Sly liked The Armadillo, but not just for the conversation. It was a comfortable atmosphere. There wasn’t the barely concealed undercurrent of violence she felt in most other bars, particularly those where gangers and samurai hung. Sure, sometimes people got too drunk at The Armadillo, started throwing their weight around. But the patrons were people who used their brains as weapons, not big fragging guns and cyber-enhanced muscles. If there was a fight—a rare occurrence—nobody got killed, or even badly hurt.