Personal log of Kowalski, Roger
I went roving tonight, see what’s up, find some nice places, drink some beer, meet interesting people, knock them out, mess the places, spill the beer into the gutter. Fun. First stop was to take something for dinner, the Bumble Bee burger on the other side of the 148 Ave NE, which is more or less the main artery of the district. My office is one of the side alleys behind the old Redmond Fire Department, that is just now something less. It’s a kind of sleazy bar with girls dancing on the pools, where I met this guy who said he’s a dream-dealer. You can scratch the dreams, wanted me to test his new prod for free. Something hot from California, because he’d seen my jack. “Shit Flick”, said the barkeeper they call him here. It’s just cheap ripoff and badly cracked stuff good enough for a disturbing little trip as a low emo resolution porn SIM on overheat or a nasty ending snuff-clip with yourself ending up with seizures and a bad headache on the morning after. Been there. Seen that.
Barkeeper is okay. Lost a leg but instead of an implant he just had a chromed peg. Eastern European dialect, veteran of the Euro Wars, he said. Said his name was Pjotr, but you can call me Pete the Peg. I didn’t have too much to spare, so I gave the girls a tip and went on rumbling and left “The Old Firehose”. Asked where I could find this Virgil, but he said the Crimsons meet their kind mostly down into the Barrens at the Aces. I just wanted to chat with him, before things get out of control here. But I think this can wait.
Some cheap sex entertainments along the main route, the Nintendo Quarters, but I didn’t care. I talked to people, they say it’s Bunkaru, Yak fired parlor for programmable girls. If they’re lucky they got this Vergissmeinnicht chip, Data Filter. If they are not, they are burned out tops six months. And you just have to pray they did the job correct and the shitty thing doesn’t bleed out to dreams.
Pawn shops, a bookie’s opposite that sports bar, NuYou bodymod parlor and fitness center. Several cheap Streetware clothes like StreetWarez, Armyshop means local WeaponsWorld, where I got me a Sap, a new Defiance EX Shocker and a Extendable Baton. You think I’m paranoid? Maybe, but I was a cop. I’m not used living in a squat like that. I invested in a Stanley Screamer, that old Orc, said he’s a Desert Wars Veteran himself, my ass, claimed it better than any other security device. It’s working behind doors, screams when it shakes, can be programmed to register sudden change in air pressure which means opening of doors or windows and even, he said, can prevent that your luggage is nicked.
Talking about Nick Nimble. I lost my fathers watch, by the way. Don’t know if it was golden or brass, I never would have sold it anyway. After that discovery I decided it would be best to safe my goods before I lose more of it to the nimble fingers of Touristville.
“Do you like Elves”, tinkerbell joybunny wasn’t at her corner when I came back. Supposed fucking a client or just avoiding the shitty weather. Heavy rain and acid squalls pressing in from the seaside. Found her, sitting with her arms around her knees sobbing at my door. Blood had been dripping down her nose and on her shirt. I put her on the sofa, put a blanket over her, changed the codenumbers on my door, one coffee machine enough. I got this selfheating cup of coffeeshit from Bumble Bee, put one on the armrest of the sofa for her, locked and loaded the Screamer, put out the light, and was ready to fell asleep as my ass hit the nice leatherette imitation armchair that came with the desk, feet on top of it.
Listening her sobbing slowly getting silent, then fell asleep myself. Hard day for everyone.