Penny (or BA) for your thoughts? Let me know what you think of this. Enjoy.
Dan sipped a beer as he considered his mistake. It was, after all, a mistake to come here; he knew that. He should have dropped the case, passed it down the line to someone more desperate than he, as soon as the addendum arrived. But there he was, anyway, sitting in a bar, waiting for a client, repeating bad history for reasons he did not even know.
He could see the bait and hook clearly: a mundane case file, an easy job, in simple terms, and the apologetic missive that followed, full of vague warning and hinting at matters too complicated for a mere letter to address. It was a standard ploy employed by the paranoid, who, for whatever reason, would not voice their needs directly for fear of immediate rejection. At best, either their worries would prove to be groundless or they would only succeed in delaying the inevitable refusal. In any case, it was a clumsy maneuver and a warning of more bullshit to come.
So what had really brought him here? It wasn't the money, though the offered sums were generous. Ten busy years of working for Weber and Browne had left Dan with more money that he could readily explain, even under the guise of a lucky investor. It had been three months since his last job and he had been feeling restless, but he knew that wasn't it either. Perhaps he had some latent death wish, lurking beneath the surface of conscious thought, charting a reckless course for self destruction. It was a reason as likely as any.
“Why so glum?” came a voice from nearby. It was the shadow dancer on his table, he realised. The feminine shape coalesced to a sharper image, slapped her bottom, then faded back into obscurity. As a lone patron, drinking and brooding, he should have expected company. He had been so fixated on the door while pretending to watch the nearby viewscreen, that he hadn't noticed her appearance.
“Just thinking,” Dan said, welcoming the distraction.
As the wisps of shadow reformed, she fondled a breast and said, “You come to a bar to think? You should be thinking of me.”
“I came to meet with a friend.”
“And you've found her,” the shadow replied, blowing him a kiss.
Dan had to smile. The shadows did not speak the last time he had come here. The pub must have invested in a better enchantment.
“Do you have a name?” Dan asked. He wondered if the AI could be useful.
“Of course I have a name. What an insulting question.” Her form dissolved into a pool of black, then returned a few moments later, hands on hips, “It's Bianca.”
“Well, Bianca, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He sensed that proper etiquette would go far with this one. “And I'm sorry I didn't see you before. Problems at work--you know how it is.”
“Do I ever,” she said, crossing her arms under her breasts. “You wouldn't believe the things people ask me to do sometimes.”
Dan sipped a beer as he considered his mistake. It was, after all, a mistake to come here; he knew that. He should have dropped the case, passed it down the line to someone more desperate than he, as soon as the addendum arrived. But there he was, anyway, sitting in a bar, waiting for a client, repeating bad history for reasons he did not even know.
He could see the bait and hook clearly: a mundane case file, an easy job, in simple terms, and the apologetic missive that followed, full of vague warning and hinting at matters too complicated for a mere letter to address. It was a standard ploy employed by the paranoid, who, for whatever reason, would not voice their needs directly for fear of immediate rejection. At best, either their worries would prove to be groundless or they would only succeed in delaying the inevitable refusal. In any case, it was a clumsy maneuver and a warning of more bullshit to come.
So what had really brought him here? It wasn't the money, though the offered sums were generous. Ten busy years of working for Weber and Browne had left Dan with more money that he could readily explain, even under the guise of a lucky investor. It had been three months since his last job and he had been feeling restless, but he knew that wasn't it either. Perhaps he had some latent death wish, lurking beneath the surface of conscious thought, charting a reckless course for self destruction. It was a reason as likely as any.
“Why so glum?” came a voice from nearby. It was the shadow dancer on his table, he realised. The feminine shape coalesced to a sharper image, slapped her bottom, then faded back into obscurity. As a lone patron, drinking and brooding, he should have expected company. He had been so fixated on the door while pretending to watch the nearby viewscreen, that he hadn't noticed her appearance.
“Just thinking,” Dan said, welcoming the distraction.
As the wisps of shadow reformed, she fondled a breast and said, “You come to a bar to think? You should be thinking of me.”
“I came to meet with a friend.”
“And you've found her,” the shadow replied, blowing him a kiss.
Dan had to smile. The shadows did not speak the last time he had come here. The pub must have invested in a better enchantment.
“Do you have a name?” Dan asked. He wondered if the AI could be useful.
“Of course I have a name. What an insulting question.” Her form dissolved into a pool of black, then returned a few moments later, hands on hips, “It's Bianca.”
“Well, Bianca, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He sensed that proper etiquette would go far with this one. “And I'm sorry I didn't see you before. Problems at work--you know how it is.”
“Do I ever,” she said, crossing her arms under her breasts. “You wouldn't believe the things people ask me to do sometimes.”