Tails You Lose (25 page)
Night Owl tensed as a car rounded the corner and pulled up to the sidewalk but then saw that it was only Tiger Cat's Ford Americar. Egon was at the wheel, his eyes barely visible over the dash.
Tiger Cat ran around to the driver's door and clambered inside, Egon scooting over into the passenger seat. Night Owl paused just long enough to give Blondie a swift kick in the ribs and then hopped into the back seat of the car. She opened a window, peeled the kleen-tac from the cellphone and tossed the microtransmitter out the window. With luck, it would stick to the wheel of a passing car and keep Blondie guessing about where they had gone.
As the car pulled away, Blondie struggled into a sitting position. She was trying to rise to her feet as the police cars came into view. Then Tiger Cat turned the corner, and Night Owl lost sight of her.
The shadowrunner looked in the rear-view mirror, catching Night Owl's eye. "Akira Kageyama has one of the Coins of Luck, doesn't he? That's why that woman's master wanted to extract him."
Night Owl started to shake her head, then paused. Tiger Cat was spewing data all over the place tonight. Maybe some of it could help her out of this mess. She decided to play along with the other runner. For now. "What if Kageyama does have it?" she asked.
Tiger Cat nodded and then sighed. "I'll finish my story now—that will give you the answer."
Egon, sitting next to him, turned eagerly in his seat. "I told you about the attack on the fisherman in Hong Kong," said Tiger Cat. "The men who killed Sun Yat-sun tried to make it look like a Yellow Lotus hit, but it was done by the yakuza. Someone set up the fake coin buy and let me 'escape' from the 'Triad.' The whole thing was planned to let me live. By telling the story of my escape, I'd make it look like someone else has the Lu Coin."
Egon leaned forward. "Who
does
have it?"
Tiger Cat's lips twitched into a smile. "A decker by the name of Snow Tiger asked that same question. It was easy for her to learn that the Yellow Lotus wasn't really behind the attack—too easy. Snow Tiger peeled back that layer of data and came up with three different answers—again, too easily. Three dragons: Mang, Li and Chiao.
"Snow Tiger wanted to find out more—why would someone leave data that suggested that one of the dragons had the coin? She found the answer when she traced each dragon to a different corporation. Mang was rumored to be the CEO of Eastern Tiger Corporation of Korea, Chiao is a major shareholder of Tan Tien Incorporated in the Republic of China, and Li sits on the board of directors of Red Wheel Engineering of Singapore. All three companies are members of the Pacific Prosperity Group."
Night Owl mentally slotted the pieces together as he spoke. Blondie was working for the dragon Mang and the Red Lotus were tied to Chiao. That meant that Strange Eyes had to be the local muscle for the dragon-Li.
Tiger Cat continued, oblivious to Night Owl's slow nod. "Each dragon thinks that one of the other two has the Lu Coin. Now each believes that, unless he gets a coin too, he will be the only dragon without one. As a result. Pacific Prosperity Group isn't as congenial anymore, or as prosperous. Snow Tiger asked herself: who would profit from that?"
He glanced into the rear-view mirror again. Night Owl shrugged, but the dwarf let out a slow whistle. "If the Pacific Prosperity Group is weakened, Japan is the big winner. If there's another dragon behind ail this, it has to be Ryomyo."
"Exactly," Tiger Cat said. "All Ryomyo needs to do is drop a hint to the other dragons that the coin is in Vancouver, and they'll assume that Kageyama has it. Dunkelzahn was known to have three of the coins, so why not all four? If he gave Kageyama a million-nuyen condoplex. then why not the coin, too?"
Night Owl met his gaze in the mirror and asked, "What's the skinny. Tiger Cat? Why are you telling me this?"
"I think you know where the coin is—or that you will soon find it. When you do, don't try to sell it. This is out of your league—you should leave shadowruns to professionals."
"But if she—" Egon spluttered.
"Bring the coin to me instead," Tiger Cat said firmly.
"Why the frag should I do that?" Night Owl asked. "What's in it for me?"
"Your life, Ms. Wei. After you visited Bluebeard, he tried a little experiment using the DNA calling card you left him and found that your access to PCI was denied. This intrigued him, so he dug deeper. He found out about your impending termination and learned something he thinks may be very valuable for you to know."
Night Owl was only half listening. She didn't give a flying frag if Alma got fired from her job; PCI was as morally bankrupt a corporation as they come. Alma would do well to find some honest shadow work instead.
Night Owl didn't want whatever Kung was offering; she'd insist on a cred payout instead, if the coin ever came into her hands. And since that credit wouldn't be transferred to her, technically she wouldn't be "selling" the coin. She'd be in the clear, as far as any bad luck was concerned.
"Well?" Kung asked. "Do we have an agreement?"
"Maybe—but it would have to be for credit, not information."
Kung shrugged. "You're making a big mistake."
"Maybe," Night Owl answered. "Maybe not." She fished in her pocket and pulled out her lucky token. Heads, she'd give the coin to Kung if she found it and demand he transfer mega nuyen to her favorite charity in return; tails, she'd bail here and now and tell him to frag off.
Heads.
What the hell—it might be fun. If she played her cards right, maybe she could squeeze some cred out of Tiger Cat before giving him the coin. A
lot
of cred.
Enough to make the job of the doctors who volunteered with Cybercare for Kids a frag of a lot easier.
Night Owl inclined her head toward Tiger Cat. "Count me in. If I find the Fu Coin, it's yours."
Alma woke up slowly, stretching the stiffness out of her muscles. She checked the time on her cybereye—8:12 a.m. exactly—and then activated the clock's countdown function a second later, even though she knew what the reading would be: 27:47:59. She refused to succumb to the gloom that came with the knowledge that time was running out and focused instead on the progress she'd made. Today, at 11 a.m., she would meet with the fixer Hothead. Assuming he gave her the information she needed, it was only a matter of time—hopefully not too much time—before she caught up to the rogue Superkid and proved her innocence.
She rolled over and saw that a red light was winking on her cellphone, indicating that there was something in its daytimer that required her attention. Instantly alert, she swept the phone up and flipped it open in one smooth motion. Keying the memo function, she braced herself for what she knew she would find there: a message from the shadowrunner Night Owl.
This time, the message was neither a taunt nor a warning but an acceptance of her invitation.
I'LL MEET WITH YOU, AL, ON ONE CONDITION. THERE'S SOMETHING I WANT—SOMETHING THAT COULD MAKE A LOT OF KIDS' LIVES HAPPIER.
IT LOOKS LIKE WE BOTH RUB SHOULDERS WITH AKIRA KAGEYAMA. SMALL WORLD, ISN'T IT?
AKIRA'S GOT A PIECE OF JADE WITH A CHINESE COIN INSIDE IT. THE JADE HAS THE CHINESE SYMBOL FOR HAPPINESS ON IT. DO WHAT YOU WANT WITH THE JADE; I JUST WANT THE COIN. IF YOU MANAGE TO BOOST IT, TAKE THE COIN TO THE GOLDEN PROSPERITY BANK AT THE CORNER OF BROADWAY AND NANAIMO, AND PUT IT IN A SAFETY DEPOSIT BOX—NOT ONE WITH A COMBINATION LOCK, BUT ONE WITH A KEY.
Having reached the end of the message, Alma stared at her cellphone, elation and doubt warring inside her. The rogue Superkid had agreed to a meeting—but what she was asking for in return might not be possible. This coin that Night Owl wanted was obviously something of value—probably a rare coin that was part of Kageyama's collection of antiquities. In order to obtain it, Alma would either have to purchase the coin—an unlikely prospect, given her account balance—persuade Kageyama to lend it to her, or "boost" it, as Night Owl had suggested.
But all three options boiled down to the same problem: once Night Owl had what she wanted, there was little reason for her to follow through on her promise of a meeting. No, the better course of action was to go to the meeting she'd already set up with Hothead, in the hope that he would provide her with the data she'd need to run Night Owl to ground.
* * *
Alma rode the escalator down to the street level of Broadway Station, bracing herself for the panhandlers and dealers she knew she'd find there. She'd only visited this part of town a few times in all of the years she'd lived in Vancouver. She didn't like it much. Commercial Drive might be touted by some as the cultural highwater of Vancouver, with its trendy shops, ethnic restaurants, real-coffee cafes and theatrical venues, but it was also a hotbed of criminal activity. Its bright murals and exotic window displays made it more cheerful than the concrete grime of the Downtown Eastside, but the number of BTL and drug deals going down on the colorful sidewalks was the same. The number of illicit dealings between shadowrunners—known in street slang as "shadow biz"—was said to be just as high.
As Alma wound her way past the panhandlers and the petty thieves who hissed at her to buy their counterfeit SkyTrain tokens, she saw a grim reminder of what a life in the shadows could lead to, just outside the glass windows that fronted the station. Lying on the sidewalk in the rain was a young elf who had just died of a BTL overdose, judging by the way the police were pulling back his black knitted hat to inspect the chipjack in his temple. Alma zoomed her cybereye in for a closer look and saw that the chip he'd overdosed on was still slotted in the jack. The kid must have only recently come into some credit, judging by his ragged appearance. His pants were made from bubble wrap, and his cyberhand looked as though it had been ready for the scrap heap years ago. He'd probably gotten the credit by breaking into someone's car or home. Alma shook her head in disgust and turned away.
She made her way through the crowds of commuters to the Kaf Kounter, ordered a cappuccino, and checked the clock in her cybereye. It was 11 a.m., precisely the time Hothead had agreed to meet with her. The "fixer," as he was known in shadow slang, had been easy to track down. Bluebeard had recognized the name at once and for a small fee had agreed to get in touch with him on "Cybergirl's" behalf. So far, it seemed, the contacts Alma had made by going through the motions of a shadowrun extraction were paying off. Now she just had to hope that Hothead actually showed up.
The minutes dragged by, and the rain continued to fall outside the station. At the five-minute mark, Alma began to get restless. At the ten-minute mark, a violent trembling in her left hand caused her to drop her cappuccino. She ordered another and held it in her right hand. At the fifteen-minute mark, a dealer tried to sell her BTL chips. She gave him a surly look and told him to "frag off." At the twenty-minute mark, the station's secguards paused to eye her suspiciously as they made their pass through the station. Alma smiled to herself, pleased with the reaction. She'd deliberately dressed down for this meeting, in slashed leather pants and a faded urban brawl fleece jacket. She'd restyled and bleached her hair so Hothead—who as Night Owl's fixer would be in regular, constant contact with her—wouldn't spot the resemblance between the two women. Alma didn't want him tipping the shadowrunner off that her "twin" was looking for her. Not when she was so close . . .
Hothead finally appeared at twenty-three minutes after eleven. Alma recognized him at once by the flickering blue flames on his scalp as he scanned the people who stood at the coffee bar. She'd never in her life seen a more ridiculous-looking implant, but she managed to keep her expression neutral. She drained her cappuccino and set the cup upside down on its saucer: the signal they'd agreed upon. The fixer winked an eye that was either cybernetic or covered with a bright yellow contact lens and pointed at one of the tiny shops that lined this level of the station: a Beautiful Horns aesthetics parlor. Alma nodded and followed him.
Hothead ambled into the salon and tossed a credstick at a red-headed human who was blow-drying the polish she'd just applied to a troll's curving horns.
"Hoi, Meg," he smiled at her. "I'll need the shop for a few. You just about done?"
"Just finishing up, Hothead, then it's all yours." Hothead sat down in the shop's second chair—a troll-sized seat that caused his feet to dangle above the floor like a child's. He rocked it gently back and forth as he waited for the redhead to finish with her customer. Alma squeezed in past the aesthetician and leaned against a back counter covered with scrollwork tools, tubes of paint, sheets of gold and silver foil, and a multitude of designer-label horn polishes and split fillers.
