Lucy and Sam take another unexpected break to bring you the next section for the Shadowrun short. Section 1 of the Shadowrun Character's short story can be found at the link.
* * *
Samuels was the only one from the morning shift who wanted to come along. That's because he was a brown noser; worse than that, he was an ambitious, smart brown noser. He sensed that this might be the case to make your name with, and he was young enough to think that making your name getting shot at was a good deal.
"Your bitch coming with us?"
"Lincoln's a boy, and yeah. My car, my rules," I said. The one thing that I could count on was my cruiser. Vic helped me keep it running and in practically mint condition. I think the most sentimental I've gotten on the job is when my old one got shot to hell.
"Ok. So long as I'm not on pooper-scooper duty."
"Very creative," I said. When I think 'dick,' I think Samuels. A lot of people might think that was clever. Some people might think it was funny. But only a real Goddamned dick would laugh at his own shitty pun.
"What are you laughing about Roscoe?"
"Nothing, get in."
* * *
While we drove, Samuels talked. Some of it was idle boasting ("Three babes last week Rossy, three. Not at once, I'm still working up to that.") Some of it was work chatter ("We're getting new supplements this week; you should start taking some.") Some of it was actually important ("Turn left here; the bug in my ear says to take a detour.")
Which brought us to Samuels newest fad: "Speaking of which, why don't you have one?"
"I'm perfectly happy disconnecting at the end of the day."
"You can unplug from the radio when you're off," Samuels said."Though, I guess you're old school, aren't you?"
"Beat cop for nearly two decades, you could say that."
"You must have some war stories, huh? Especially when the gangs were really starting to move in," I just nodded. He waited what he felt was an appropriate length to see if I'd offer any war stories. I didn't. "You were one of the first responders six years ago, at the big free-for-all in Southeast?"
"Vic and I work that beat most the time; I'm from there originally," I said. "I don't talk about it."
"It's in a lot of the riot control text books now," He said nonchalantly. "'Officer Sumter attempted to negotiate a ceasefire.' Did you think they'd really listen? Guess you meant it when you said you don't talk about it."
There was some blessed silence for a minute. Then he decided to jabber again. "What's it feel like, being shot?"
"What sort of fucked up question is that? You watch some cheap buddy cop flick last night?"
"No, I really want to know," He said. "I took the option for the dermal plating when it was offered; sprung for the muscle replacement too. Next week I'm scheduled for a smartlink and the new reflex wires."
"They sure are blowing a lot of dough on you."
"It's an investment," He said. "Since they moved to the new systems, we've only had one officer killed in the line of duty. He was old school, though, so I don't think that counts for the statistics."
"Clark was twice the cop, and a fuck-ton more of a man, then you ever will be, kid."
"Not trying to pick a fight, just saying, you should get the implants."
"I'm not putting that crap in my body," I said.
"I've had lunch with you Ross; I've seen the crap you put in your body."
"Chilli dogs are a wonder of Goddamn nature," I said. Lincoln barked; this was an untrained response to the phrase 'chilli dog.'
"I'm just saying, that's all. They might save your hide; you've been shot, what, three? Four times? Luck runs out man."
"Maybe my bad luck's getting ready to run out then."
"That's an optimistic outlook," He said, letting his not-quite real eyes tracking out the window. "Just think though; they're the wave of the future."
"Fuck the future," I said. This time when Lincoln barked, it was in agreement. I'd trained him to do that.