A Secret Meet Up at an Open Bar

Getting dressed in my casual clothes, I check my phone. ‘Got something. Will be unpleased. 9 tomorrow.’ The message hasn’t changed since it came in yesterday evening. That’s not great. Grace waking up early is never a good sign. Even though I’m only in a tight t-shirt and some track pants, I still head to the hall closet and flip on my leather jacket. I look for a moment at the safe, but shake my head. Too risky to go out all day with it. I’ll pick it up later. Dressed in her usual biking gear, Davina looks at me, up and functional so early. “You good?” my roommate asks, “I thought you had the day off.”

I smile. “I do, but the drinks won’t drink themselves, and if I sleep in too late, there might be other people there,” I joke.

She laughs. I’m a good detective, I can clearly see that she knows I’m lying. She’s weighing what to say. After a moment of indecision, she shakes her head. “Fine, but if you think you’ll need it, remember: the closet safe, not the bedroom one.”

I let out a chuckle. “I’ll remember that,” I reply as she heads out the door, much more used to leaving around this time. She’s got deliveries to make, after all. I wait for her to be gone, then shake my whole body a bit. It’s good that she’s assuming the daydrinking is a cover for me going after the guy from the file. It means most people won’t see the connections. I pause long enough for the elevator to have come and picked her up before I head out of the apartment. Because I really don’t want to talk for long enough that she’ll realize what else might be happening.

Eventually, I do head out and take the elevator down to the ground level. There are several pretty great 24 hour bars that I frequent, but most of them are too popular for a clandestine meeting. Fortunately, one of my favorite bars in the district is Petits Desordres, a lovely front for the Acadian mob that is rarely frequented, always open, and everyone comes down with acute blindness when asked questions. Well, technically it’s on our border with Undermarket, but that is close enough to the district that I don’t mind walking it.

The seven block walk southwest through East End to Undermarket is normally fairly useful and relaxing. Plenty of people to chat with who know me, plenty more who don’t but are comforted by me chatting with people. And, as I walk it today, I do manage to chat some and make sure those people that know me know it’s my day off and I’m drinking. Anyone who knows me knows that is both perfectly realistic and not something I would need to take off time for. They also know I brought in a corpo recently, so a lot of them are assuming this is less a voluntary sort of day off and more the strongly recommended sort. No one questions, and more importantly, no one follows. Unfortunately, we are still in the middle of the trashburn, so the normally pleasant walk is not nearly pleasant. Still not terrible, of course, but the stench overwhelms pretty much every other sensation. As I round the corner heading to Petits Desordres, I realize that it might not be so unfortunate. After all, it means my afternoon might have a bit of excitement.

Heading into the bar, I look around. A few alleged members of the Acadian mob sit in the corners. The person serving them is new, don’t recognize her. The bartender, however, isn’t. Heading up to the bar, I sit down. Nicaise walks up to me. “What is it, Detective?” he asks.

“Don’t say it like that, Nic,” I counter, “It’s my day off, and you’ll give the kiddos around here the wrong impression.”

“Just drinking, or drinking alone then, Chance?” he replies with a chuckle.

I smile. “Drinking alone,” I say, and wait for him to nod in understanding before I add, “I’ll have something to clear my nose from trashweek, then a pair of old fashioneds.”

“‘Course you will,” he replies with a nod. He heads off to start making something truly pungent with saltwater and lemon. He does take a brief break to say something to the new girl before she approaches me, then gestures towards the others in the bar. Drinking alone means everyone has to have their acute blindness going on while I’m here. See, as much as they’re criminals, around this branch of the Acadian mob at least doesn’t do much more than shake down local businesses, legal and illegal, for protection, sell some lesser quality drugs, run some books, and provide that paid for protection when anyone they don’t appreciate comes after their friends in business. Which is enough that, if they cause problems for the city I wouldn’t feel bad about moving in on them unlike, say, Harry, but not so much that I care normally. They aren’t trying to expand or doing too much violent garbage, so I mostly leave it be, and in return, they leave me be.

Nic comes back over and hands me a mug of hot, pungent liquid, before saying. “Use the sink this time.” Shaking my head, I head back to the restrooms. I rinse my nose with the near boiling water, and gurgle it, spitting it and draining it into the sink like I was asked. When I take a sniff and it smells of day old vomit and sweat instead of burnt garbage, I stop and head back out of the bathroom. When I return, waiting for me is a pair of old fashioneds. Such good service. Pushing the pungent cleanser to the other side of the bar, I move one of the two old fashioneds to be at the seat next to me and take a sip of the other. It is solid. Not expensive, I don’t splurge on the expensive stuff, but the bitters are nicer than usual. If I have time after the meeting and before heading out, I’ll have to comment on that. I check the time. Less than a minute before nine. I’m cutting it close.

As I take my next sip, someone approaches from behind me. From their footsteps, they’re short and relatively light on their feet. I shake my head as, seating herself next to me, is Grace. “I hate you,” she mutters in my general direction as she raises a finger towards Nic.

I shrug. “Yeah, but you love me too,” I counter.

She shakes her head as Nic approaches. “I’ll have an old fashioned. His dime,” she says gesturing towards me.

Nic looks at me, wondering without asking. I note to Grace, “I got you one already.”

It’s Grace’s turn to look at me, a slight twinge of a glare in the corners of her eyes. “And?” she says coolly. I smile and give Nic a nod as I take another sip. Nic heads off, leaving us alone once more. Grace doesn’t take her time enjoying the first drink, taking a massive swig before she asks, “So, who’s the new girl?”

I shrug. “Don’t know,” I admit, “Wasn’t working the last couple times I’ve been through.”

“So you wouldn’t mind…” she trails off.

It’s my turn to give her a look with the slightest hint of a glare. “Sometimes I hate you, you know?” I mutter.

She shrugs. “Only when you don’t need me,” she counters as Nic delivers the second old fashioned then hurries away. “Speaking of you hating me, how’s our dear Darling? Still putting in the work on that courier bike every day?”

I shake my head. “Not what we’re here to talk about,” I press.

She pouts before taking another swig. “You never let me have any fun,” she complains. Then, turning back towards the front of the bar, she adds, “You want me to start with the good news, or the bad news?”

Of course there’s both. “Let’s start with the good news,” I say.

Out from her purse, she pulls a small folder and places it on the bar before taking another swig, finishing off the first drink. “I stumbled upon some solid leverage over Morana Hydroelectrics Corporate Security Forces.”

As I take the folder, I add, “If that’s the good news, I’m honestly a little terrified of the bad news.”

She chuckles, less humorously and more nervously. “You’ll see the bad news.” Which only serves to make me more nervous about it. I take a hefty drink myself before opening up the file. And I start to read. It’s definitely leverage. MHCSF has been spying on the mayor for years, and has been stealing information from several of their rivals in variously illegal ways. And a list of several names involved. I sigh. The bad news is right there. Several people on that list are people who can implicate me. I can use it as leverage, as long as they don’t realize that, but if they’ve been spying on the mayor, they almost certainly have also been spying on the department. And if they’re spying on the department and they’re already looking into me, finding out about my friends in low places is difficult for most people, but hardly an impossible task. “Can you get into their files?” I ask.

Grace smiles. “Probably. But this is a favor for my best frienemy. That would be a job,” she says calmly.

“Great., fine,” I agree, “Do it.” Then, after a brief pause, I add, “Is there anything else I can use in the meantime? Just to keep them off our backs?”

She shakes her head. “Not really?”

I sigh. Taking another sip, I furrow my brow. “You have anything someone might find somewhere incriminating that would divert attention?”

“Something they would be interested in finding or covering up?”

“Covering up would take more work,” I say.

She thinks for a moment, then pulls out of her purse a small touchscreen device. Doesn’t look like a phone. “It’s a HAM with attached codebook for this week. If someone were to be found with it, they’d have to figure out how they got it while covering up its existence. And deal with the other corporations fully thinking that the criminal is a contractor for Morana.”

I nod. That could work. “Would that be hard on you?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing can trace this to me. But if you’re on their radar…” she trails off, leaving the implication sitting there. She’s right, of course. If they’re looking into me and know me, they’ll assume I planted anything related to them that shows up at a crime scene I’m near. Fortunately for all of us, there’s about to be one soon that it should be impossible to prove my presence at. After all, I would stand out like a sore thumb up in the Heavens’ Lane District. I grab a handkerchief and pick up the touchscreen radio, sliding it into my inner jacket pocket.

“Don’t worry. What’s the cost going to be for the job?”

“Thousand a day, plus expenses,” she says, “And it’s got to be legal.”

“That’s gone up,” I say.

She sighs. “So did rent.” That explains it. Most of her income is from less than reputable sources, who must often try to pay her in dirty cash.

“Fine. But I want it done by the end of the week,” I counter.

She looks at me. “Or what? Are you about to try to imply you’re not going to keep paying until the job’s done.”

I shake my head. “Nah, I’d probably just tell Davina that you mentioned getting tested for syph,” I counter. We both know Davina. Getting a bit of juicy gossip like that, and being upset by it too, the whole city would know about it by the next morning.

“I hate you,” she says.

I smile. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I check the time. About time for me to head back. “By the by,” I add, “Before you leave with the new waitress, tell Nic that the new bitters are fantastic.”

She chuckles, shaking her head as I head out. I make my way back towards the apartment building. I need to get changed into a different outfit, grab some supplies, then head to the fancy side of the City. Let the relaxation begin.