Bagman: Fashionably Late

They were there, as they damn well should have been. A clutch of dark shadows in the greater darkness of the alleyway, illumined along bare flesh by the pale green of my lowlights. Bright hands and faces, cloth a darker hue and the cold steel of their weapons a deep black.

“You’re late,” one deigned to inform me.

” I’m as on time as I care to be, man. Hadda make an unexpected stop.” I favored him with a fierce grin, reaching underneath my coat. The others shifted, two moving forward and bringing their weapons up. No fear. If there was, the coke would have smashed it, but there wasn’t. Not anymore. Too many deals, too many guns pointed in my general direction.

Laughing, I brought out the dark bundle from my inner coat pocket. Chips, of some sort. Probably porn-interactives or something. What’s it matter? Work’s work. I tossed it to the man in the middle, who took in a deep breath and lunged for it, catching it and cradling it like a baby.

“Well, there you go. Safe, sound. Where’s my money?”

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