“Eh, Finn, comment ça-va?”
The Finn’s store looked like an overcrowded antique shop, or a CompEx store after a bomb had gone off. The shelves were full of used sim units and commlinks, right next to apparently new-in-box units that could be had for the same price. There were piles of antique printed magazines on the floor. Old-fashioned holo signs advertised brands that, as far as Frenchie knew, didn’t exist anymore.
“So, Frenchie, you buying or selling today?” Had to be one or the other; the Finn didn’t have much patience for browsing.
“I got some stuff here I want to get rid of.” Frenchie put a large box on the counter and the Finn slid off his stool.
The Finn wasn’t much taller than Frenchie, but he was no dwarf. With his hair smoothed back he could almost be some new metatype, maybe one with a few rat genes. He’d been running the shop as long as any of the locals could remember, but he seemed stuck somewhere in middle-age.
While the Finn poked through the box of “surplus” tronix, Frenchie flipped open the magazine on top of a nearby stack. It clearly pre-dated the first Crash.
“People actually pay for this stuff?” asked Frenchie. “Is it as old as it looks?”
“Hey, hands off. Those are authentic originals. Every one comes with hi-res page scans, complete with the original owner’s fingerprints. Collectors are crazy for that shit.”
“Calice, crazy for sure. So, what about this stuff?” Frenchie nodded at his box.
“Ordinary office equipment, corporate stuff. Fell off the back of a truck, huh, Frenchie? Or does it have something to do with those holes I saw in the side of your van?”
“Since when do you care where it comes from?”
“I don’t. Here, take this crap, I got no use for it.” The Finn handed a few items back to Frenchie. “The rest I can sell, easy. Send you the money in a few days.”
“Merci, Finn. A pleasure doing business with you.”
“Uh huh.” The Finn was climbing back onto his stool as Frenchie walked out of the store.