Free Shadowboxer by Nicholas Pollotta Page A

straightened his bent shoulders and glared at his host. “Having fun?”
    Leaning back in the chair behind the duraplas desk, Jake levered his boots on top of the scarred surface, his boot heels dovetailing into worn grooves there. Clearly, a daily position.
    “Absolutely,” he snorted. “ ’Bout time you learned proper respect for true humans.”
    Demons of chaos, give him the strength not to strangle this man before they could even talk.
    “Not telling my people you’re not a real tourist should even us out, eh?” added Jake coldly.
    Check and balance. So it begins. “If that’s what you think, done and done,” said Two Bears, crossing his arms. “I’ll take my problem elsewhere.
    “After a bit to eat,” he added sotto voce. “Any good places around ear?”
    Fat Jake reacted to the words with a jolt, his hand automatically going to the right side of his head. “Point duly taken,” he rumbled, low and menacingly. “Download me.”
    “I’m doing a lobster and need backup. Now. As in fifteen minutes ago.”
    “In hot water, eh? That explains the beard and map. Must be big trouble for such a risky ploy. On the run, or on the lam?” he demanded suspiciously.
    Two Bears arched an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
    Jake relaxed. “Okay then. So the local SWAT isn’t in hot pursuit, you’re just hiding from them. What’s the glitch? Need a piece? I’ve got a couple of nice Mag fives, and an 88 V in the backroom. Heavier stuff too, if need be, but those will cost you.”
    Hooking a chair from behind, Two Bears pulled in close and sat. “Got a weapon and know how to get more. I need people.”
    “So whatcha want?”
    “All three.”
    “Muscle, mana, and machine?”
    Gods, yes. What Two Bears actually wanted was a small army, but three pros was all he could afford until he squeezed more juice from his Johnson. The old man hadn’t been straight with him about the deal and that was going to cost him a stack.
    But god, how he hated this! Should be making his own calls, contacting his regulars, solid chummers he’d normally trust to the marble slab. But after Sister got brainfried, he didn’t know who to trust, or where to turn. If only he knew what corporate file she’d been raiding, that would help, but he was totally in the dark. Not since he was a kid running solo through the streets of Overtown had he ever felt so alone and vulnerable.
    “You got the nuyen to feed them, kemo sabe?” asked Jake.
    The old Amerind term of friendship invoking days long past hurt worse than any insult. Goddamn the norm. Calling in a debt of honor wasn’t supposed to be a lesson in humility. “I got codes for the decker to get it for me.”
    “Fresh from a cold one?” chuckled the man.
    A brisk head nod. “Haven’t robbed a corpse in six. The codes are my own. But I don’t dare go near my accounts. They might be waiting for me. Gotta access ’em from outside.”
    “You’re that hot?” gasped Fat Jake.
    Two Bears shrugged.
    The human lowered his boots and leaned on the desktop. “What the hell’d you steal, Two? Or who’d you cack? Some maf chief or a yak boss?”
    Removing his hat, Two Bears inspected the brim and said nothing.
    No boasts, no denials, no lies, or evasions. Fat Jake’s expression melted like ice on the beach, then got nasty. “Anything goes down, I burn you,” he warned hastily. “Got to protect my place.”
    “I scan. You can always get more customers, but those plastic crabs must cost a fortune.”
    “Stuff it, halfer,” retorted the norm. “This reeks of tox and you fragging know it. Why come to me? You’re a fixer now. Ain’t you got own fragging regulars?”
    Two Bears shook his head. “No can do. They might be compromised. Find me new talent. No virgins. No groups. Make it all loners. Better chance they aren’t morkhans that way.”
    “Traitors?”
    “Or gov ops. I’m paying top nuyen and a slice of the pie, so I want first string.”
    “A slice off the top? It’s