The incessant drone of the commlink alert burrowed through layers of sleep deprivation and synthahol stupor, deepening what promised to be a brutal hangover. Jimmy groaned and peeled open eyes crusted shut with layers of grit and activated the AR to see who was calling at whatever ungodly time it was.
Blank ID. Unlisted number. Business time. Drek.
The fixer rolled over, smacked on a slap-patch to wipe away most of the night’s leftover revelry and activated the commlink’s enhancements to cover what he didn’t have time to wash away in the shower. The ’link connected the call and Jimmy breathed a small sigh of relief as the call came through without trid feed.
“Hello?”, he mumbled, trusting the software to make it sound professional.
“Mister Card.”, replied the non-descript male voice on the other end. “My name is Johnson. I have need of your assistance to locate a group help solve a minor problem.”
Jimmy the Card nodded, then remembering that the Johnson couldn’t see, added “Of course. Time frame?”
“I will need to meet with them within the week.”
“Unnecessary. It’s a milk run.”
Jimmy resisted the urge to snort at that. The next time he believed that line would be the first. Instead, he asked, “Capability requirements?”
“Muscle and Mobility. Matrix is irrelevant.”
The fixer nodded to himself, mentally reviewing options and contacts. “I anticipate no difficulties accommodating your needs Mr. Johnson. Preferences for meet location?”
“Moderate profile, somewhere they won’t stand out.” The reply was accompanied by a confirmation of Jimmy’s usual retainer fee. Professional. Nice to see.
“Very good. I expect this to take no more than two days. Will you require back-up options?”
“Your reputation suggests that would be superfluous, Mister Card. I expect you will not disappoint.”
“I will contact you shortly then. Thank you, Mister Johnson.”
The connection severed, Jimmy looked longingly at the bed. The slap-patch was still kicking in, and sleep was pointless. Something to counteract the stimulants would just make him puke, so the fixer fired up the soykaf and shower while he picked out something to wear, dragging his tired, over-stimulated, hungover ass into the morning. No…make that afternoon…shit.
At least finding a bunch of noobs for the Johnson would be simple. Wannabe runners were a dime a dozen, and Jimmy had plenty of experience weeding the wet-eared kids from the potential.
Maybe he’d even have time to stop off at Carla’s for some fun….