Stayn looked through the list again, mentally calling up the files directly to his cybereyes. The pool was getting smaller with each job; it was too risky to hire any team more than once, maybe twice. The ork sighed, barely restraining the cliched gripe about being too old for this drek. All that was left were a few washed up runners, some ex-gang bangers, a handful of smugglers, assorted criminals, and…
“Real funny,” he said aloud. “That can’t be a real handle, can it?”
The response came through his commlink’s earpiece. “It sure is.” She pushed an image over the file.
“A giant blue… is that an ork?”
“Oni, a metavarient of ork, yes.”
“Whatever he is, I’m not paying to haul him out of Okinawa for this. I’m hoping for a bit of subtlety.”
“Your call… boss,”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.” He flipped through a few more, marking the ones that fit the next job he needed done. “Track these down and get them my info. I want them here tomorrow. Time is of the essence, so offer them 10,000 nuyen each to show that I’m serious.”
There was a brief pause on the other end. “Done. Their responses will be forwarded to your disposable ’link.”
“Thanks. I’m going to get some shuteye. Let me know if you dig up anything on what happened yesterday.” Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call. He grabbed the bottle from the table in front of him and swallowed the last of the whiskey. With what he just promised to pay, he accepted that it would likely be his last taste of real, actual booze for the foreseeable future.
The last forty-eight hours caught up with each step toward the bed and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.