From the Street (shadowrun stories) Read online

  I always did love a challenge.

  First thing, though, I hadda take care of the drones. They were clingin' close, buzzin' 'round Demon like gnats. I opened the roof and raised the Vindicator from its inside mount, braced my hands on the wheel so they'd stay steady when the ASIST recoil hit me, and fired at the nearest drone. Blew the fragger to dust, and didn't hardly swerve atall. The FN-HAR barked again as Punch sent the second drone spinnin' into the side of a building. A little puffy fireball told me the second drone wasn't a problem anymore. Which just left the Star-and they were gettin' closer.

  Demon and I whipped around the corner hard enough to make me dizzy for a second. The street ahead was clear, the sirens all behind us or a ways off to the side. As I gunned Demon's engines, I snuck a peek at the gridmap. Seattle's traffic grid, superimposed in bright yellow lines over a detailed map of the city, flickered to ghostly life across the top of Demon's windshield. The bright orange dot that was Demon showed up just four city blocks shy of a main drag. If I could get to it, I could take it to the I-5 and on home.

  I wasn't counting on the three patrol cars that suddenly shot into the intersection half a block ahead. They'd been runnin' silent, caught me off guard. Smart bastards, the Star. Don't underestimate 'em if you want to live long. So now I had a choice to make-fast. Stop and surrender, whip around or run backwards straight into the patrol I could hear closin' in behind us, floor it and hope Demon could crash through the blockade without takin' too much damage to keep goin' or find me an alley to fly down in the next couple seconds.

  Luck was with me. A patch of empty dark appeared in the solid wall of plascrete to my right. I aimed Demon's nose toward it and floored the gas. I was gonna pay for this later on-I could feel the burn in my calves from too much redlinin', like a distance runner who starts out too fast and burns up his reserves-but so long as I got us out of immediate trouble, I'd deal with the consequences.

  The dark hole was an alleyway, dirty and stinkin' and narrow. We took the turn a hair too sharply; my right arm caught fire as poor Demon scraped a fender against the side of a crumblin' factory. Now she'd need a new paint job along with everything else. Rubber screeched on pavement as the patrol cars caught on to the change of plan; I knew we didn't have much time to get ahead of 'em. So I poured on more power and ignored the charley horses that were formin' in both legs. The only thing that mattered was getting to the end of the alley before the Star did and then findin' us a fast route outta there.

  We'da made it clean if the fraggin' hole in the road hadn't slowed us down. A real axle-breaker-big as an oil drum and so deep I swear it went halfway to China. Hurt like hell when we hit it. Think of the worst sprained ankle you ever had, then multiply that by ten, and you've got some idea. Luck was still with us, though; the internal sensors told me Demon's axles were still intact. So I floored it and we shot toward the alley's far end.

  And fraggin' near collided with a patrol car. Just one-lucky again!-and a glancing blow at that; otherwise I wouldn't be tellin' this story. Demon's right front fender got up close and personal with the front left fender of the Starmobile. Spun the cop car all the way around; when a Leyland-Rover argues with an Americar, even the razzed-up kind the Star drives around in, the Rover almost always wins. Hell of an impact, though. Felt like I'd smacked my head into a brick wall. What with all the other hell I'd been through on this joyride, the crash nearly blacked me out. But I hung on to consciousness by my fingernails, stopped Demon's fishtailin' on the slick pavement and managed to turn us in the right direction. Then I burned rubber and sent us flyin' down the road.

  The Star followed, of course. For awhile. Demon and I dodged and wove and bumped across sidewalks, even crashed through a coupla flimsy fences, before we finally lost the last cop car. My head felt like a thousand little guys were beatin' on it with hammers, my feet were freezin' from the icy asphalt under Demon's baldin' tires, and every wild turn made me want to throw up-but I gritted my teeth and kept goin'. That's how you survive in this biz. Me and Demon didn't stop until I pulled her up in front of a clinic near the safehouse, where we knew a street doc who'd patch Zipdrive up quick. And me, too. Wild rides take their toll on a rigger's meat even if lead and fireballs don't. I had a lump on my head the size of an egg from where I'd hit Demon's roof bouncin' outta the pothole, and I was so fraggin' tired that my hands were shakin' on the steering wheel. I popped the doors so Punch could take Zipdrive out, then jacked out and just sat for a moment. Just sat and breathed, and thought about how nice it was to be able to do that.

  After a little while I got out of the van. Almost fell over when I tried to stand up; just for a second, my brain had some trouble with the difference between wheels and feet. Like gettin' your land legs back after you've been on the water a time. Then I started walkin' and that was even worse. Every muscle was screamin' at me, and my calves were threatenin' to go on permanent strike. I told 'em to save it and staggered on. The pain was a good thing in one way; it kept me from thinkin' too much about the size of Demon's repair bill. Not that I grudged her any of it, mind-but like I said before, cred was tight. And after this hose-up, I knew we wouldn't get so much as a plugged nuyen from the Johnson unless we took it.

  Which we did. Well, Rocker and Punch did. Rocker don't like bein' double-crossed, and Punch… well, sometimes he just likes to break stuff. Specially the heads of people fool enough to rip him off. My share of the "insurance payment" was enough to fix Demon up, mostly-though she'll have to wait awhile for another stealth paint job. Those things cost.

  Hell-maybe I'll just send the bill to the Star.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-9701ad-2873-af4c-7f91-2e61-0c91-f8955c

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 06.09.2010

  Created using: Fiction Book Designer software

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