Bagman: Ghost in the Dinette

I shrunk Benny’s feed to a small, high-speed rectangle tucked at the corner of my subconscious. I worked fast, skipped past low-level ICE before it had a chance to reach out digital tendrils to snag at me. I was in.

A few basic commands, run-of-the-mill security. Two camera’s, one holding vigil over the manager’s office door, the other looking out from behind the dinette counter towards the lobby, where three men stood and other figures were crouched against the far wall of the restaurant.

Reaching across the digital distance, I turned the camera and adjusted the focus on the smallest of the men, the one who was armed only with a pistol.

“It’s them,” I said aloud. Another window was next to Benny’s feed, but the other end of the line had their video blocked out. There was a second delay in the transmission; not enough to matter, but enough to piss me off. “My man’s en route.”

He’ll get the package?” Distorted voice, unidentifiable.

“Damn straight. Where’s the first half?” There. “Good biz, man.”

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