Frankie hated Downtown.
He hated the way it smelt, the way the rain dripped down from the walkways above, the way the people never smiled, the way they spilt beer all over the furniture in his bar.
He hated the gangs, the whores, the fucking SLop's who came in and bust his bar.
And he hated his bar most of all.
His careers advisor had lied to him, had said that running a bar would be easy, that he'd get rich quickly. He had known that Frankie loved drinking in the bars in Uptown, and would give anything to have his own bar. Frankie had been suckered into running this shit hole in the D'Lion sector.
He'd been here for 7 years, on the corner of Waltham and 4th, doing a steady business, and yet he still hadn't cleared his startup costs, yet alone the cost to replace things when they got busted. Which was much too often for his liking.
He couldn't afford to hire staff, so he ended doing the cleaning, the cooking, the serving. Every fucking thing. Up at 7 in the morning to clean the sick up and wash the glasses, repair the chairs and soak up the blood and beer spilt during the fights last night, open at 10, quiet till 7 then never a free moment till 2. Maybe get to bed at 3 after the stock taking and some cleaning. Every fucking day for the last 7 fucking years.
It was just after 7:30 in the evening and it was still pretty quiet. That freaky ebon in the robes was sat in a corner, coughing and wheezing over a pint of Devil's Broth. Betty and Jane, two of the whores operating off Mul Lane, we on a break and smoking some of those disgusting herbal fags they liked.
Ember, a Dark Lament technician, was out of work early and nursing a bottle of Mindrot. She'd said something about Leech giving her a hard time. What did she expect? He was a fucking Nec, a fucking sick freak that loved to abuse her.
Mike ran in, a little later than usual, downed his usual pint of White Goat and headed off across the street. Frankie had seen him with a new girlfriend the other day, and she looked to have money. Rare for Mike to meet someone with money but it might do him some good. Get him off those strange computer games he played over in the arcade.
The night went pretty normally until about 11, when 3 ebons walking in with a kid. He was about to tell them to leave - he didn't like kids running around his bar, upsetting the regulars, when he noticed that 2 of the ebons had pulsating bulbs on their shoulders.
He hated nec's more than he hated kids, but he knew not to mess with them, especially since 4 of them suggested a union.
One of them walked up to the bar and asked for a pint of White Goat. Frankie pulled the pint and pointed to the finance card reader on the bar-top. He watched himself in the nec's shades as it reached forward to insert the card.
The nec drank for pint in one gulp as it was settling then smiled at Frankie.
"Have you ever seen an ebon around here that seems out of place?"
Frankie realised that he must be talking about Kie'Ono. That ebon always looked out of place.
'Yeah, there's a feral 'round here sometimes. He's a prop. You want 'im to kill someone for ya?'
"No, we want to speak to him. Does he have anything that you've never seen on TV."
'Yeah, he's got money' Frankie giggles slightly at his joke.
The nec doesn't look amused, so Frankie adds, 'He wears a set of robes, carries a pulsating flintlock, and has a worm 'rapped 'round his arm, why?'
"Like I said, we want to speak to him. Where does he live?"
'Can't say. Sometimes in the rubbish, sometimes 'cross wall in the canni-sectors.'
The nec nods his head and the other three file out.
"Thank you."
Frankie watches the nec leaves, then grabs the air freshener. He hates nec's...…
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