@The Phoenix, La Sombre, and Mr. Hopeless,
When The Phoenix tries pumping Mr. House for additional intel, he answers, "Look, I'm glad you're in, little bird. The Johnson'll have the rest of the details. I need you to fly over to the Sherrod Elementary School off Lincoln in Arlington. You'll want the art room. Don't be tardy now." Clearly pleased with himself, Mr. House lets out a guffaw of a laugh before ending the call.
The Phoenix is unfamiliar with the location, but La Sombre and Mr. Hopeless are able to fill her in on the drive. Located directly across the street from a dilapidated golf course that had been temporarily -- and then permanently -- re-purposed to house a tent city for Aztlan refugees, Sherrod Elementary school was originally used to process the refugees before the CAS largely withdrew its military presence from the area. In the years since, various gangs have held and lost turf around this little patch of Arlington, and for roughly the last five years, Sherrod school has offered a neutral location for truce talks and other gang politicking, as well as a fairly safe spot to unload contraband. The Johnson could do a lot worse with his choice of locales, unless his goal is to geek the team. Assuming a well-connected Johnson, Sherrod school would be an ideal place to dispose of a few problematic hoops, and he couldn't do worse at all.
It's a little after noon when The Phoenix pulls her Shin-Hyung into the parking lot. The morning's cloud cover has burned off, and the temperature is already nearing 34 Celsius. A few gangers in yellow and gold stand next to a gray Gopher, its truck bed open and lined with SMGs and automatic pistols. They regard the trio with little more than a nod, and encourage The Phoenix to walk in light. "Nothing heavier than a pistol makes its way inside, chummer."
At the reception desk, the team is directed to the art room on the second floor, and they make their way down the dilapidated hallways, still bearing some traces of its original use beneath the graffiti and trash lining the floors and walls. The art room, like a number of others they passed on the way, has the name Johnson listed in ARO lettering above the door frame. The door opens with a heavy shove, water damage having buckled the floors years ago, and the trio enters. Smells of clay and paints have long ago been supplanted by smoke -- as evidenced by barrel heater stuck in the corner with a rudimentary flue that leads out the window -- oil, and the dense smell of deepweed. The Johnson stands leaning against the teacher's desk, a green steel number that's at least a hundred years old, and is flanked by two bodyguards in gold tank tops over their armored vests and black tactical pants. The one on the right wears a Predator V in a thigh holster, while the other seems to favor the Colt Government 2066 and knives. Lots of knives.
The Johnson is a human male, maybe twenty-five years-old, with a day's worth of stubble and dark brown hair cut into a very severe fade. He wears an Ares Globetrotter vest and denim pants, tucked into Oxblood combat boots, which are thoroughly distressed. "Hoi chumps," the man says with a grin, showing two crooked front teeth. "So, you must be the team, then. We've got one more on the way. Wait," he says extending a finger toward the group while a comm comes through his earbuds. "In fact, he'll be joining us directly."
@Sniffles,
Bruno picks up Sniffles with a honk of his Mercury Comet, and the two are off. It's always good to see Bruno when he isn't there to make a collection. He has that "nothing personal" air about him that makes Sniffles have a hard time holding it against the dwarf whenever he's had to take a baseball bat to Sniffle's shins -- about as high as he can reach, truth be told. But today is a good day, and Bruno is all, "Hey, omae, take a hit off my nicstick if you want. Think I got some nova in the glove box too, if you want a little bumpy-bump 'fore you get down to biz."
On the drive to Sherrod school the pair talk Urban Brawl and street politics. "Yo, Sniff, you hear about what went down Somervell way yesterday? Nah? Drek, you need to get your hoop outta the 'trix sometime and learn a little about your own city, son. Some-a-them Feathered got got. My ol' lady's cousin lives down there, and she's all talking about how the Feathered were making some play on this hoop, ya know, make an example out of her for flying Mexican colors or some drek, when a team of runners bust in and mow 'em the fuck down, talking all 'This is our sprawl you fraggin' Azzie slitches' and drek like that. No word on who hired 'em, but they gotta have eggs the size of fucking Banshees to go in like that, chip truth."
Bruno wheels his car into the parking lot and drops Sniffles at the front door. "Did you get your lunch, honey" he says with a smirk. "Alright, omae. Go get'em. Gimme a ping later on if you need a ride, dig? Only thing I got going today is gettin' sloshed. Speaking of which, don't let the door hit you on the way out."
Sniffles unfolds himself from the car and enters the school. He's directed to the art room, where he joins the rest of the team, the Johnson, and his bodyguards.
"Alright, that's everybody," the Johnson says. "Lemme give you the broad strokes. An associate of mine, a little hopper who goes by J Boogie got picked up by the star this morning, and those fraggers are refusing his right to counsel. Being the community-minded fella that I am, I just cannot in good faith let something like that occur. What I need from y'all hoops is to rectify that, and make sure Mr. Boogie has a meeting with his attorney scheduled in his jacket before his 17:00 arraignment.
"As for the how, I got all that worked that. First thing you're going to need is a direct connection on a piece of gear slaved to the Lonestar host. Most likely, that means some beat cop's 'link. Then you get your decker to make the necessary changes to J Boogie's file. Since he's still awaiting his arraignment, the file should be accessible. Give him a 16:00 meeting with his attorney, who I'll name when you accept the job, maybe add in a little vandalism as cover, and then you get paid.
"Now before you say anything, I know, I know, I'm asking you to willfully put yourself in close proximity with the star, something all men and women such as yourselves would rather not do. And for that, I'm willing to pay 28,000¥ to divide out however you want. Whatchu think?"
