The Deal's Off
Sabine Herig and Sascha Merrimack
Flusserdorf City, Kameria
E5 014
Sabine stepped out of the doors to the Early Bird Cafe and took in that Flusserdorf morning air; the kind you could only smell before 7 AM, when the city streets were only just waking up. She had every reason to believe this was going to be a fun one.
Sascha couldn’t help but chuckle; a sound that Sabine could barely hear. “You’re never this chipper before, like, eight. Are you really that excited for this one?”
“Still wish they didn’t want to see us so early, but hey! A job where we get to fuck with the feds? My favorite!” Sabine said, trying her best to stop herself from skipping.
“Yeah, that tip they’re leaving is nothing to sneeze at either.” Sascha said, a faint smile on her face. A smile put there just as much by thinking about what she could buy herself with that bonus as it was from watching how excited Sabine was. Her tiny, twenty four year old smuggling partner somehow managed to have the same energy about her as a little girl skipping into the toy store. If it had been an hour or two later in the day, Sascha would be at risk of losing her in the crowd. Sure, brunette top braided ponytails weren’t a common fashion choice, so she could pick Sabine out by that. But Sascha preferred not to need to do that in the first place.
Sabine made a point of letting Sascha board the streetcar before her. Not only would Sascha’s sheer Tiburok size easily clear space for her to sit down as well (not to mention letting her naturally intimidating, shark-like appearance work for her), but she was also giving Sascha time to think of more creative ways to threaten her if she failed to let her board first again. Granted, that task was made harder for Sascha by trying to avoid threats that would just make Sabine smirk and say “Don’t threaten ME with a good time, bitch!” But, since that situation was avoided, the two simply sat next to one another and rode the streetcar in companionable silence.
Sabine fidgeted with her leg as the streetcar gradually became more crowded and the scenery began to change. The address they were told to meet at was down in the docks district of Flusserdorf. That meant a trip down the cliff and a walk along the Sift River. With any luck, she’d be able to walk all of the excited energy off on the way to the unoccupied dockside office that they were going to meet in. That way she could fully focus on the meeting and the terms of their little contract.
Speaking of, all she and Sascha knew at the moment was that their latest client had Separatist sympathies, and that they were moving about half a ton of “tools and explosives”. Which, as long experience in smuggling had taught the two, usually meant “guns and ammo”. Any further details, she’d have to try and socially finesse out of the client. After a certain incident involving moving about one ton of “livestock” to an ultra-upper-class resort in southeastern Fifeland, Sabine had made a point of knowing as much about a job as she could before accepting it.
Sascha gently nudged Sabine with her elbow. When Sabine looked up from her thoughts, she saw the Sift river below her at the cliffside, and rural Fifeland on the far end. In other words, the two had arrived in Cliffside, and their streetcar ride was over.
Sabine sprung up from her seat; her top braid ponytail bouncing as she waited for her turn to disembark from the streetcar and make her way down the Cliffwalk. As she cleared the streetcar’s doorway and set foot on the Cliffwalk, that familiar discomfort hit her. There was something about how clean and tourist friendly it all was. There wasn’t enough litter on the street (presumably because people just kicked it under the guardrail). Even the street food carts were all spotless, trendy and up on their merchant permits. Sabine winced when she saw a cart selling a slice of Cola Pie for six gilder. Who the hell could afford that?
It was all TOO nice. Sabine made a point of power walking until they reached the ZigZag and could get down to the Docks District. Sascha, for her own part, had little trouble keeping up. Her significantly taller frame meant longer strides, and less energy expenditure for the same speed.
“Cliffside’s not going to eat you, you know.” Sascha said, looking down at Sabine’s furrowed brow.
Sabine only glanced up at her partner for a moment before returning to scanning the walkway ahead of her. “A place this clean and proper’s hiding something. I don’t wanna stick around long enough to find out.”
Sascha simply sighed and kept pace with her smaller companion. Even if the caution was misplaced, it wasn’t an instinct she wanted to discourage. Not in a line of work like theirs, where things could turn sour at any point in the job.
The ZigZag was hard to miss. A snaking paved road down a 300 foot cliff; partially carved into the cliff itself and partially built from the stone removed, would serve as a quick and identifiable landmark just about anywhere. And for Sabine, it carried the promise of getting away from the tourist friendly streets of Cliffside.
“Ah, finally. Off to a town with some character!” Sabine said, hopping the guard rail and simply jumping down to the first terrace. It was far from the steepest jump she’d ever made. Sascha hopped down after her, and the Tiburok’s heavy frame hit the ground much harder than Sabine’s had. When Sascha winced, Sabine winced right with her.
“Alright… Maybe we should just walk down.” Sabine said, kicking herself for not realizing this would happen.
“Thank you.” Sascha said; the words just as much a pained grunt as a sentence.
After Sabine gave Sascha a hand up, the two of them walked on down the winding path of the ZigZag. A minute or two of companionable silence passed. Sabine walked along and only hopped the railing at their lowest points. Sascha walked nonchalantly beside her, hands in her pockets and carefully holding her leather jacket closed. Then Sascha spoke up again.
“Y’know, I don’t like Cliffside much either.” She said, not breaking her stride.
“I’m tellin’ ya!” Sabine said, turning around to face her. The motion made her own leather jacket fan out for a moment. “Cliffside’s gonna eat us one day.”
Sascha shook her head. Judging by how the sun caught her long, deep-blue hair as it moved, Sabine could tell the sun was rising in earnest. “I’m not scared of it. I got my own reasons for not liking it.”
Sabine’s green eyes locked with Sascha’s; years of familiarity allowed Sascha to know that Sabine was inviting her to elaborate.
“The people there just have nothing in common with us. They’re either the kind of person rich enough to gamble on investments for a living, or that guy’s spoiled little shit kid.” Sascha sneered, momentarily showing Sabine her sharp, Tiburok teeth. “The kind of brat who’s never known what it’s like to have the carbonator on your fridge break, not be able to afford the repairs, and having to drink flat root beer for a whole year.”
“Oh, you had a carbonator on your fridge growing up!” Sabine smirked, her sarcasm was multi-layered. “Well aren’t we just living the high life, senator’s daughter?”
Were it anyone but Sabine busting Sascha’s (purely metaphorical) balls about this, it might have gotten under her skin. But Sabine knew full well how raw of a deal Sascha’s father had been getting for his entire career, and more importantly, Sascha knew that she meant the ribbing with all possible affection. So instead, Sascha went the route of consensual, mutually pleasurable ballbusting between two lovely ladies.
“Yeah. Pretty sure you weren’t even getting power in that little hut of yours, peasant.” Sascha said, matching Sabine’s smirk with one of her own.
Sabine met the barb with a shrug; the small robotic assistant arms around her waist matching the gesture. “I mean, we did, when Drinky and Stinky could sober up long enough to remember the power bill.”
Sascha cracked up a little at “Drinky and Stinky”. Sabine did too. There was something empowering about looking back on the childhood trauma of parental alcoholism like it was a circus animal in a cage, and then throwing peanuts at it. It was made all the sweeter by the knowledge that she meant it now, and wasn’t just pretending it didn’t hurt anymore.
They were about halfway down the ZigZag now, and a few quips later, the conversation died down. There wasn’t anything left that needed saying. Soon enough, the two of them had reached the bottom, and transitioned into the Docks District. Sabine took in a lungful of the wetter, dingier, more industrial-solvent-laden riverside air. It immediately put her at ease. Knowing upfront what the Docks District’s issues calmed the nagging sense that she was about to be ambushed.
“So, the place is right on Mariner Street, right?” Sabine asked, turning back to her towering companion.
Sascha nodded. “553 North Mariner Street. And that’s 376 North Mariner Street there.” She gestured to the building on their immediate right.
“That’s what I like about you, Sascha.” Sabine said, affectionately patting her hip since her shoulder was too far up. “You’re so good at staying calm and keeping track of the details.”
The hip touch didn’t seem to bother Sascha, and if it did, she didn’t show any outward signs of it. Instead, she shrugged. “There’s a reason we’re an infamous duo and not just two individually infamous bitches.”
“True, true.” Sabine said, nodding to herself. Now, to make their way to 553.
The amount of people on the streets was beginning to pick up. Most of them were commuters on their way to the various docks, machine shops, warehouses and offices of the Docks District. If Sascha and Sabine could just make it look like they were doing the same thing (and in a way, they were), they’d have no issue blending in with the crowd.
As they made their way along, Sabine began to wonder if people were beginning to recognize them. Not the people on this street in particular. Just in general. Were their names making rounds? If they were, were they making rounds on the streets, or with the general public? If the general public started to know their faces, then keeping a low profile on smuggling jobs would become a LOT harder. And if customs officials started to know their names, then it was pretty much game over. The two of them would have to try and keep it low key if they wanted to-
A tall, muscular man in a business suit waved to them. Given that he did so while standing outside of 553 North Mariner Street, that must be this particular group’s muscle. Sabine put on her best white collar corporate approved smile and moved to shake the doorman’s hand.
“Good morning. We’re here for the property tour?” Sabine asked, giving the doorman the password.
“Oh, of course! Right this way, ladies.” The doorman said, matching Sabine’s authentically fake business smile with one of his own. He’d make an excellent door-to-door salesman, Sabine thought.
With the door held open for them, Sabine and Sascha stepped in. All three dropped the straight laced act the moment the door latched shut, and all three were glad for that.
“Right then. The boss man’s up the stairs, he’ll give you the deets.” The doorman said, gesturing with his chin to the staircase directly in front of them. “But I think you’re gonna like this one.”
“Well, guess I’ll find out when I get there.” Sabine said with a shrug; trying to make her assessment of the room she found herself in look as casual as possible. She probably wouldn’t need to notice that the stairwell had a combination dock/warehouse area to her left, and a hallway with closed off rooms to her right, but it was just good practice to know your surroundings in a business like this.
“Bossman already knows you’re here, so just head on up.” The doorman said, with a casual wave.
With a final “Gotcha”, Sabine began making her way up the stairs. Sascha followed close behind. The stairway was about as long as you’d expect, but narrower than either of them would have liked. Even two sabines would have to really press against the beige drywall to pass each other, and poor Sascha could barely even stand with her shoulders straight. Sabine was just thinking about what a fire hazard that was when Sascha opened the door to the room where they’d be meeting their client.
Despite the vista view of the Sift provided by the all-glass far wall, the faun who was obviously the ringleader here managed to bring all eyes to him. He sat with a slouched, relaxed posture at an improvised desk made from cardboard boxes and shipping pallets. His furred, hooved legs were crossed, and two of his followers were on each side of him. They were all plainly carrying weapons, but on their backs or in holsters. She definitely recognized those rifles as Bardonese, though. The shitty kind that the Bardonese army almost mutineed over being made to carry. That likely answered the question of who was supplying these guys.
"'Mongoose', was it? Come have a seat, dear. We've got just so much to chat about." He said.
Sabine did not like the glib grin on this dude's face, but he was a fellow separatist. He couldn't be all bad, right? Sabine stepped forward and sat on the stack of pallets she assumed were meant to be her chair. Sascha, for her part, leaned by the doorway and began doing her well-practiced impression of wallpaper.
"Alright. This is usually the part where you elaborate on where you want all these 'tools and explosives' to miraculously appear." Sabine said crossing a leg.
The Ringleader patted the air in front of him. “Oh, of course hon. I was just getting there.”
Sabine didn’t have enough time to notice how little she liked the pet names this guy was using before he continued. “Now, Mongoose. You’re a Stampa native, yes?”
“I work there.” Sabine said, seeing an attempt to glean personal info and dodging it.
“Good, good.” The Ringleader said. “Then you wouldn’t have trouble moving, say, three crates from here to there?”
Okay, now this guy was just being condescending. Was it because she was a woman, or was it because she looked 10 years younger than she was? Both, maybe? “Give me a moving truck and like, two hours on the I-19. It’s really not that hard. What do you even need me for?”
“Hm… Maybe I was overthinking it.” The Ringleader said, a thoughtfully rubbing one of his horns. “But… Everyone you see here is who we have. Getting to Stampa will be hard enough on its own, but if we could put our tools in your capable hands, Mongoose?”
“You ain’t gotta butter me up y’know.” Sabine said, her smile as amused as it was uncomfortable. “Didn’t you pick me out because I was a fellow separatist?”
The Ringleader grinned again. This time a little more genuine looking. “And we heard about the discount you give separatists, yes.”
Yeah, Sabine figured that she probably should have accounted for that. But… back to business. “Where exactly do you need these… ‘tools’ to be dropped off? Can you give me an address? A landmark?”
“83 Broad Street. A little ways southeast of the National Quad.” The Ringleader said without missing a beat.”
Ah, Broad Street. Sabine would have known that grimy run down skidmark of a road anywhere. She leaned back, glancing out at a small deck boat racing along the river Sift. “Gotta say… it’s a pretty ballsy move, sneaking all those weapons right into the heart of fed territory.”
Two of the Ringleader’s guards started talking to each other under their breath. From their tone, Sabine could tell they were amused by something. The Ringleader seemed to be enjoying the praise too. “I know, right? And that’s only the beginning.”
Aha! There it was. Sabine’s inroad to figuring out what exactly these fellas had in mind. She leaned in, trying to make her tone just a little bit more flirty. After all, nothing loosened a man’s lips quite like thinking he had a chance with a pretty girl. “Go on~”
The Ringleader matched her posture, slicking back his long, light brown hair and letting Sabine see under his sunglasses for the first time. "We're after a senator. And We're out to send a message."
"Ooh!" Sabine said, not even needing to fake her excitement. "Which one you murking? Senator Conahan? That fucker REALLY has it coming!"
"I like the way you think, Mongoose." The Ringleader began. "But I guess he'll have to be next. Our man is already picked out."
Sabine had a bad feeling rising in her gut, but let the Ringleader continue.
"Our mark is not only a fed sympathizer, but a race traitor." The Ringleader glanced up at Sascha with the last two words. "Time and again he's sucked up to the feds, and time and again he's been met with abuse. And yet, he continues with his collaborationism."
The same two guards as before looked to Sascha, this time with uncomfortable, nervous glances. Sabine let The Ringleader keep going. Just in case he wasn't talking about who she thought he was.
"And now, he's gaining far too many cosponsors for his little 'Build a Better Samor Act'. But I know the people of Samor. They don't want concessions!"
The Ringleader began to raise his voice, inadvertently showing Sabine who he was under his superficially charming exterior. "This movement isn't about getting those Fed bastards to be nice to us, it's about getting RID of them! It's about breaking their power and letting the five states breathe free once more!"
Sabine knew exactly who he was talking about, but maybe it was just going to be holding him ransom or-
"Don't get me wrong. Senator Merrimack seems like a good man. But if we have to take out take out the Feds' pet dancing lurk to send a message, then w-"
"That's my father you just called a lurk." Sascha said, a low, dangerous buzz in her voice.
The Ringleader blanched. His bodyguards shifted their weight in a way that suggested they were getting into firing stances. When he took his eyes off of Sascha, they turned to Sabine, obviously hoping that she would move to diffuse the situation. Unfortunately for him, Sabine had no interest in dealing with people that were gonna come after Sascha’s family; in a way her family.
“No. I’m not killing family’s family. The deal’s off!” Sabine said, beginning to match Sascha’s anger.
“Well...” The Ringleader began, before a long, heavy pause. His next words would decide whether or not everyone would leave this building alive. “That’s a shame, Mongoose. I was really hoping we’d get to work together, instead of infighting.”
Sabine took a mental inventory of which two handguns on her person would be most appropriate for the fight that was about to break out. Which ones would punch enough? Which ones could she reach in time?
“But I suppose the money we save on paying you can be used on the body dispo-”
Go time.
Sabine dove to her right. Sascha reached under her jacket and pulled her weapon. Clyde the Sawed-Off Machine Gun went from an unknown factor to the thing that was sawing the room in half in an instant. The two guards to Sascha’s left didn’t have time to react before being cut down. The Ringleader and the remaining to did, however. By the time Sascha finished her opening sweep, the three of them were spread out, in concealment and all aiming their own weapons at the Tiburok woman. She was a fairly large target.
But Sabine? Not so much. She popped out of her own concealment, a pistol in each hand and a shot aimed with both. The first hit a bodyguard through the side of the ribs, the other hit the ringleader just under the sternum. Judging by how the Ringleader started trying to get up and the bodyguard didn’t, she guessed he was wearing a plate carrier.
Ringleader’s ribs were definitely broken. The other stricken bodyguard was unresponsive. That left the final guard. He raised his rifle at Sabine and caught a burst from Clyde as he tried to back into what little cover was available.
A quick glance between them was all that was needed. Neither of them had to say “We gotta bug out. Now.” for them to both bolt for the staircase. Sabine went first, with Sascha covering her from the top of the stairwell. With any luck, the doorman wouldn’t decide he cared enough about his cause to-
A bullet tore through the top braided part of Sabine’s ponytail. Shit. This guy was ride or die. Another salvo from Clyde kept the doorman’s head down and Sabine’s head on her shoulders. She took the chance to dive to the right once more; putting herself in the docking and warehouse portion of the office. Those narrow little hallways to the left wouldn’t have left anywhere near enough room to work with.
Assisted by her robotic sub-arms, Sabine checked how many rounds she had left in each magazine and decided to top off with fresh ones. While the sub-arms popped new magazines into each pistol, she ventured a look back into the reception room and found that the Doorman had ducked into the hallway that she was trying to avoid. With Sascha’s suppression, it was going to turn into a game of street rules Peek A Boo.
At least, that would have been the case if the Ringleader hadn’t risen to his feet, screamed a few threats at Sascha and taken up all of her attention. Looked like it was a 1v1 for everyone here, then.
“I’m going to break you in HALF, BITCH!” the Doorman roared, taking his chance to charge across the stairwell and into the storeroom.
Sabine and the Doorman exchanged gunfire as he ran through the garage doors to the covered dock. That was more trustworthy cover than the stack of packaged goods that Sabine had chosen.
“No thanks! I’d rather let Sa… The Big Lug do that instead!” Sabine quipped, punctuating the remark with two pistol rounds in the general direction of where the Doorman had gone. All she received in return was silence. Tense, unnerving silence.
“Shit, shit…” Sabine kept a pistol trained on both doorways that she could see. Though the one to her right was closed. She’d be ready no matter which one he popped out of.
Right?
Her gaze flicked nervously between the two doorways. She muttered dares for the big man to try and rush her through either door. The seconds dragged to minutes as the exchange of gunfire continued upstairs. This was taking too long. He was either freaking out just badly as she was, or he was pulling something clever.
Sabine felt the Doorman flanking her before she saw him. Shots came her way from the front door of the building. She made herself as small as possible, prayed to YNWH that whatever was in these crates was stronger than the crates themselves, and cursed herself for not considering the possibility that he could go around the building to catch her unawares.
The shooting stopped, Sabine pointed a pistol in the direction the shooting came from, only to find her hand being grabbed. Next thing she knew, Sabine was on her back, there was a serious, boot-shaped pain in her stomach, and both of her sub-arms were gone. Their limp remains were thrown aside by the big prick trying to kill her.
The Doorman went for a kick to the head, but Sabine had rolled out of the way and pulled herself to her feet by the time his leg was fully drawn back. Sabine could dodge all day, but she knew she couldn’t take another hit like the one he’d just landed.
Sabine went to draw another pistol, but the Doorman was too close to risk it. If he hadn’t already shot her, that meant he was spent and down to his fists. All Sabine could do was stay close, avoid being grabbed or kicked, and try to get some distance between her and the big bastard.
An elbow came rearing back, Sabine ducked it. The Doorman wheeled around to grab her, but by the time he’d turned around Sabine was behind him again. She couldn’t keep this going forever. All this big fuck needed was one good hit and she was toast.
The second she could afford to, Sabine went for the pistol she had in a shoulder holster. She brought the barrel to his neck and felt her hand get grabbed once more. She put her other hand on the pistol. The Doorman put his hand on the pistol as well. Both of them were wrestling for their lives, and the only thing Sabine could think was “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!”
Not even jumping up and pushing off against the man’s legs was enough to break his grip. She could try squeezing his hand in a way that would force his fingers to lose grip, but that risked giving him control of the gun. Sabine could go for one of the last two she had holstered, but that was just giving him a gun. Plus, her hands were trapped under his. Was there really no way out of this one?
“SABINE!”
There was, if Sascha came to the rescue.
Sabine threw all of her weight to the left, trying to spin the Doorman around and give Sascha a clear shot. A burst came from Clyde, and the Doorman just threw himself to the floor instead, wrestling the gun from Sabine in the process. He tried to right himself and make a shooting retreat, but just caught rounds from both Sabine and Sascha for his trouble.
Five seconds passed in silence. Long enough for both of them to calm down and realize the fight was over. Sascha sighed, but Sabine once again found herself laughing and crying at the same time.
“You still so sure it’s Cliffside that’s going to eat you?” Sascha said, catching her breath. That just made Sabine laugh even harder.
“Fuck that was scary. Especially when I noticed the gunfire stopping upstairs.” Sabine responded. “You good? Did that creepy fuck hurt you?”
Sascha shook her head. “Got some kicks in. Pro tip? Never let a faun kick you with those hooves.”
Sabine went to pull her stolen gun from the Doorman’s hand. “Good. If he hurt you for real I’d have to go up there and kill him two more times for good measure.”
That got Sascha smiling too, but in a more affectionate kind of way. She gave Sabine a good natured slap on the back. “C’mon, if we bug out fast enough, the cops will assume that this was just Sep scum having a disagreement and killing each other, and not bother to investigate.”
Y'know, that kind of is what happened, isn't it? It's just a matter of making sure the cops don't have a reason to think they were involved. Anyway! This started as a friend giving me a prompt to write about these two characters as a way of exploring what their dynamic is like. It also gave my WorldEmber word count a much needed boost. I'll probably write more of these until I've better explored the larger group I want to write about in the Cross-Ekonic War.
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