From: ratner@owlnet.rice.edu (Logan Joshua Ratner)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Subject: "Ira's Back" part 1
Date: 6 Oct 92 19:31:53 GMT
Organization: Rice University


	The bar door makes no noice, but all the patrons hear it.
Without looking up they all check out the newcomer.  Such are the 
reflexes of the street-smart.

	The yellow-mercury street light spilling through the door
frames a man. A casual glanze would reveal a man slightly too old
for the `combat neighborhoods;' curly gray hair topped by a hat that
was already going out of style when Phillip Marlow wore one, an old
army trench coat, and a slight limp offset by a walking cane.  But no
one in the bar uses casual glanzes.

	Their trained assesments note eyes hard but somehow weary,
good muscle tone under the coat, a fluid motion that defies the limp,
and a slightly too heavy click as the metal-tipped cane taps the floor.
Oldtimers in the 'zone at night are either passed masters or old fools,
and this one does not look the fool.  Yet he goes unrecognized.

	His hat flies over to a coat rack that hasn't seen user in years,
and his shoes start moving towards an empty bar stool.  The regulars
tense sligtly, knowing what may come next.

	The unwritten rules of the Chat state that no customers are
off'ed in the bar. The owner takes care of his customers in that respect.
Newcommers arn't customers, however.  They are either employers or initiates,
and this guy doesn't look like he's hiring.

	Any regular has the right to challenge an initiate.  The confrontations
are usually fast and often painful.  Death is unusual but permissible.
This is a croud that only accepts people who can take care of themselves.

	Respect gives first shot to the biggest rep, but usually a challenge,
if any, comes from a youngster with something to prove.  This time it comes from
a Joe-girl named Nance.

	Nance is one of the basic leather and lace types, good at acting tough,
who's been hanging around one of the groups more experienced street Ronin.
Her survival skills are fair, but not worth her mentor's time.  Speculation
in the bar is that her other skills must be superb.

	Nance steps in front of the stranger and starts the ritual. "Hey, old man,"
she starts, "This bar is for the young and the quick.  Why don't you go back to 
your retirement home?"  Challenge, austicize, insult. The classic formula.

	Without a word or gesture he sidesteps Nance and continues towards the bar.
Nance is used to playing rough, but she is not used to being ignored.  This guy is
cool and Nance is quickly loosing it.

	With a sort of hissing cry, she makes a lunge at the strangers backside.
Quick as lightning, he ducks and rolls out of harms way. Fast and efficient, he still
loses style points from those who don't believe in ducking a fight.  Before anyone
realizes it, however, he has done more than duck.  The handle of his cane is suddenly
in the same point in space as the back of Nance's left knee. The knee buckles and Nance
starts to fall.  Before she even hits the ground he is standing over her with the tip
of his cane aimed at her neck.  When she does hit the floor, the back of her head
makes a rather sick sounding landing and a bit of blood flows onto the barroom floor.

	Making sure she's not interested in playing any more, he goes the rest of
the way to the bar where Ratz greets him. "Hello, Ira, it been a long time.  You
still get stoned with the old fashioned stuff?"

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The style is still rather rough.  But I'm working on it.  Both Ira and Nance are
mine, but I'd probably happily give away Nance.  Implicitly, this should be
Copyright Logan Ratner, 1992, but I don't know if its all that important to me.
All critique welcome, but I've got plans for Ira so maybe a couple more installments
first.  Neh?