[adamu]

Al gave a salute to the bar at large and headed for the door. He'd had quite a bit to drink by now, but that was okay because it made him a better driver.

The troll with the make-up was outside, having watched the Magenta Tie twins take off. Al glanced questioningly at his truck, and the troll shook his head, confirming they hadn't tampered with it in any way.

Turning the Gaz back south into the Barrens, Al thanked Thorn again. "Next party's on ol' Al, that fer damned sure. Now, what's the story with Bozo the Bouncer? He a pro wrassler or somethin'?"

[Jack_Spade]

"Ha, you wished. He just realized that looking scary as a troll is not always enough to deter troublemakers. I offhand told him that a lot of tough guys secretly are afraid of clowns... and it kinda got out of hand with him. He even found a fitting subculture: Troll Jugalows. I suspect he just likes to wear lots of make-up. I don't judge.

But you have to admit, it does give you pause. I sure would hate it if I had to fight clowns.

About the invitation: De nada. It's always good to get a few more contacts. Tomorrow we'll have to do something about your Italian problem. I really don't want them to come back to Red Velvet",
replied Thorn.

[adamu]

"Yeah, few months ago I was guardin' a convoy - a circus convoy no less - an' we got jacked by a whole gang o' clowns. I'll allow as it did add a certain creepy factor. But then they was dead." He shrugged.

"So what ya got in mind about the spaghetti-eaters? It's really jist this one cat, Arty, what's got a ragin' hard on for me. An' I couldn't jist kill 'im, cuz there was a whole bunch o' womern an' kids it woulda come back on. But they's off limits now, I done seen ta that, so reckon I can take the gloves off if I want." He shrugged again. "Course, he is part o' the Gianelli family, so a certain level o' prudence might be in order."

[Jack_Spade]

"Let's see if we can't get some guys from the tribe on board. Maybe we can make it look like an accident. Drug overdose or the like.

Not that I have any experience in that regard, but I really hate it if someone threatens my friends.

So, what else do you know about him, especially where he lives and where he goes."
answered Thorn

[adamu]

"Shee-it, boy, you one o' them shadowrunners?" He used his burn-melted hands to make quote-signs in the air as he said it. "They's real, ya know. Not just onna trid. Wouldn't o' believed it myself if an angel had come down from heaven an' testified it to me. Not till 'bout a year ago. But they's a thing. Seen 'em with my own two eyes. Done some work for 'em now an' again."

He paused to gauge the ork's reaction, as if he were averring the existence of UFOs and wanted to make sure he was being taken seriously.

"Anyway, I'll be damned if you don't sound jist like 'em. Always with they plannin' an' they research. Not that any o' that's a bad thing, mind. Jist ol' Al ain't hardly got the energy for it. But yeah, I keep track o' the ebbs an' tides of Arty's turf, give an' take with the Vory an' the Yaks. He's mostly all about the Seattle an' Tacoma docks, which shows how little his betters think of 'im cuz the union racket's a low-margin op anymore an' they losin' more of it ta lower-rung outfits with each passin' year. An' yeah, I know some o' the night spots he likes. As fer where he lives, though, ain't hardly given it much thought. Do like the way ya think, though. Accident, huh? Well, that do bring ta mind all sorts o' innerestin' possibilities, now don't it?" 

[Jack_Spade]

"I am no runner. But you get to meet all kinds of types if you bounce in a bar. Got tased, threatened with Katanas, fireballs and drones, drugged with Narcoject, mind-dominated, and shot at two occasions. Quite aggressive your average "Shadow Runner". And the Johnsons aren't any better.
I heard that's why they are all called that: 'cause they are renting meat like a John in a whorehouse - only difference is they want other people to get fucked.

Me, I've never worked for any crime syndicates or corporations. What I do for the tribe is a whole other thing, but that doesn't mean I solve all my problems by hitting them with my fists. Sometimes I use my head."

[adamu]

"Heh heh. An innellectual. I like that. Livin' by the wits the Good Lord done give ya. Ol' Al, he ain't never had much book larnin'. Hell, never set foot inside a school a day in my life." The road was getting bouncy again as they moved south and highway maintenance became something from another world. "Don't git me wrong. My ma had me an' Em Kay - Em Kay, that's one o' my sisters - she had us at the kitchen table one day a week, learnin' our letters. Not much use fer ought else, but ya need yer letters ta read yer Bible. You read yer Bible, Thorn?"

[Jack_Spade]

"The Bible? Depends actually which one you mean. Went to school and Irish services when I was little and my old man was alive. After he went... Well, god will have to do some serious explaining if I ever meet him in person. I might forgive him one day. But if I have a soul it's my business and mine alone.
To be honest, I never really thought about religion and the bible anymore. I keep to instruction manuals that are a bit more up to date on current issues.
To quote a famous shepard: The bible is very specific about things like murder, but it gets fuzzy on the topic of kneecaps."
Thorn paused:
"When's the last time you read the book?"

[adamu]

"Spoken like the true natural man - someone for whom I'll acknowledge some affinity. But the carnal mind is an enemy ta God, an' don't you fergit it." He was congratulating himself on his evangelistic spirit, when he realized Thorn was still looking the question at him. He shrugged, "Thirty. Thirty-five years. I'm gon' start back up again soon, though. Tomorrow maybe. Or next week. But like the Good Book says, 'Do as I sayeth, not as I doeth.'"

[Jack_Spade]

"Amen.
Man, that's a long time. I don't think orks even live that long naturally.
Which brings me back to our first topic: We should ask Ratchet or one of the others who is good with machines if they know how to arrange a convincing accident."

[adamu]

"Okay, I done read about this. Ya know what you are? Yer prolactive. Look it up. Means ya don't jist react to problems. Ya git out ahead of 'em prolactively. Friend o' mine, name o' Hun, he used ta talk about this stuff all the damned time. Said it made all the difference between bein' a winner an' bein' a loser. An' I gotta say I like the sound of it." They were just pulling into the compound now, and Al drove in amidst the mostly abandoned houses and parked in front of the auto shop he'd reclaimed. It was a small place, but it had once been well equipped to service the various sedans and light trucks that had heavily populated the town before the Ghost Dance had turned it into an ash heap.

"Lemme show ya somethin'," he said, getting out of the truck.

He led Thorn into a kitchen and lounge area it looked like had suffered an explosion of garbage, auto parts, and unidentifiable liquids, and was immediately assaulted by a giant black dog. "Ya met Spike?" Al asked, hurling the dog bodily onto a ratty sofa and screaming at him in a strange guttural language. The dog sat up, hung his tongue out, but stayed on the sofa.

"In here." They entered the work area. It was as filthy as the kitchen, but not in the same sort of disarray. There were two sets of hydraulic jacks, one with an old junker up on it. "Ol' Al's got ever'thin' in good workin' order here, an' brought some o' the software up ta date. But that's jist tools. Ya think we should git creative with Arty's ride, then ever'thin' we need's right up here," he announced, tapping the side of his head.

[Jack_Spade]

Thorn whistled through his teeth: "Nice workshop. Now if we can get to the guys car, what would you say should we manipulate? Breaks, suspension, tires? Or maybe the locking mechanisms, making the car a trap. Or...
you know the air bag in the steering column. Do you think you could prepare one that has something like a shotgun shell inside?
Little crash, air bag deploys, driver get's killed by fragments inside a counterfeited air bag. Very tragic..."

[adamu]

"Hot damn, son, was you born a genius or did ya have ta practice?" He turned his head back towards the living area and yelled something that started with Spike and ended with a quick combination of sounds Thorn wasn't sure if he'd be able to repeat. The black dog barrelled into the workshop.

"Spike, this here is a genius. Remember what he smells like in case we ever meet one again. They don't grow on trees." Spike looked up at the two men with wide confused eyes, knowing he was supposed to understand something yet utterly at a loss. Al seemed to be waiting for some sort of breakthrough, and they stood there for a while, until the little man sighed in exasperation and fished something brown and a bit crumbly from a jacket pocket and threw it back through the door onto the sofa. The dog went after it like a shot.

"Shee-it, I was just thinkin' o' riggin' his gas tank ta blow. But that'd attract suspicion, now wouldn't it? Flip side, it burns all the evidence o' tamperin'. But these mokes, hell, if we can give 'em an excuse ta call it an accident, they ain't gon' go all CSI Denver on us fer this guy. Prob'ly be glad ta be rid of 'im. So we play with the brakes or accleration, turn the airbag into a death device...but how we gon' git near his car?" He hawked something up and spit into a rusty oil drum. "Sounds like a lotta work."

[Jack_Spade]

"No idea, you are the expert. Where does he drive to - any favorite restaurants?"
asked Thorn.

[adamu]

Al thought for a second. He was pretty sure he knew this stuff, but...it was going to need more beer. "This is gonna need more beer," he said. They went to the kitchen, took two cold ones out of the refrigerator. He opened his. Took a drink. This was going to take some sitting down. "This gonna need sittin' down some." He dropped himself onto one end of the sofa next to Spike, dislodging a cloud of moldy dust.

He thought.

Resisted the urge to flip on the trid.

"Yep, got it. Restaurants. There's a high-end Italian place on 5th an' Spring, called Mostro's. He likes that place. But it's crawlin' with Family all the time. Then there's a joint called Spiro's Grill, which is mostly a bar he likes to drink at, but he'll eat there too, usually with his boys. That's in Tacoma, I fergit the address, but I can find it if I'm drivin'. We could check that out. Borders right on Vory territory, so even if they think it ain't an accident, they might blame them. No tellin' when he'll be there next, though. Guess we'd have ta stake him out."

Suddenly there was a terrible smell, and Al scolded, "Dammit, Spike, you been eatin' my protein bars again, ain't you? Hidin' the wrappers? Git, you. Git on outta here." The dog was a statue, though, until Al added a quick command in that weird language again, at which point the animal disappeared into the next room.

"Tell ya what, I know exactly what he drives, an' it so happens I have the codes to the anti-theft, unless he's smart enough to've changed 'em after the twins reported back. Which I doubt. Lemme see what I can work up after I git some shut-eye. When I git somethin' done, we can go check it out, see if it looks doable?"