Anyways.
Two.
The man who went by the name Bixby hummed softly as he walked down the cracked pavement of the Little A Enclave. He moved slowly, feet shuffling a bit, his shoulders a bit slumped. It was the slow measured tread of a man walking the Green Mile, his date with the hangman waiting at the end. His humming completed the picture; anyone hearing the soft sound would have recognized the tune as I'll Fly Away.
Outwardly, his face was calm. He had the light tan of a farmer or outdoorsman, which gave a nice contrast to dark brown eyes and hair. He had the lean frame of the twentysomething he was, the kind that weight never stuck to. He had muscle definition, but not the look of a man who lifted heavy weights for a living. All in all, Bixby looked like he should be pulling shifts at the local plant or wrenching on cars for cases of beer.
His clothes supported that image. It was a fairly warm day outside what used to be Cheyenne, Wyoming. Mid sixties, a few clouds but mostly sunny, so he wore a slightly stained white tee shirt under a gray zippered jacket, jeans and work boots. A trucker's cap with a faded and illegible logo kept the sun out of his eyes. Even then, he squinted a little at the bright light blue of the sky and the burning white ball it held.
A minute later, his squint changed as he crossed over to the canopied shade of Carol's, the main watering hole and unofficial center of Uptown Little A. Before the Crash, it had been a restaraunt, red brick functionality attached to the hotel next door. Now it was the place where Uptown met with Takers and other social inferiors to give them their marching orders. Bixby didn't like coming here, but since he liked starving less then that, he walked inside, his eyes adjusting to the lamplight.
His eyes swept the bar, passed over it. He wasn't looking for anyone there, he was merely checking for any signs of potential trouble. He turned left and headed into the dark recesses of the main dining area and Booth 12, where Dov hung out. He slid into the booth, reclining against the torn green leather as he spoke. "Hi, Dov."
"Bixby," Dov said in a pleasantly neutral voice. He wasn't alone. His muscle sat next to him on the outside, looking unpleasant as always. Bixby was sure that there was another one nearby that he didn't see, but he wasn't caring. This was a job, not a fight. Dov leaned forward slightly, his bald head shining in the oily flame and the many breaks of his nose casting odd shadows across the left side of his face. "How's the little one?"
So, he's gonna push hard today. Shit. Bixby hated dealing with Dov. He was a fixer, and a mean son of a bitch; the broken nose wasn't for show. He could play it cool or hard with equal measure and he never ever let his voice leave that light, let's-be-friends tone he liked to use. Until you cost him bounty. And that was the problem, because Bixby had.
"She's fine." It was a careful opening. Dov had called him for some reason. Dov by rights had no reason to call him, not with other Takers on the board and after the last fuckup. Bixby fully expected that whatever Dov wanted him for, it was gonna be for not much more than getting back in his good graces and whatever he could scavenge. He had Bixby over a barrel, and he knew it.
"That's good. So, down to brass tacks. A job came through, and the client wants a particular profile. You and your" A small beat. "partner fit. And since I'm a generous guy, I figured you'd want first crack at it."
"What profile? What client? And what's the job? I hadn't seen anything new on the LifeLines." Of course, that meant not a damn thing, but Bixby wasn't gonna play anything but clueless here. Dov held all the cards here. Best to let him make his move.
"The profile's not your business. Know that you fit it. Neither is the client. And the job isn't gonna be on the damn LifeLines." Dov leaned back. "This one came to me personal. Closure job. One or two people, depending. No C's."
"One OR Two? Depending on what?" Bixby felt a sinking feeling that maybe he should have packed up Emily and headed for Duke instead of coming here. Of course, Emily wasn't able to walk yet and leaving wasn't an option. Whatever Dov's job was, though, was straight up murder. Probably the kind that ended with a Taker getting on multiple shit lists.
"Client hired a Taker to go find one person. He hasn't heard back in two weeks. He suspects that the Taker may have either run off with the target or got a hole in his back, so he's willing to pay for both."
"How much?" Even if it was a favor, it had to be asked. Professional.
"Fifty with proof." Bixby visibly started at that figure. Fifty was a huge figure. Normally, if a job got contracted out, you'd be lucky to get half that IF you got over on the client and got expenses tacked on. What the hell kind of job is this?
"I assume you're in?" Dov leaned in again. "I mean, I could always ask Feather if he wanted this one, if you're squeamish. You know, I know you don't like the sight of blood." A smirk painted one corner of his face.
Bixby could only nod at first. When he got his voice back under him, he was then able to ask, "Who's the targets and where are they?"
"Woman from the Recession. Name of Sarah Jackson. She was last seen up Broad Meadow way, according to what the client said. The Taker you know. Raker Jack. So there's probably a complication or two."
"From the Recession? What's she doing out here?" This was worrisome. Raker was well known to Bixby, by reputation. Solo Takers tended towards being well known, if they made it back. They also tended towards crazy, since you didn't go out without a good crew at your back. You could die either way, but a crew increased your odds. If he'd run off with this woman, hunting him down would be a cast iron bitch. And if he'd ended up dead in a ditch, whoever did it to him would be a problem, too.
"Client didn't say, and I'm dead certain I don't care." And with that, Dov and the muscle stood. Dov pulled a hand rolled stogie that was probably filled with five year old tobacco and maybe some other plant, and used the lamp on the table to light it. "You come back, maybe you can tell me."
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