Here's a little different kind of story from me and I hope you enjoy. I'm
trying something different with the main character in
preparation for a longer project I've got in mind. I promise that this will
be one of the shorter ones (compared to the Illiad that
Wanderer is) and I'm writing it for James' upcoming projects.
Hope you enjoy.
One of the most important things you pick up at Meny is the "Big Dog" principle. It's really common sense, but a lot of new ops ignore it until they get on the wrong end of it. It goes something like this: you can maul or piss on the guy below you, but sooner or later a bigger dog is going to come along and piss on you. The key is knowing not to try to piss on a bigger dog and be prepared to take one up the tailpipe if one does.
This one instructor at Meny, a grizzled ex-op named Ridley, was a living example of it. He used to say that there are three groups you don't try to piss on – Cloak (because you end up dead), Shivers (because you get beaten then gang-raped in a cell until dead), and Financiers (because you end up wishing you were dead). I was never sure which one he had run up against and he never talked about it. I decided it was probably the financer, because you don't choose to get a prosthetic arm - you earn it on a bad BPN.
We unofficially called ourselves the dirty half-dozen, even though there were only five of us, and we met in weapons training in the second month at Meny. It helped that we were all on the same floor in the dorm and after graduation we even managed to get housing assignments together. Lady luck and Slayer's smile were in our corner and we were going to take the world by storm, even if we didn't all get along with each other all the time. We weren't afraid of Ridley's mythical "big dogs" and were sure we could take on anything life threw at us.
We were so stupid. So fucking stupid.
What's that saying about "the best laid plans of rats and men"? I'm not much for reading, but I know that the punchline for it is reality. No plan survives action against the enemy and innocence always takes the first slug.
It was three weeks to the day from graduation when we waited outside the crib for Mitchell to wade back to us. Mitch stands five-foot even, was about as wide, and made of solid Orienta muscle. He's one of the best KM guys I've ever seen and even managed to clock old Instructor Cariss once in a practice session. Of course, he paid for it for the next month, but he did manage to land a hit and everyone knew it.
I stood next to Sara and people-watched with her as we waited. She's one of those irritating blondes that get all the guy attention and she thrives on it. Flirting is her reason for living and I think that she could probably have a better career as a professional escort than a KM op. At least she wouldn't have to work as hard. Shouldn't say that. That wasn't nice.
Don't get me wrong, it's not like she is completely lazy- just professionally unmotivated. After all, she really does work out a lot. I have to listen to her late night gymnastic-acting lessons every other night and I gotta say it's getting old. For the record, she's a lousy actress, but it's not like that matters to the endless line of men she brings home.
"Here we go ladies," Mitch said as he walked up with Clipper, our 313 on his heels. Now, I'm not much on men, but if I were, I'd say he's got just the right kind of charm to be a lady killer. Of course, he's like most and barely notices I'm alive when I'm standing next to Kick Murder Barbie. I'm looking forward to the day when her looks aren't going to be enough to save her. Then she'll have to rely on someone who didn't sleep her way through Meny to save her ass and I hope I'm busy that day.
Sara smiled at me with that smug sisterly look she's been practicing and draped her arm across my shoulders. I tried not to flinch too badly and I crossed my arms to push her back.
"So, whatcha think Em?" she asked, striking a SLA-girl pose for the boys. Even the Stormer is vulnerable to her, but maybe I'm exaggerating. He slobbers all the time anyway, but it's because he doesn't have lips. Or brains.
I wanted to say "Well, I think that you're a lazy, talentless slut who deserves to get ass-fu-" but I have to play nice. After all, her latest boyfriend is our financier and I don't want to get screwed over.
"Did Damon get this one for us?" I asked and she nodded appreciatively. You'd think the saccharine tone of my voice would be enough to clue her in, but nada. It went in one ear and out the other. Maybe someone should tell Damon to stop fucking her in the ear.
"Yeah, I told him that we wanted something simple that could get me back to his pad by six-ish," she said with a purr. "I'm going to thank him."
"But it's a blue for the department of sanitation," I grumbled. "It's a sewer crawl!"
"Don't worry," she said with what had to be false sympathy. "I'll be right there beside you so nothing bad happens."
"Gee, I feel safer already."
That was when Gere came over and punched me in the arm, sending me sideways into Sara. He's a big brute of a Kick Murder thug that thinks the best way to get a girl's attention is to club her over the head and drag her off his cave. He's probably from a dysfunctional family, the type where the conduit doesn't quite branch but I don't find that charming. Hasn't anyone here heard of flowers and a date? Probably not, with "Ms Love You Long Time Take Your Friend In Five" setting the standards. It's amazing that the hookers down on 7th avenue have any business at all with her on the street.
"Ow Fuck!" I yelped as I rebounded off Sara. I 'accidentally' tossed an elbow, but she took it with grace. In case any of you guys are wondering, yeah they're fake.
"Whut? Can't ya handle a man?" he asked with a big stupid grin. He was one of those rednecks that grew up near the Barrows tenement. I heard the whole damn thing blew up a few years back and slid into the sewer, so he would probably be right at home on this Blue. We might run into some of his relatives. As a matter of fact, I think I might have squashed one this morning under my boot.
"Haven't seen a man yet that can take what I've got," I said back. This dope had it coming and sooner or later, he'd get it.
I grew up in a home of twelve kids, ten of which were boys and all eleven were mean as hell. When you're little and a girl, you learn to fight early and dirty. My bastard brother Brian started tormenting me for fun even before I could walk and with six years on me, he never counted on me growing up. By the time I was seven, I was holding my own against him, but things didn't come full circle until a couple years later. You could say that the reign of terror started every night at eight when the company cut the power grid for curfew. We both knew that he had to sleep sometime and with no parents around, it was my turn. His teenage years were more than a bit traumatic.
"YEAH?" Gere asked, grinning bigger. "What you got, little woman?"
The only reason we have him around is that he's a tank -big, slow, and hard to stop. Sooner or later, someone is going to clean his clock but it shouldn't be too hard, even for a simple mechanic like me. You just gotta aim for the balls or the eyes and make it count. There's a wrench and a torch for any pipe, no matter how small. I've got a good collection and it comes with the trade.
"Nothing you're ever going to see, asshole," I said and held my ground. Slipping my hand into my jacket, I fingered the ivory handle of my Father's straight razor. It snapped open in my fingers and I felt the bite of the blade as I locked it out.
"Back off Gere, unless you want to deal with me," Fenis said. He was one of the McCabe clan Frothers and one hell of a fighter. He's also one of the few men I know who isn't deliberately macho and doesn't treat women like a jerk.
"Look, Fen," Gere stammered. "I was only kidding around, y'know? I didn't mean any-"
"Apologize," Fenis repeated. He has these cool light blue-gray eyes and they could turn arctic when people don't do what he says.
"Huh?"
"Apologize. Now," Fenis repeated. He never repeats things more than once and I really wanted that stupid bastard to stand his ground so Fenis would turn him into a sticky puddle.
My grin turned into a wince when I realized I had gotten careless and cut myself again. The blade was so sharp that I didn't feel it, but the sudden wetness on my index finger clued me in. I put it into my mouth and tasted the copper, being thankful that it wasn't as deep a cut as the last time.
"Okay, okay. Back off," Gere said and then looked at me. His eyes were hard and irritable and seemed to be saying "one of these days, bitch". I just smiled back at him and mouthed "anytime."
"I'm sorry, ok? I was just messing around. Didn't mean nothing." When he got nervous, he spoke in run on sentences like a little kid that was in trouble.
Fenis looked at me and I nodded, so he let him walk away. He knows that I don't like anyone standing up for me and I figured he had done it to make a point. He fell in beside me as we headed for the subway and the location of the assignment.
"You know, Emily," he said. "You should be more careful with that razor."
"Uh-hum," I mumbled as I kept it in my mouth, still glaring at him because of the interference. I don't need anyone to take care of me and never have.
"Just so you know, I didn't step in for your sake," he started. "I did it for his."
With that, he stopped talking and we folded into a tight wedge inside the traffic on the down stairs to the subway. I have a lot of respect for Fenis because he doesn't lie, at least not to me and he's pretty wise. Turning it over in my head to think about it, I realized that a lot of things aren't worth it unless they're done at the right time and it wasn't the right time yet. I'm a very patient kinda girl and don't mind waiting.
"That was probably a good idea," I said aloud to no one in particular but Fenis nodded.
I'm running out of places to hide the bodies anyway.
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