From: GAYNOR@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu (Jim Gaynor)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Subject: Deuces and One-Eyed Jacks [transition]
Date: 7 Oct 92 22:27:55 GMT
Organization: The Ohio State University - OCES
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.24

Saraquael looked at the contents, and brought the bag up to her
nose. She took a long breath through the bag and sighed as she
brought it down. "Perfect." And without another word, she walked
out of the Chatsubo.

Blackjack stood up and watched as Saraquael left the bar. A last
glimpse of her small figure, and then she was gone. He reached
down for the menu she had left behind, with the picture of Nekoko
he had drawn. Folding it neatly into quarters, he stuffed the
picture into the hip pocket of his black denim jeans.

It was all he had left of her.

From the edge of his sight he saw Ratz back behind the bar,
trying to catch Blackjack's eyes. The musician wandered over, a
slow ambling gait that still managed to avoid bumping into the
more irritable patrons of the now-crowded bar.

"Yeah, Ratz?" he asked.

"In the corner," Ratz replied, "she is there to speak with you.
Perhaps you want to speak with her as well."

Blackjack tried to look through the smoky atmosphere to see who
was sitting in the booth that Ratz had motioned towards, but the
haze made the shadowed corner impenetrable to Blackjack's
unaugmented vision.

"Who is it?"

"A person that you should speak with," the bartender said
bluntly. "And when you are finished, find the artiste."

Ratz motioned Blackjack away as the musician tried to ask another
question, then turned to take the order of a razorgirl down the
bar. Blackjack was left standing at the bar, trying to peer
through the shifting haze towards the shadowy booth in the
corner.

"Damn. First Saraquel, now this. 'And when you are finished, find
the artiste.'" Blackjack let out a short laugh. "Never thought I
was this fraggin' popular."

Blackjack started negotiating through the crowded room, moving
towards the booth. Only twice was the crowd a problem, on a
drunken samurai whose elbow spurs were obviously non-retractable,
and the other by an old woman who smelled of madness. The sam
Blackjack avoided handily, his reflexes saving his from what
might have otherwise been a nasty gash. But the old woman reached
out for him and grasped his wrist despite his attempt to dodge
out of her way.

"Do you walk the walk?" she asked him in an intense whisper, her
fetid breath noxious even through the barroom stench of smoke and
beer.

"What? Hey, leggo my arm, lady. Leave me alone - I don't need a
trick," Blackjack said, wrenching his arm from her grasp and
taking a few steps back.

"You walk," she replied, nodding her head, "you simply don't see
the path yet. It will find you soon enough."

Blackjack backed away from her and turned back into the crowd,
elbowing his way through a bunched-together group of sararimen
who looked at Blackjack with frightened eyes.

"Lonny must've been wasted when he brought that one in,"
Blackjack muttered as he neared the booth.

The person at the booth sat alone, and wore a hooded cloak of
muted grey. In the shadow, he couldn't even determine the
person's sex, let alone their intentions.

"I'm Blackjack," he said, standing at the edge of the booth. 
"There something I can help you with?"

* * *

Blackjack is copyright 1992 by Jim Gaynor.  Saraquel is the
property of Phyllis Rostykus (bet I misspelled it, eh Liralen?)


---
   Jim Gaynor    | "Man-of-Many-Beeping-Sounds-and-Flashing-Lights" - KAJ
OSU/ACS/FMS/OCES | <gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu> or <gaynor.4@osu.edu>
Disclaimer:  Everything stated here and above is -my- opinion.  Mine mine mine!
"We're here as the official representatives of the Y chromosome" - M Silverberg