Street Scum's page

"Nah, biz. Dey wuz all norms," He shrugs and finishes up his cigarette, ash falling from his fingertips. "Big boys, ya scan? Mebbe got wares or what, but norms. We ain't get ta huggin' an' pettin' time dry all split. Coulda been Cutters, coulda been freelancers, who knows. No colors, an' dey kept it pr'fessional, right."

While the others headed towards the vehicles Red makes his way over to Gyro.

"Hoi, chummer, need a little input from ya. When you and the guys where doing the unload for Tarnish a little while back, you happen to notice if anything was odd about the transaction? Maybe some of the suit's muscles be from a dressed down Cutter perhaps?" the rigger inquires.

"Ya know yer bud's cruisin' fer a beatin' keepin' talkin' all big an' drek. We's cool, biz, what wit' yer nuyen an' what. Jus' a friendly warnin' is all." Pondering the question about the Cutters, Gyro spits at the ground and lights up another cigarette. It smells mostly like tobacco.

"Them boys was sometin' aight. Two of em slung dem boxes like dey wuz nuttin', and dem drek wuz heavy as frag all too. Da other two jus' stood aroun' lookin' all mister scary an' all, wearin' bike helmets. Dey didn't sling hardware out, but my boys said dey was packin' subs, mebbe sawed-offs under their leathers." Letting out a drag of his smoke, he continues. "No colors, no frontin' neither. If dey was Cutter blood, dey kept it close to da vest. Once their boss man came back outta Tarnish's, dey packed up and split. Two hogs and a Ford, lit outta here like we set fire ta their hoops."

"Tarnish? The gun guy? His doss down dat way," the dirty man slaps a chunk of grilled meat between two myco-protein buns and wraps it in a bit of greasy waxed paper. He holds the burger (totally made from rats, btw) until you complete the transaction.

The hallway he indicates lies at the far end of the main wing, opposite the large bordello. A handful of relatively bright lights shine out from the corner.

"Tarnish got good stuff, omae. But you need some real pow-bang stuff, my cuz got the hookup fer'realz." He hands over the burger as you drop creds into his AR wallet.

S-s-sure, chummer. Thanks fer da cash." the banknote disappears just ad fast as the previous one. "Y-y-ya need sum more stuff, ya j-j-just come ask fer Jimmy 'round heres. Errybody knows m-m-me, kin getcha whatcha needs."

With that, Jimmy the street scum sinks back to his trash can fire, dreaming of what ¥30 can get him.

"T-t-tarnish? He's the guy what fixes pieces and whatnot, eh? Older dude wit' metal arm? Heard he's got a place down at the Mall. Square dude, what I heard. Straight biz and aint' gon' backstab ya. Decent gear, too."

Anyone with Sprawl Life, Area Knowledge: Seattle, or Blackmarket Arms Dealers knowledge skills may roll them now. Also, what have you done with the commlink & dataspike provided by Mister Johnson? This may also be a good time to tap contacts for information or to begin the Legwork portion of the run.

He approached as you were talking, keeping a respectful distance and deferent attitude. He knows better than to eavesdrop around here.

"T-t-thanks, omae. This gun help me so good," the man grabs the cash quickly, almost snatching it out of Red's hand. The note vahishes almost instantly. "W-w-whatchu need, man? I bin out here long time, ferrealz, know m-m-mosta the guys 'round here."