The pistol was a Savalette Guardian—a chromed-steel monster of a gun that you don’t see much on the streets. It fires high-powered slugs in bursts of three—the elf had probably needed the cyberhands to handle the recoil. It was too heavy a weapon for me, and was certainly too big for my shoulder holster, but I kept it anyway. Beggars can’t be choosers. Especially in Aztlan. I shoved it into the inner pocket of my jacket.