The Meet

Felix Alfonse watched the severely underweight, pasty white guy with a briefcase that screamed, ‘ROB ME,’ walk through the sea of coffee swilling and steak and eggs eating rough necks. It was practically comical. The only reason he hadn’t been robbed was because Felix was in residence.

Felix was a Runner, with that capital R. You had a job you needed done, you called Felix. Someone needed to disappear, you called Felix. He didn’t do wetwork though, he handed that off to a seedy woman he knew that valued human life about as much as humans valued mosquitoes. He didn’t take a commission either. Just not his world. Too many people he’d known through the years had fallen prey to stray or not so stray bullets and blades. Killing for cash soured his stomach too much for him to do it.

Felix only came to the never closing Pit Stop Diner when he was meeting someone who had a job for him. The counters and tables were clean, but the clientele weren’t. You never knew what or who would crawl out of the woodwork, but chances were if they didn’t fit in at the Pit Stop, they were there to meet Felix.

The man reached Felix’s table, clutching his briefcase to his chest. Felix offered him a nod and waved at the seat across from him.

The man smiled a pearly white grin and offered his hand.

Felix looked at the hand, then looked back up at the man. Then he waved at the seat.

The man finally sat down. “You’re Felix?”

Felix nodded.

“I’m Stanley.” The man explained. “Stanley Vixen.”

Felix really wanted to laugh at the failure in the last name. There was nothing real about it. Maybe in his world it was cool sounding but in Felix’s, the only thing cool was whatever kept you alive.

“Why are you here?” Felix asked him.

The man froze as he was reaching to unlock his briefcase. A few random eyes following his hands and tried to catch glances of what might be inside. Felix shot them looks and they returned to their drinks.

“I’m here to hire you.” Stanley said, breaking out into nervous laughter.

Felix nodded. “I know that, Mr. Vixen, I mean, why didn’t you go through the fixer? How did you get my name and number? Or rather, who gave you my name and number?”

Stanley stared at him. Felix leaned forward, his expression stone. “I asked you a question Mr. Vixen. Either you give me an answer, or I walk out of here. I’ll let you guess how long after I walk out you keep the briefcase you’re carrying and the wallet in your back pocket you forgot to put into the glove compartment before coming inside. Side note, rentals like those are just as easily traced as your own vehicle Mr. Vixen. Or should I call you Mr. Wilson?”

“The rental company guaranteed-.” He began.

Felix cut him off with a raised finger. “Any hacker worth their Brain-Computer Interface implant could get through the security of a car rental company. The only thing protecting your credit card information are the AI fraud sniffers on the web that your bank, Haldeman Bank, deploy into the web. That’s how they can make that claim. They know the people they cater to always do business with banks like yours. Their highest security cost is the shielded AI that drives the trash.”

Stanley Wilson looked about ready to urinate. Time to reel him back.

“Stanley, may I call you Stanley?” Felix asked him. Stanley nodded. “All I want to know is who gave you my name and number. Simple. Give me that and we can talk. You can trust in my professionalism which is all I have keeping me fed in this business. The professionalism means I walk with you to your car and watch as you drive away. That tells all these people here, that are all members of a not-so-legally motivated biker gang, that you are a trusted associate of mine and deserve the utmost respect.”

“Jack Lance gave it to me.” Stanley blurted.

No fun, Felix thought. He hadn’t even gotten to the really good part of his threat. Oh well. “Jack Lance almost got you killed, Mr. Wilson. What did you do to piss him off?”

Stanley’s eyes were wide as he stared at Felix, unable to turn away his gaze. “I was promoted to head corporate liaison.” He breathed.

“When you go back to work tomorrow, you can tell Jack Lance to lose my number or lose his fingers. His choice.” Felix directed him.

Stanley firmed his lips, nodded and stood. Felix waved him back into the seat. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t hear you out, Mr. Wilson. I am a professional, first and foremost, and you look like you can pay my fees.”

Stanley’s gears were grinding. Felix knew he had a decision to make. Stanley could sit back down and negotiates with the killer that just threatened to remove a colleague’s fingers like he was ordering a burger. Or he could apologize profusely, beg for an escort to his car, and fall all over himself to ingratiate the man that would get him out of this nightmare scenario alive.

Something clicked in Stanley’s head and his gaze solidified. It wasn’t steel, but the gaze wasn’t exactly weak.

“Got some spine in this one boss.” Honey remarked through the comms implant. She was watching the exchange through the peep hole in the ceiling that had just enough room for her sniper rifle to poke through.

Stanley sat back down, took a deep cleansing breath, and pulled a file out of his briefcase. “This is my girlfriend’s brother. She came to town trying to find him and has been searching for over a year. She’s exhausted all the money and time she can spare, and he hasn’t turned up yet. She knows deep down inside he’s alive.”

“Okay, do you want him dead?” Felix asked.

“Uh, no.” Stanley remarked, once again afraid.

“I was asking that question because I subcontract wetwork and the assassin’s rates differ from mine, Mr. Wilson. Please continue.” Felix explained.

“I would like him found.” Stanley explained. “She’s spent enough of her own time and money on this.”

Millie, the hacker that had found all the info on Stanley, spoke up. “Aww, it’s a present for his girlfriend! That’s so sweet!”

Little hearts popped up and burst around Stanley in the augmented reality of Felix’s eye implants. He wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t think the client would take it very well. “Just found?”

Stanley was about to answer when his brain caught up. “What do you mean?”

Felix smiled, for the first time. “Mr. Wilson, I could get him cleaned up from whatever drugs he might be on. Slap a couple high grade counseling chips in his head if he has an implant or hijack them if he doesn’t. Then gift wrap him in a suit if you want me to. I’ll have him hand delivered by a devilishly handsome man that would gush about how heroic you were in leading the search for her poor missing brother.” Felix showed his open palms to Stanley. “Or I could just find him and tell you where he is.”

“The difference being cost.” Stanley nodded in understanding.

Felix nodded. Hijacking, as he’d mentioned, was the process of using a neural stimulus and response exocranium. A helmet that would feed and retrieve info to and from the brain directly. They were used when people had opted to not get a BCI implant that would allow them to use data-chips and synthlife-chips.

“This one is pretty sharp, boss. You sure you want in with him?” Mateo remarked. Mateo was their engineer. If it needed to be broken, Mateo could break it. If it needed to be fixed, Mateo could fix it. He also had two hover drones near the ceiling watching the whole bar and a couple in the sky above The Pit Stop, watching for any sign of something going wrong.

Felix took another mental inventory of Stanley. The suit was conservative, high dollar but worth every penny for both functionality and style. The briefcase had security features and he even mentioned researching the rental car company before coming down here. BAH! This is why he preferred going through fixers. This guy could figure out a way to screw them if he spent enough time thinking about it.

Felix subvocalized. “We’ll up front the cost and expenses and refund any overage.”

“If he’ll go for that from Runners.” Mateo remarked.

“I could loop in Mama Perkins.” Millie offered. Everyone groaned about that. Mama Perkins was the most upright fixer in town. She also charged the highest fees. You want an ironclad guarantee on a job, you went to Mama Perkins. Felix contemplated it for a bit. She’d probably want to know why Felix was negotiating his own contracts now. That was something that fixers didn’t like all that much or they’d be out of a job. He’ll just blame it on Jack Lance for the sake of posterity.

Better safe than sorry.

Stanley finally came out of his reverie. “Found, gift wrapped, and delivered. How much for all that?”

Felix nodded. “Base rate is five thousand retainer fee. Normally we bill for overages and expenses. You’re new, Mr. Wilson. Being new makes you an unknown which means you could railroad us on the back end. Due to that, we’ll escrow twenty thousand through a fixer we know. She’s trustworthy, reason why she’s a still a fixer twenty years on.”

Stanley murmured. “That’s my whole bonus.”

Felix offered him a raised eyebrow. “You want the girl to worship you or just thank you, Mr. Wilson. Your choice.”

After another moment or two, Stanley nodded, “Worship.”

Felix sent him a handshake request through virtual meeting software. Stanley had some sort of eye piece, whether it was a full implant or a contact lens.

Millie looped in Mama Perkins who was thankfully not busy at the moment. “Hey child, whatcha need?” Their augmented reality allowed them to see her hologram avatar of a sharply dressed and friendly elderly black woman. Felix knew she was black, but the elderly part was a stretch. She just turned fifty-eight last week. People were living triple digits on average nowadays. Going grey before ninety was a cosmetic choice.

Felix introduced Stanley to Mama Perkins, and she gushed over him, probably already sending a thank you card and a yellow rose, her signature, to his office as a ‘welcome to the underworld’ present. When he explained the situation, she gave Felix a look.

“You joining the fixers?” Mama Perkins asked.

Felix shook his head. “Our old friend, Jack Lance, decided to feed Mr. Wilson to the lions over getting stiffed on a promotion. I already asked Mr. Wilson to inform good old Jack not to grace us with his presence any longer.”

Mama Perkins eyes turned sharp as razors. Those eyes visibly softened as she turned her gaze on Stanley. “You know what, Stanley? You don’t have to say a word to nasty old Jack Lance. I’ll handle that myself. Kay?”

Stanley nodded. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, handsome.” She turned to Felix. “My standard escrow fee is ten percent for new fixers.”

Felix winced internally. He heard the subtle emphasis on the word new. “Done, of course, Mama.”

“Still my favorite after all these years, Felix. Keep me informed.” She blinked out of existence. Stanley must have made the transfer to the account Mama Perkins sent him already.

Felix escorted Stanley out of the ever open Pit Stop diner, making good on his word. The car drove off and no bikers ‘just happened’ to hop on bikes and follow. Felix hopped on his own old gas guzzling Harley to head to the team’s base of operations.