Griswald shivered in the damp November rain, trying to huddle deeper under the crumpled fire escape. The twisted metal was just as effective at keeping the dwarf dry as it would be if the building’s squatters ever had to escape a fire.
At least they’d be warm. Probably going to catch a cold standing around out here. Fragging elves.
It was a miserable place for a deal, but the guy who’d told him about this seller had set up the buy without consulting the weather feeds. Not that there was any variation in Seattle’s climate.
And the deal was sweet. Griswald was down to his last few hundred nuyen, and the elf was willing to sell at three-quarters of the normal street price, which meant he could afford at least two extra patches. That would stave off the nightmares for another few days. Long enough to find a job that would pay enough to cover the tempo and the rent.
Light footsteps sounded in the alley opening, loud enough to forewarn a contact, but quiet enough to not attract attention. The slender, dark-clad figure came up the alley, casual but careful. Griswald’s heart-rate began to climb, his system already anticipating the first hit of the drug in over two days.
The dwarf’s eyes opened in surprise as the elf stepped into a shaft of light from a nearby window.
“You look pretty good for someone who’s supposed to be dead”, he commented.
“You don’t”, came the reply. A laser-sight settled on Griswald’s forehead. “Goodbye, Sneezy.”
Frag, I hate that damn call-si…