Milk Run, pt 1

One of the first things you learn when you run the shadows is that there is no such thing as a milk run.

That's the thought that was going through my head as bullets whizzed by it, followed shortly by the sound of flaming, magical napalm slamming into the heavy wooden desk that my partner Drex and I were, up to that point, using as cover. I cursed out loud and attempted to roll away from the hunk of kindling that had once been the only thing standing between me and certain death, and tried desperately to find another place to cower.

Mr. Johnson was an elf this time, which should have been a sure sign that things were fragged from the start, but I didn't pay much mind to that. Besides, it was Drex who did all the talking, as usual.

"We want half up front," she had said, leaning in close so that her pink and blue dreadlocked hair dangled in front of her face, a cocky smile crossing her face, her cybereyes lighting up just a bit in the gloom of the nearly abandoned bar, "You say it's a milk run, so our success is damn near guaranteed. You lose nothing."

The elf in the sharp business suit and fashionable shades glowered at her from across the table, and huffed, "It's just the two of you, then?" he asked, "Don't 'runners usually come in bigger teams?"

Silently, I returned his glower. Mine was more impressive, the bulk of my seven foot frame and the heavy horns on my head adding to my intimidation factor. Johnson gulped and sat back about an inch. Some days it was good to be an troll.

Drex chuckled, pushing her hair out of her eyes and leaning back casually, crossing her arms over her chest, "Yeah, it's just the two of us," she said, "What you gotta understand, chummer, is that  Gavin and I have more skill between us than most 'runner teams. We've got this."

I rolled my massive shoulders, flexing a bit and crossing my chromed arms over my barrel chest to emphasize her point.

She continued, "I've got the magic, he's got the tech. I've got guns, he's got those," she pointed to my arms, "And those say half up front or no deal."

Johnson curled his lip, and I could tell that beneath his tinted shades his eyes were bouncing between the two of us, "Fine," he spat after a moment, "I don't really have the time to be picky, anyway. Give me your credstick."

I slammed my hand, palm down onto the table, and grinned as I slid it across to Johnson, "No credstick," I said, trying to sound as stereo-typically trollish as possible, "Account number. Deposit now."

It was hard to keep up the act, but I'd had a lot of practice pretending to be dumb muscle. It helped lure Johnsons into a sense of superiority that often caused them to reveal more information than they intended to, as well as intimidating them into keeping up their end of any bargains we might make.

Drex tapped her ear, turning on her AR readout so she could keep an eye on our bank account, even as Johnson began to tap the numbers into the air, using his own Augmented Reality device. Within a few seconds, Drex smiled, "Good. Thanks Mr. J," she said, and hopped off of the barstool, "We'll see you here tomorrow evening with the data. Don't be late."


PART 2 TOMORROW...