Machines   von Alaiya
                           (Hamburg in the shadows)
================================================================================
                              V – Unwilling ally
                              ------------------


Pakhet had to admit that Heidenstein was a rather quick learner and more of a
help then she would have guessed. Then again it was rather apparent from his
demeanour that he probably had enjoyed academic education and probably was
brighter then a typical shadowrunner. Most of all though she was glad that he
seemed to have no problem with getting his hands dirty. And while he was not
very strong and hence could not help with everything, his witty sense of humour
certainly made the work more entertaining at least. Also he had a keen eye and
was able to spot minor problems, which was a good help for checking and
re-checking their work.
In the end it took them only two afternoons to get every problem with the van
fixed. “The team” paid her, she relayed some money to Robert for allowing
them to use the garage and then she thought she was done with this chapter. Of
course she kept Heidenstein contacts – knowing street docs was just too
invaluable.
So she ended up with more free time. Michael did not have any more jobs for her
and it seemed that the terror alarm did made for quite some recess, which would
be a problem if it lasted.
Still. At least it gave her some time to train and spend some private time with
Robert, who all too often complained she was taking her “work” too serious
and did not spent enough free time. Of course this was ridiculous considering
that she often only worked two, three days a week and lay low the rest of the
time. But in the end she liked that he worried a bit about her and she certainly
did not complain about lazy evening eating pizza and watching old action
movies.
But that would not help paying her rent. And four days after having finished the
car she already felt itchy and could barely hold back herself from calling
Michael several times a day.
It was on this fourth afternoon, that her commlink started ringing while she was
working out. With a mental command she picked up. “Yes?”
A video display appeared in her vision. Dacart grinning at her. “Hey,
Pakhet.”
“Oh fuck”, she muttered and hung up.
Apparently she had forgotten to destroy the metalink from which she had used to
rent the truck. And as all her metalinks redirected any incoming calls to her
main commlink he had probably been able to call her that way.
Not a minute later her commlink was once again informing her about an incoming
call. She ignored it, but it took about twenty seconds until the caller gave
up.
“Finally”, she muttered to herself. Dacart was certainly a fool, but even he
should be able to deduct her disinterest in any further interaction.
Well, it turned out he was not. About three minuted later somebody with an
unknown number called again and again she ignored it. But even then it was not
the end of it. Again two or three minutes passed, then another call came in.
This time she blocked the calling number and thought that now she was finally
done with it.
But even though he was clearly a fool, even Dacart seemed to know the rule about
owning mutible metalinks. Another call, a new number.
She sighed, jumped from the treadmill and picked up again. “Whatever it is,
Dacart, the answer is no. I am not interested!” Already she wanted to hang up,
when Dacart spoke:
“But you could make money!”
For a moment Pakhet hesitated. She really did not want to have anything to do
with Dacart, but the truth was that she needed money and if the month continued
as it was she would be unable to meet her payments. “Talk. Quickly.”
“I might have some job. And I thought I could make up for something”, he
explained quickly. “It is supposed to be a milk-run.”
That set of Pakhet's alarm. There was no such thing as a milk run. Whenever
somebody said a mission was supposed to be a milk run, there was a big catch to
it. “How much?”
“10 000 for the team? Maybe a bit more. Have not met the Johnson yet.”
Pakhet gave a long sigh. She really did not want to do this, even 1600 would be
a help right now. And maybe there was a bit more in. She would most certainly
not risk her life for that amount of money. But after all it probably would not
hurt to talk with the Johnson. “Alright”, she said drawing out both
syllables. “I will accompany you when you go meeting the Johnson. Then I will
make my decision.”
“Great!” Dacart seemed to be satisfied.
“When do we meet? And where?”
“Altona. In two hours. I'll send you the address.”
“Great”, Pakhet said and most certainly did not mean it.
Once she had hung up she gave a long sigh. Somehow she had the feeling that this
“team” was just all sorts of bad news. After all they were the ones
responsible for the terror alarm after all. And if it was not for her conscience
she probably would just have sold them out to HanSec to get rid of this
problem.
But as it was this was quite possible the only way to make some money for weeks,
so she certainly would not slip it away that easily. And after all she had
worked with other fools before, with some even several times, and that had not
been that bad – at least that was what she told herself.
This just had to not become a habit. She did not want to be part of any
“team” and most certainly not of this particular one! In the shadow one was
better of alone and far away from fools.
She ended her training and went for her car to get back home. The weather had
been changeable for the entire day making the car the better way to get around.
At her home she took a shower, put on some more formal clothing and then sat
down in front of the trid to pass some time.

When she finally left her house she was still early and would probably arrive
about fifteen minutes early. That was when Dacart called again: “Pakhet, by
the way: Can you fetch me? I don't have a car and my motorcycle kinda blew
up...”
She cursed him and for a moment considered to just get to the meeting alone. But
then again she did not know anything about the Johnson and his connection to
Dacart. Of course it might be worth a wager, but it was not her style after
all.
So she quickly left her home, got into the Jackrabbit and drove to the address
Dacart had send her. The young man was standing there and waved at her, when he
saw the car approaching. Was he really so oblivious to the fact that he annoyed
the living hell out of her? In a way he was a lot like Michael – just more
stupid.
“Get in and hurry”, Pakhet barked at him without even so much as an
“hello”. “And stay quiet for heaven's sake.”
“Alright”, he replied and grinned broadly.
Pakhet gave a sigh and hoped that he staid true to his word, while doing her
best to still get to the meeting point in time. Thankfully there were three
things working in her favour: She knew a couple of shortcuts, her car did not
move on the grid and Dacart actually did keep quiet for the entire way. Thus it
was two minutes before time, when they arrived at the location, a pretty normal
looking street in Neue Mitte, where they found Barameus and Slap waiting.
“You invited them, too, eh?”, Pakhet muttered.
“Of course”, Dacart replied with a smile. “We are a team after all. The
doc and Kah Pak will be there, too, but later... I guess...”
“A team. Sure.” Pakhet got out of the car, wishing to have not come. But
then again: Money. And the lack thereof. “Whatever.”
If she interpreted the look in the red cyber-eyes of Slap right, he did not seem
to happy either to see her again. Well, at least that feeling was mutual. He
just gave her a short nod, before turning away again. Barameus again did not say
anything, nor did he give any motion that he had noticed her, but quietly leaned
against the wall.
“We are still on time!”, Dacart announced after getting out of the car.
“Great. And thank you guys for coming, by the way.” He basically raced for
the door to ring the bell.
It was about five seconds, until the buzzer let them in. The house at least
seemed to be a completely normal apartment building. The staircase was actually
in rather good shape and the apartments seemed to be lived in.
Dacart was taking the lead, running up to the third floor. With yet another sigh
Pakhet followed and so did Barameus and Slap, though a bit slower then the
former two.
On the third floor they found a door opened with a human man standing in front
of it – obviously a guard, as he wore his pistol rather obvious. And if to
fulfil a certain cliché he also wore sunglasses, even though they were inside.
Pakhet just nodded at him, before entering the apartment right after Dacart.
The guard waited for all of them to enter, before closing the door again and
nodding over to another open door. For a moment Dacart hesitated, looking at the
rest of them, but when Pakhet shot him an impatient gaze he entered the room.
Surprisingly the room seemed just like a normal living room. There was a
cupboard, a trideo, a sofa, a table and chairs sitting around it. Sure, it was a
bit weird that both the sofa and the chairs were covered with plastic foil, but
there were people with a weird sense for hygiene. The curtains were closed, too,
but that was not too big of a surprise.
A woman sat at the table. From what Pakhet estimated, she was at her early 40s,
though it was not easy to say for sure, as the lighting in the room was rather
dim. After all it was quite possible that she tried to disguise herself with
make-up. Her hair was brown and barely reached down to her shoulders. She wore a
formal suit and seemed to be patiently waiting for them.
Another guard was standing behind her, one hand at his holster.
There was one chair positioned directly opposed to the woman, while two others
were standing more to the side of it.
Dacart hesitated, but took a seat too the side. For a moment Pakhet pondered for
a moment, whether she wanted to have Slap or Barameus take the spot of the
negotiator before quickly deciding that she was rather to take that spot
herself.
She sat down, noticing that Barameus eyed at her angrily for a short moment –
a moment that Slap used to sit down on the last chair, making Barameus stand
behind them.
Pakhet waited for the Johnson to start talking and hoped the rest of the group
was that reasonable as well.
“So, who of you was the one sent here? Dacart, I believe?”, asked the
Johnson, leaning forward a bit.
Immediately the adept raised his hand. “Me!”
The Johnson searchingly eyed at him for a moment. “I see. And the rest of you
are?”
Before anyone of the others could speak, Pakhet replied: “My name is Pakhet.
These two are Barameus and Slap.” She looked the Johnson right in the eye,
even though she knew it did not quite have the same effect with cyber-eyes. But
the gesture was still clear.
A thin-lipped smile appeared on the woman's face. “Very well. I have a mission
for you. And you have two days to accomplish it.” She paused for a moment,
looking at Dacart, Barameus and Slap one after one. “You see, there is a
auction taking place here in Hamburg the day after tomorrow. Of course this is
an auction of delicate matter. It takes place every few month and there has been
a particular bidder, that must not attend the coming auction, if you understand
me.”
Pakhet pursed her lips. She was not quite sure, whether she liked the sound of
that. “You mean, we should kill him?”
Quickly the Johnson shook her head. “No. Of course not. I want you to just
make sure, that he is unable to get to that auction. Preferably he will go free
after it.”
Pakhet relaxed at bit. “Alright.” Knocking somebody out and locking him up
for two days was no preferred method of hers, but it was doable and certainly
better then wetwork. “Okay. What can you tell us about this 'particular
bidder'?”
“Here is a picture of him”, the woman answered and showed them a holopic of
a young man – probably in his 20s. “He arrives at the auction by taxi and
goes by the name of Maximilian Winter. But you don't even have to try looking
the name up. I have already confirmation that it is a fake identity. From what
my research suggests, he arrives at Hamburg always three days before the
auction, stays somewhere – I don't know where – and apparently takes a taxi
from the Bismarck memorial to the auction sometime on the day of the
auction.”
“So basically we only know the fake name, that he is probably in town and will
take a taxi sometime tomorrow”, Pakhet said, her voice doubting.
The woman nodded. “That covers it.”
“That should be doable, right?”, Dacart said. “We could wait for him at
the memorial.”
Pakhet did not reply to him but rather fixated on the Johnson. “How much?”
“You have not been told?”, the Johnson said, now looking over to Dacart.
“10 000.”
Once again Pakhet make sure to look her in the eye. “That's not enough.”
“That is the offer”, the Johnson replied. She looked back at Pakhet with a
stern look in her eyes.
Pakhet did not quite know about this certain auction, but she could figure as
much as that it was a black market auction. Michael attended those kind of
auctions regularly and she had accompanied him several times, knowing the prices
at which wares were traded in. There was more money to make here. “15 000.”
“10 000”, the Johnson replied.
“Then there is no deal”, Pakhet said without even batting an eyelid.
She could feel Dacart leaning over to her. “What are you doing?”, he
whispered.
Once again she ignored him. As the Johnson did not immediately reply, she spoke
again. “As I see this, we might have to go for a shoot-out at a public
location – a bit risky, right? Also we have little information and you need
results as fast as possible.”
It was almost visible how the Johnson, though keeping a stern face, suppressed a
sigh. “Alright. 12 000.”
“14 000”, Pakhet offered.
It was now the Johnson who made sure to look her in the eye, staring at her for
almost five seconds straight. Then the woman relaxed. “Alright. 13 000. That
is all I can offer. And I'll give you an advance of 3000.” She took out a
cred-stick.
For a moment Pakhet hesitated. But for some reason this really seemed all she
could get out of this. Well, probably there had been a given limit by whomever
pulled the strings here. “Alright. Deal”, she said.
The Johnson extended her hand and Pakhet shook it, though she could almost feel
the evil glare of Barameus in her back.

“Don't pull such a stunt again without talking it over with us first!”,
chrome-head scolded her, once they were back on the street.
Pakhet only looked up from the metalink the Johnson had given her for contact
for short moment. “So you don't want the extra money?”
“It could have cost us all the money”, Slap replied.
Without looking at him Pakhet shook her head. “No. It could not. She was out
of options. Apparently already behind her time table. She had too make a deal
with us.”
“You cannot know that!” He glared at her. “There are tons of runners out
in this city desperate for a job.”
“But she would have to make contact first”, Pakhet just replied.
Boldly Dacart stepped between them: “Stop arguing! I am happy it worked out
well and that there is more money. But should we not start with the task at
hand, so we can get the money?”
“We should”, Pakhet said, finally looking up from the commlink.
Once more Barameus glared at her. “Who made you the boss? Just for the record,
I could have made that deal just as well.”
For a moment Pakhet looked at him, but did not say anything. Instead she once
more took a look at the commlink on which the Johnson had saved all the
information, she supposedly had. But no matter how much she looked at it, there
was no certain clue. The only thing that seemed certain was that he would turn
up on the plaza in front of the memorial the next day.
“So, what are we going to do now?”, asked Dacart and looked at them.
“Meeting up with the doc and Kah Pak, I guess”, chrome-head replied.
Pakhet looked at him. “Where?”
For a moment nobody replied, but then it was Dacart that spoke again. “Can't
we just go and meet at the doc's hospital?”
“I am not sure, that's a good idea”, Pakhet replied. After all it seemed
that the hospital was a normal working hospital with a street clinic attached to
it. Then again it was Heidenstein's decision to make.
This thought apparently crossed Slap's mind, too. “Why don't we just ask Doc
Heidenstein?”
“Yeah, let's just ask him”, Barameus agreed. “I mean, it is not like we
have anywhere else to meet.”
With a sigh Pakhet took out her own comlink, when Dacart suddenly stopped her.
“Actually we do have somewhere else!”, he exclaimed. “My... One of my
buddies he owns a bar. I think we can meet there. It is not even far from here!
Wait a moment, yes?” He took out a metalink and quickly dialled a number. The
following short phonecall went something like that: “Hey Krishan! – Yeah,
yeah, I'm alright. Hey, I need your help. – Of course! No, just me and some
chummers. We need somewhere to talk. – Thanks, buddy. Yeah, see you later.”
And with that he hung up and grinned at them. “Yeah, we can meet at the
Druiden.”
“Very well”, Pakhet said. “Address?”
Dacart named an address that indeed was not too far away. From what Pakhet knew
it was only about nine blocks away.
Slap looked up the address on a map. “And how are we going to get there?”

When Pakhet arrived at the bar, she still could not believe it. A group of
runners and only two of them had a car? How did they think that was supposed to
work? Alright, she could see that Dacart lost his motorcycle – but the rest?
Yes, it was why they wanted a van for the group, but it was still ridiculous.
The bar Dacart had led her too, was located in a small alleyway next to one of
the wider streets. The area was in a rather better condition then what she would
have expected. Yes, there were a few graffiti on several buildings, but the
streets and the building themselves were in good shape.
The Druide seemed to be a small, but not to shabby bar. It had a few darkened
windows facing the alleyway. There was a dark shield hanging over the door with
the name of the bar written on it in white letters. Apparently the bar was still
closed – after all it was still early in the afternoon.
Dacart knocked at the door once they arrived and not soon after somebody opened
the door. The man letting them in was an ork, probably in his early twenties. He
smiled at them. “Good to see you, hon.” He patted Dacart's back. “So,
what's going on?”
“Just the run you sent me on, dear”, the adept answered with a smile.
“Need to talk something over with my chummers.”
Pakhet bit her lip to not argue, that she was not anybodies chummer.
Now the ork extended his hand to her. “Hey. My name is Krishan. And you
are?”
“Name is Pakhet”, she said and took his hand. He had a firm grip, just like
Herr Schmidt.
“Come in.” The ork stepped aside to let them in. “Dacart, the backroom.
You can go there.”
“Thanks, honey”, Dacart answered with a smile, before leading Pakhet into
the bar and to a room behind the counter.
The room there was fitted with a table and several chairs around it. It looked
like the cliché of that kind of rooms used to play poker. As none of the others
was there yet and she saw no point to keep standing up she pulled a chair and
sat down.
“Can I bring you anything?”, Dacart asked.
“Coffee”, Pakhet said. Somehow she had the feeling, that this would once
again be a long day.
As an answer stuck his thumb up. “Okay.”
Once again Pakhet took out the metalink and scrolled over the information. She
wondered whether Michael knew something about this guy, as he would probably be
at that auction, too. Maybe she would have been better of being his bodyguard on
that auction – but then again there was probably a very specific reason he had
not asked her. Still, she would have to ask him about Mr Winter.
Damn it, how where they to find him? She really did not want to pick a fight on
one of the tourist hotspots of the city. Especially not considering that HanSec
was still vigilant. But maybe they would not have a choice.
Barameus and Slap arrived only about three minutes after them. Both of them
seemed to be still pissed about being forced to take a cap. But Pakhet did not
address that issue again, as it was not really her problem after all.
Instead she sipped her soykaf and scrolled over the information again. The
auction would take place on the next day late in the evening. They had until
then.
Next after Barameus and Slap came Heidenstein – about fifteen minutes later.
He once again wore a coat with the Crashcart logo on it. She had seen him wear
it before and in a way it made sense as Crashcart personnel normally had some
reason to be at a shoot-out.
“Hey”, he greeted them. “Sorry, I am late.”
Dacart shrugged. By now he was slurping his second Pina Colada through a
drinking straw. “Don't worry. You are still earlier then Kah Pak. Want a
drink?”
For a moment the look on Heidenstein's face was doubting. “Coffee, I
guess.”
“Man, you are boring”, Dacart said but once more got up to get another
soykaf.
Heidenstein sat down placing his med-kit next to his chair. “I've taken the
van here, by the way.”
“Thankfully”, chrome-head sighed. “We had to take a cab here.”
Heidenstein just nodded and leaned back for a moment. “Sorry that I could not
be there before. I had to work.”
“It is okay”, Pakhet said with a sigh.
Not much later Dacart came back with a cup of soykaf and placed it in front of
Heidenstein, before sitting down again. He seemed to be rather content with his
Pina Colada and took out his comlink to play a game.
“So, what are we hired for exactly?”, Heidenstein asked.
When nobody hurried to answer, Pakher shrugged. “Short version: We shall
apprehend somebody and make sure that he won't appear on an auction that takes
place tomorrow.” She shoved the metalink over to him. “Long version, when
Kah Pak is here, too.”
Once again Heidenstein nodded and took up the metalink to scroll through the
information.
And so they waited for Kah Pak, who finally arrived about another fifteen
Minutes after Heidenstein.
“Finally”, Barameus grunted when the elf entered the room. “Where have you
been.”
“I was outside of Hamburg”, Kah Pak said. “I am sorry that you had to wait
for too long. I had to take a taxi and waited quite a while for it.”
Pakhet gave a sigh. Another one without his own vehicle. Great. “It's
alright”, she said. “We just should get to work because we don't have a lot
of time.”
“Sure”, the shaman agreed. “What are we here for.”
It seemed that Barameus was done with letting Pakhet speak and cut in even
before she could stark talking: “We were hired by a Mrs. Johnson. There will
be an auction taking place tomorrow. She will attend the auction and does want
us to keep a certain person from attending the auction. I guess she does not
want competition on a certain item.”
“You assume too much”, Pakhet muttered. “But we have to come up with a
plan. Of course we can wait for him at the Bismarck memorial.” She looked over
at Kah Pak. “That is from where he always takes a taxi to the auction.” Then
she continued: “We could set up a trap there.”
“But there are too many people”, Slap interjected.
“Exactly”, Pakhet agreed. “It would be still a possibility if we use
Barameus' invisibility spell – but we will only have one shot at it.”
“I don't like it.” Heidenstein shook his head.
Dacart loudly slurped his drink. “We need to find out, where this guy is right
now.”
With yet another sigh Pakhet looked over to him. “Exactly.”
For a moment there was silence, before Slap made a suggestion: “Well, on the
plaza in front of the memorial are quite a few cameras. Maybe I can hack into
them and find out more.”

Heidenstein was eyeing out the window, while Pakhet once again drove up the
street in Harburg, where Michael had his shop.
The others had gone to the Bismarck memorial to see whether they could find out
something through the Matrix. But going there with six persons would have drawn
too much attention and Pakhet still wanted to talk to Michael, to see whether he
knew something about Mr. Winter. If that guy was really on almost every auction
as the Johnson had said, Michael had probably met him. And as Michael tended to
know everything about every person he ever met – well, at least he claimed too
– it was a good start.
Heidenstein, too, said, that he might knew somebody, who might be able some
information and Pakhet certainly preferred his company over any of the others.
Then again she wondered, whether there would be an explosion at the memorial
before the end of the day.
Once again she found the shop opened and could see Michael negotiating with
somebody inside.
Before getting out of the car, she paused though. “A friendly word of advice,
doc. Be careful what you say around Michael. He is good at finding stuff out
about you. More then you would guess.” She looked at Heidenstein.
This time it was him who raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Warning noted.”
She had not told him, that Michael was her fixer. After all the “Trust no
one” rule was still quite high on her list of personal rules. The more people
knew about you, the either it would be to hunt you down.
“Good.” She got out of the car, before waiting for Heidenstein. When the car
was locked they went up for the shop. The man Michael was arguing with spoke
what sounded like Russian. He was muscular and wore a clearly armoured jacket.
Either a runner or a member of one of the Russian gangs. As Pakhet was unable to
understand them, she could not say exactly what they spoke about, but
considering there were two weapons on the counter, she was rather sure that the
point of their discussion had to do with prices.
Michael did not even look at Pakhet and Heidenstein once and gave no other
indication, that he had noticed them. He looked actually more stern, than he
usually did, but still was able to keep that annoying smile of his on his face.
The discussion lasted for almost three more minutes, before a cred stick and
both weapons changed hands.
The guy – whoever he was – seemed to be not quite content with the deal he
had made, but left the  shop without further ado.
It was not before Michael had brought the cred stick into his safe and returned
that he actually looked at them. “Hey, Pakhet. What was that about
calling?”
“I just happened to be in the area and thought I dropped by”, she said
sardonically.
A smirk appeared on Michael's face. “Well, how very nice of you. Then what is
it, I can do for you and...” Questioningly he looked at Heidenstein.
“Doctor Heidenstein”, the doc replied. “I happened to accompany her.”
“Well, this is nice.” Michael did not even try to hide his sarcasm.
“Again: Why are you here.” He looked at Pakhet again.
Pakhet shrugged and got out the metalink. “Long story short: You know about
the auction that takes place tomorrow?”
For a moment Michael paused to eye at her suspiciously. “In fact I know. Why?
You are not wanting to bid on anything.”
“No”, Pakhet said. “I am only looking for information. Where does this
auction take place?”
“Why do you need to know this?” Of course Michael was not going to give out
information as easy as this, but neither would she.
“I have my reasons.”
“And I have reasons to not tell you.” Michael smiled at her. He knew very
well, that she would not shoot him that easily.
Pakhet looked at him for a moment. Michael loved to act, as if he was fearless.
She knew him well enough to understand that he was not fearless, but just well
prepared. Once again she hated his smile and would have loved to wipe it from
his face, but she did not do anything. “Okay. 100 Nuyen for information on
that auction.”
At this Michael grinned, hardly suppressing a laugh. “Alright: Blackmarket
auction. Big guns. Takes place at the old airport. 3000 Nuyen for entry fee. Per
bidder. That's all you get for 100.”
Pakhet looked at the metalink and selected the picture of Winter. “Okay. Next
question: You know him?” She held the metalink before him. “200 for any
random information. 400, if you can tell us, where he is right now.”
“Well. Don't know where he is. And I kinda think, that I want to know what you
have to do with him. A run I don't know about, I guess. Well, I know he acts
under the name Maximilian 'Max' Winter. He goes to different auctions and only
bids on very particular items. He bids ridiculous amounts. I am pretty sure, he
is bidding for somebody help. Maybe a runner. Maybe a particular kind of wage
slave. He also pays a taxi driver to stay at the airport until the auction is
over. And I kinda feel, like this information is worth more.”
“I already knew most of that.” Turning of the metalink again Pakhet took out
a credstick to pay him. “Well, thank you anyway.”
“You need to tell me about this run and where it came from.”
“Maybe.” She turned around and nodded to the doc. “Well, I will be
going.”
Michael checked the stick, but then seemed to remember something. “Hey,
Heidenstein, can I have your contacts? I fathom that you are a combat medic.”
Pakhet focussed on Heidenstein, silently mouthing: “Don't. Don't do it.” She
herself had gotten in to much trouble, since she had agreed to help out Michael.
Hell, thanks to Michael she had almost died on her first run and still had a
scar from it.
“Medic, yes”, Heidenstein replied and looked over to Michael. Pakhet could
not tell whether he did not see her or chose to ignore her. “I have a street
clinic, too.”
Michael smiled. “Wonderful. It is really hard to come by street docs, you
see.”
“Of course.” Heidenstein gave him his contacts, as well as the address of
the street clinic.
Pakhet left the shop teeth-gnashingly and waited for Heidenstein at the car.
When the motor was finally running, she looked over too him. His expression was
indifferent, though there was a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, which
seemed to be as much his “standard expression” as hers a stern and angry
look. Still, there was something about this indifference, that made her mad
right now – or maybe it was just, that he had ignored her.
“Not that it is any of my concern”, she muttered, “but that was a
mistake.”
With apparent surprise he looked at her. “Why?”
“Because you cannot trust Michael. He is sly. Very sly. Even by shadow
standards.”
Heidenstein shrugged. “As a street doc I make a living by people knowing where
to find me.”
“Then you'll just have to hope, that you won't end up on his wrong side.”

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