deal wasn't designed for the corps to rub out the Panthers after we're history. Government finds gang jacked weapons crates, sends in big-time clean up unit?"
The idea made Syke stop for a moment. Then he soldiered on, grinning. "Sure. Makes sense. But, you know..." The others showered him with expectant looks.
"... if they're expecting the Panthers to jack the crates... see where I'm going with this?"
"They may assume we're Panthers." Johnson finished. "Might work, but we'd need to plant phoney proof."
"Ah, don't we have a collection of hairballs and spare fucking cybercat parts somewhere?" Syke stopped, mid-smug. "And, hey... we can get ground down bit by bit, or get some serious weapons and go out with a bang. I know what I prefer."
"Alright, Syke." DJ's voice was steely now. "We do this. But it's your gig. Work with this trash" he gestured at Bo'Geo, "and come up with somethng."
"Gotcha... chief." Enormously pleased with himself, Syke looked around. "Now where did I put Bogie's leash?" The pimp just groaned and slumped dejectedly in the corner, muttering to himself.
After taking the torch from Miles, Lorry walked slowly towards his dog. Markus was still standing in the street, he had not moved, but niehter was he yelping or barking; instead he is standing to attention looking off into the blackness. Lorry flashed the light towards where Markus was looking.
Footsteps behind them. Miles was not heading down as he was asked. "See anything, Hairy?"
"You can go inside and warm up, I can handle this." The torchbeam slid this way and that over the alley, finding nothing but more shadows.
"I think not" said Miles, his friendly grin turning to a scowl as he let out a sharp whistle.
At the sound, something huge emerged from the murk in the direction they were all looking, its leap was accompanied by a bestial roar.
"Where are the technomonkies, Wheelchair?" Syke demanded of DJ. "Are they drinking the fucking molotovs I ordered, or what? Don't make me send Van down there to sober them up."
A sigh predicated the response. "They've been needed out and about like the rest of you. You know that." DJ paused then smiled wanly. "Sparky and Bones were out together looking for relevant salvage."
After a pause in which the only sound to be heard was the rain, Lorry stood up.
"I can't just sit here. Something needs to be done."
Syke paced, but slowly, nodding at DJ and Lorry. "Alright. Yeah."
The wheels of DJ's chair squeaked as he made his way back to his office in what was once platform-side toilets, and the response was from Johnson instead.
"Things do need to be done, yeah - but lets just see what Archer turns up, first?"
"Assuming she doesn't just turn Bogie into the world's ugliest pincushion, you mean?" Syke grinned, without real venom.
A muted laugh, female. "I bloody wish." A ruffled form staggers down the steps onto the platform as Archer shoves Bo'Geo in the back.
"Finally," said Lorry.
A shrug from Archer. "He's harder to find than you'd expect for a pimp with bad dress sense."
Closer inspection of the newly delivered operator of the local one stop crime shop revealed the reason for his uncharacteristic silence. Archer had taped his mouth shut with duct tape on the trip back to HQ. Syke eyed the scout's handiwork with quiet appreciation, but kept silent. He motioned for Johnson.
"So what do you got there Bo'?" Lorry moved towards Bo'Geo over the platform.
A muffled noise is all the reply, but recognition is writ large on Bo'geo's face.
"Leave him" said Johnson, "I'm sure there are plans for him." He gave a slight smile as he responded to Syke's summons. Archer, non-plussed by his request, just shrugged and indicated for Lorry to go ahead and do as he will. Stepping up to Bo'Geo, Lorry spoke.
"What did you say? We get what we want for free?"
The pusher's reply to the burly questioner was just a firey glint in his eyes, the efficacy of Archer's gag muting his efforts to communicate and Syke, evidently having changed his mind, motioned for Johnson to forget it and waved for everyone to let Lorry take the lead.
"I can't hear you. Speak up!" Lorry reached down and ripped the duct tape quickly, and painfully, from his mouth.
"Oh, good," muttered Syke, "I wasn't looking forward to have to explain how the tape works."
Bo'Geo's yelp of pain was pathetic, but he was clearly both hurt and shaken up by the sudden violent removal of the tape, the sticky side stained with blood after shredding the mucosal layer on his lips.
"Bathardth!"
Lorry gave him an angry look. "WHAT did you call me?"
The spectacle of the would-be pimp stumbling around, bleeding over his innapropriately white suit and spitting lisped curses was enough to bring DJ wheeling back out onto the platform, followed by the goon brothers. Bo'Geo did not notice them though fixated as he was on the figure of Lorry, who stood over him.
"Thucking Barthtard, my lipth!"
Syke blinked, looking from one face to the next. Quietly, he said "this is one for the books." He signalled for everyone to let Lorry continue.
Lorry gave Bo'Geo a thump with his right fist, causing him to stagger back and fall to the ground. DJ glanced across at Syke, glaring, but simply nodded.
"Damn you!" Lorry kicked the downed man. "Damn all," and another kick, "damn everything," and another.
"What the thuck?" As the object of Lorry's attention curled up into a protective ball, his words supplemented by grunts of pain. "Whathever it wath I didn't do it!" Lorry's kicking countinued on, getting more violent. The pimp's protestations became less persistent as he concentrated all his efforts on keeping himself from being stomped into nothing.
"Uh, Archer?" Syke tried to get the scout's attention. "Got an elephant-sized dose of that tranq you use on hand?"
The curses and kicks from Lorry kept coming.
"Alright Lorry, stop. Now." DJ's voice was cold, dsipassionate. "We need him alive and able to talk."
Archer looked from Syke to DJ, flipping a syringe from her belt and holding it aloft. Markus, sensing something wrong with his master, started barking in an agitated manner. The sound caused Lorry to stop, then walk away. Archer lowered the tranquilizer again as Lorry backed off. Passing Syke, he muttered a few words.
"You better make him talk."
As if in response, bloody and beaten, Bo'Geo moaned with discomfort, stretching out from his foetal position then lying still. Syke threw Archer a grin and a shrug, then nodded in Lorry's direction.
"You did all the work, Van. Fucking adequate." He then turned his attention on Bo'Geo while on the other side of the platform Lorry sat down on the ground, now clearly more calm, tending to Markus.
"Alright, then," said Syke. "That was our main argument for you being a cooperative, non-lippy bastard for once. Are we clear?"
A groan, and a weak response "Verry thunny. Damn it! What the thuck do you thucks want throm me?"
"Well, for a start, everything you got. Gear, info, connections. I'm sure we'll get more demanding eventually." Syke bent down to look Bo'Geo in his swollen eyes. "As you may be aware, we're at war. And you don't get to sit this one out."
Flinching away from the interogator, the pimp's laugh is hollow and mirthless. "I'm not going to be thitting anywhere thoon. Bethidth, I ain't got thit now. Thuckink Pantherth took motht of it." He coughed up a glob of blood. "But..."
"Yeeees?"
A sudden expression of fear. "You promith to keep that lunatic away throm me?"
DJ spoke from somewhere further back. "Co-operate now and you'll be harmed no more by anyone here. Mess us about, and Lorry's brute force will be the last of your troubles."
Bo'Geo slowly pushed himself slightly more upright. "Fine." His broken visage a horrid mess, he raised a hand to the bridge of his nose.
"Can thomeone get me thome water and a towel, I'll tell you all I know oneth I can thpeak promperly."
Syke smiled pleasantly at the battered pimp. "Actually, I think this is an improvement. But, sure." He tossed Bo'Geo a rag and a water bottle of dubious quality.
"I don't think anyone's pissed in that recently. Have at it."
With a noticeable lack of enthusiasm the captive accepted both offerings, and DJ motioned for Archer to take him off to one of the side offices. Show over for now, a sense of normality returned to the Sub - as much as anything had been normal lately. Bo'Geo would talk, and soon.
Syke headed over to where Lorry was. "Gotta say, Semi, you completely fucking stole the show there. I was all set to play good cop, bad cop, trigger-happy cop, crippled cop and big scary lug cop... But noooo."
Lorry stood. "Can I speak to him a bit? I want to make sure it's not his fault I kicked him."
The smaller enforcer blinked in perplexion. "What? Errrr... What? Oh, sure. Fine." Shaking his head, Syke rifled through a supply box.
"I'm sorry Syke. Not everyone is like you who, just making a joke about everything and then it's fine..." Lorry started to walk towards the side office where Bo'Geo was held, then stopped.
"You know, while it's just us two..."
Staring into a pile of junk, Syke responded evenly. "Very few things are actually ever fine, Lorry. You just live with- yeah?"
"I've got this really bad feeling about this war. I can't describe it really, it's just damn annoying feeling inside that there is more than just this... You know what I mean?"
Syke simply nodded. A beat, then:
"Trying not to think about it, myself. Bastard pimps, we can deal with. Crazy fucking Panthers, sure. But the Suits..." He shrugs. "Yeah, we're probably royally fucked twelve ways."
Lorry turned around, no facing Syke. "Yeah exactly, the Suits. I hope they don't have more to it than we know."
The smaller Enforcer just shakes his head. "Pretty sure we're in over our heads. But," a shrug, "we'll fight all the same."
"Yeah, I wish we didn't have to." Lorry added "I think I changed my mind. I'm taking Markus outside for a minute. Give your best words to Mr Lips." And with that Lorry and Markus walked up and out onto the street, into the rain.
Syke blandly waved a goodbye to Lorry, and muttered to himself. "Everyone has already tried running..." Johnson stuck his head out of the side office in which DJ and Bo'Geo had vanished, beckoning Syke over.
"Guy's going to spill - think it's something big."
Tossing the box of useless crap, Syke walked up to Johnson. "Alright, then."
Inside the room, the captive was stood over a spartan chair. He had been able to clear his face of loose blood but the puffyness was still present and the bruises were beginning to colour. Nonetheless he was looking infinately better than he had outside.
Stepping into the office, Syke waved cheerfully at Bo'Geo, then took a seat. "Oh, Lorry says hi."
Assembled around the room were DJ, Johnson and Archer who snorted as their guest jerked backwards, banging his head on the wall.
"That boy is fucked up, man" Bo'Geo's response. Evidently the clean up helped his lisping, too.
"Why, of course," smiles Syke, "but he's our fucked-up boy. Now, you were saying?"
"Alright. I said I'd spill. I tol' you folks that the Panthers stole most o' my shit and that's the truth, I swear it. Bastards didn't shake me down though... wondering if they wouldn't be better turf." He glanced at the faces present, then laughed. "No thanks. Fuckers are working with Corps, man. Nasty fucking Corps. The gear they've been using? New stuff. Not mine - dunno why they wanted my crap actually given what they had. Fucking Big Men are supplyin' them with stuff in exchange for somethin', but I dunno what. Likely this war though, eh?"
Syke nodded and, glancing pointedly at Johnson, said "looks like."
DJ's eyes flared with anger. "I knew it. Couldn't have found all this stuff themselves, it's no wonder they're so bloody cocky." He paused, "but that's shit all stuff we could have guessed ourselves. You got anything to add to that, or shall we reconsider our level of hopsitality?"
There was an unpleasant pause as Bo'Geo calculated his response. "Well shit. And here I thought I was Mr Knowitall." A cocky grin. "I know more, don't worry about that. You've a fight on your hands over what your boys witnessed. Streets talk if you konw how to listen."
Syke rolled his eyes at the smart-aleckry. "HEY! DUMPTRUCK! Our guest thinks you didn't kick him properly!"
A cringe. "He hit me plenty. I'm pliable, man - just leave the big guy outta this shit." Bo'Geo sighed. "I'd have thought the bastards would just napalm the entire turf, but it seems that might cause too much disturbance to pass un-noticed. Better that their elimination be done "natural," right? Gangbangers are warsome fucks. People die all the time down here..." he left the thought hanging.
"Any idea why the events of that night merit this?" DJ spoke clearly and precisely.
"Not a clue, geezer. Not a clue. Except..."
"Give the bastard credit," mumbled Syke, "milking the fucking scene for drama with a Lorry hanging over his head."
"Look, this sounds whack, right? But there's something goin' on out in the Feral zone. Something big. I been hearing from scavs a lot that 'copters and cars have been seen detouring from major routes entirely too often out some mile or few. I reckon that stiff saw somethin' 'e wasn't meant to see, and the bastards gunned him down. Didn't expect to be caught doing it though. An' also..." he paused, looking at DJ as he continued. "I was gettin' word of an arms deal. decent gear. Hoped I might pick up scraps but soon became clear it was too big for little ol' me, right?"
Syke snorted. "Modesty looks like shit on you, Bogie. But do go on."
***
Outside, the weather was miserable, but at least no-one was out and about at this shitty hour. Markus was overjoyed to be out in the fresh air, running free. Lorry wandered around and thinking to himself about all the things that had happened lately when suddenly there was a noise, as if something had just been knocked into and someone was desperately trying to prevent it falling over. Lorry looked up, and Markus growled, turning to face down the street to the north, away from the Sub. A small figure stepped out, now holding a small torch, which it shone right in Lorry's eyes. Shielding his eyes with one hand Lorry spoke.
"Direct the torch somewhere else or I'll send the dog on you."
A laugh, jovial and friendly. Familiar. "Lorimer you dolt, Markus couldn't bite a flea, you know as well as I. Damn it man, have you grown even more?!" Miles stepped closer, smiling.
Lorry raises eyebrow, "He can catch sticks well though. Where the fuck have you been? You better answer me truthfully or you'll end up as Mr Lips."
"Yeah? Mr Lips - not one of those chat-line workers you like so much?" A snort. "I've been... busy."
Lorry replied. "BUSY?! You expect to just come back smiling and be fine, eh?"
Miles paused, sizing Lorry up. "Say, you really mean it don't ya bigboy? Shit man, just... look - I was caught. Embarassing to admit alright?" Miles winced. "Fucking Panthers' been interrogating me for a week now. Tonight was the first chance I had to escape." Miles reached Lorry and stood in front of him, arms out wide and a tired but friendly smile on his carrot-topped features. Markus, on the other hand, was still staring off down the northern street.
"Good you escaped then." Lorry Looked past Miles for a second. "Have you been followed?"
"Damn straight. What's it been like here, then? Survived the stich-up thankfully... Followed?" He looks back over his shoulder. "Me? As if..."
"Markus has picked something up at least. Give me the torch!"
"Eh? The old mutt onto something? Perhaps we should check it out, then." Miles extended a hand, offering the torch to Lorry, who grabbed it.
"Thanks. You can go down, they're in one of the offices. I'll take care of this."
Miles nodded. "No back-up? Fair enough" and he stood there watching, waiting for Lorry to move.
***
Inside the makeshift interrogation room the questioning was progressing. Bo'Geo was elaborating on the arms trafficking of which he had caught wind.
"A few renegade corps, y'know. Crate of goods that fell of the back of a lorry. Such I heard anyway. Turns out it was more than that. Made a few enquiries. The goods ain't fallen off the truck yet, if you see what I mean."
Syke stood up. "Let's assume we don't. Also, assume our patience is growing thin. Who's robbing who, and what's the damn score?"
Bo'Geo shrugged, the motion freeing some of the dried gore from one shoulder, sending it skittering down onto the floor.
"Think it's part of thie war thing. Word is the shipment is government. Word is jackers are rogue corps." A long pause. "Word is the jacked goods are due for sale on site."
Taking a deep breath, Syke looked at the others. Then he got in Bo'Geo's face.
"If you're shitting us about a single fucking detail, you know... With that in mind, what's the word on the goods? Rifles, tasers, grenades, cyberware, WHAT?"
The unwilling informant twitched nervously as DJ looked from Syke to Johnson and then back to his captive. "I fuckin' swear. On the level. Pretty sure the damn Panthers are due for a re-stock. Heard some ginger freak was to make the deal. Shotguns. And good quality shot, too - explosive stuff, not fucking shingle. Look. When it was small scraps I was into busting the deal myself. So I dug. Turns out its fuckin' suicide for me, so I bailed on the idea - but not before I'd marked the location."
"Oh, I fucking KNEW it!" Syke hissed, then mutters to no-one in particular. "Paranoia is just a fucking heightened state of awareness."
DJ looked at Syke. "You think Miles...?"
"No, don't *think* anymore. Know." Syke turned back to Bo'Geo. "You are now officially a DogTowner. If it's not abundantly clear, you start out as Bitch. We're jacking the jackers, oh yes."
The wheelchair-bound makeshift leader of Dogtown scowled. "Syke, are you sure about this?"
"Wheelchair, do you see any options? I'll grant you, you're not completely sucky at the thinking, but sooner or later... words aren't going to cut it."
"Hey, look man. You want in, it's your funeral, but don't drag me further into this shi..." Bo'Geo dropped silent as the faces around him made it perfectly clear he had less than no say in the matter.
A resigned tone rang through DJ's reply. "We're outgunned. Outmanned. Place is going to shit. No - you're right, we have no option. It's just," he paused and rubbed his temples with both hands. "Jacking Suits is suicide in itself. It half makes me wonder if the deal wasn't designed for the corps to rub out the Panthers after we're history. Government finds gang jacked weapons crates, sends in big-time clean up unit?"
The idea made Syke stop for a moment. Then he soldiered on, grinning. "Sure. Makes sense. But, you know..." The others showered him with expectant looks.
"... if they're expecting the Panthers to jack the crates... see where I'm going with this?"
"They may assume we're Panthers." Johnson finished. "Might work, but we'd need to plant phoney proof."
"Ah, don't we have a collection of hairballs and spare fucking cybercat parts somewhere?" Syke stopped, mid-smug. "And, hey... we can get ground down bit by bit, or get some serious weapons and go out with a bang. I know what I prefer."
"Alright, Syke." DJ's voice was steely now. "We do this. But it's your gig. Work with this trash" he gestured at Bo'Geo, "and come up with somethng."
"Gotcha... chief." Enormously pleased with himself, Syke looked around. "Now where did I put Bogie's leash?" The pimp just groaned and slumped dejectedly in the corner, muttering to himself.
***
After taking the torch from Miles, Lorry walked slowly towards his dog. Markus was still standing in the street, he had not moved, but niehter was he yelping or barking; instead he is standing to attention looking off into the blackness. Lorry flashed the light towards where Markus was looking.
Footsteps behind them. Miles was not heading down as he was asked. "See anything, Hairy?"
"You can go inside and warm up, I can handle this." The torchbeam slid this way and that over the alley, finding nothing but more shadows.
"I think not" said Miles, his friendly grin turning to a scowl as he let out a sharp whistle.
At the sound, something huge emerged from the murk in the direction they were all looking, its leap was accompanied by a bestial roar.
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