A little non-plussed by the situation, Sands let out a little sigh and shook his head lightly. What was the world coming to? Maybe he should go "walk the earth" like Kane in that flatvid movie... Pulp Fiction or something.

Still, whatever it was coming to... Sands didn't really care. So he put his feet up on another chair, in a leisurely manner, and tilts himself back just a spot, closing his eyes.

"You may feel free to take that assumption, Mr Jack, but I assure you my companions and I are more than capable of performing any task you care to set us. Requiring the respect of our contacts and requiring accurate intelligence is not, as you seem to think, the mark of inferior specimens, but rather a little surety on our part."

Sands remained in his reclined position as he spoke.

"Firstly, Mr Wilson - who will come to see things my way sooner or later - implied a good deal of effort on his part to come up with information on you. He then - by your own voice - was purported to be in a position to "vouch" for you. That means, Mr Jack, that either he was exaggerating the effort required to validate the monetary requirement he placed on me, or that he spoke the truth."

Sands removed his feet and sat up, leaning forward and looking hard at Willy Jack.

"If I were to assume that he spoke the truth yesterday, then it would be reasonable to assume that he didn't know you. Then, his presence here would have indicated coercion on your part to put him in that situation. If you had done so, we would not be speaking thus: I chose to assess the truth - whichever way it ended up - by provoking the fixer through a little banter. Now that his exaggeration is in the light, it means that he did know you, which means you are Willy Jack which, in turn, means we can do business."

Once more, Sands leant back, although not to so relaxed an angle - more signifying openness and willingness to talk.

"So, Mr Jack, assuming you can provide us with sufficient information to prove the dedication of your need, and provide us with something in the way of downpayment, I think we can do business. And I assure you that you'll not find a better team in this hemisphere."

Sloan laces his fingers behind his head and passively watches the exchange.

Willy Jack paused on his way out the private rooms door to listen to what Sands had to say. He slipped the cable from his datajack into his pocket secretary and placed a call, starting the background check he decided he needed to do since they apparently didn't trust the guy who fixed up this little meet. Willy listened to Sands try to explain how he had jumped to the wrong conclusion as the call went through.

Pimlico, I thought you got me pros for this heist?

Silence flowed back through the connection.

I'm about to walk out of here. Sands is going on about how you cheated him, which I could care less. Do these guys not get that this is a job interview? No wonder they can't find legitimate jobs. I was hoping he was going to apologize and ask me to stay, but he just keeps droning on about you.

Don't despair, the drekhead will derive his due.

Willy Jack said bye and broke the connection just as Sands was saying, So, Mr Jack, assuming you can provide us with sufficient information to prove the dedication of your need..."

Willy sighed and left the room. The ugly ork stayed behind blocking the doorway and the elf led the way through the bar and out.

Sands remained seated as the "Johnson" left, staring impassively at the wall. He didn't really care what the Johnson thought of him - not caring was an easy way to make it thorough life, really - but he was mildly perturbed that the team would now lose out on a fair haul of cash.

"Already gone... and he never even met Seymour. We obviously weren't badass enough without the little guy here to show him exactly how professional we were. I'm sorry if I blew the rent for you guys..."

Lucas quirked an eyebrow. "What an ill-mannered lout," he observed mildly. "Willy, not you Sands - however rare an occurrence that might be," he added with a faint smile. "So let's recap." He ticked off points on his fingets. "One, the fixer takes money for old rope off of one of his runners. Hardly professional; he may not have asked for the money, but frankly I would expect him to do his clients the courtesy of not accepting cash for nothing. Two, the Johnson expects a team of runners to agree to undertake a run without any information on said run. Even less professional." Lucas shook his head in mild disgust. "I wonder precisely who he has been working with, that he expects such a thing? You can't negotiate a price without some idea of what you're tackling. 100k would be overpayment for Budget Electronics Inc; it would be grimly insufficient for an Ares warehouse with Knight Errant security on-site... Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, three, said Johnson departs the meet without comment and in the middle of conversation, as though he were the one insulted instead of having spent the last few minutes calling our professionalism into question because we won't accept his word blindly. Deeply unprofessional. I'm afraid he's reinforcing the stereotype that deckers have no social skills. I can only assume he fried part of his cortex along with his deck on that last run." Lucas sighed. "Sands, when next you have occasion to speak to this Pimlico friend of yours, please convey my displeasure at his choice of Johnsons. In fact, perhaps you should call your man now and get some explanation of this farce."

Sands stared blankly at Lucas for a second.

Wait a minute... did somebody just say I WASN'T rude? That's a first...

"I could... but the way he left I don't think he likes me at the moment... I think I'll write him an email... hmm..."

Sands fished his P-Sec out and started typing...

Pimlico:

Glad you weren't coerced into being here (and I've got your yen here when you want it back). Just thought I'd let you know the guy has left the building... I haven't spoken to the others yet, but at least one of them has expressed distaste at him - said he lacked "professionalism" if you can believe it.

We wondered if you could let us know what was up with this guy: he didn't seem... right somehow. A has-been decker offering 100K for a run... and who can afford two bodyguards? Why not buy what he needs? Seems he might not have been telling the truth to any of us - or at least that's the way we're leaning at the moment.

Write me back and let me know...

Sorry if you took my comment to heart, man,

Simply Sychophantic,

Sands

Thyrian blinked, and then blinked again. It seemed like a good response. He paused a moment in deep contemplationg, then blinked again. Maybe he had missed something someone had said.

Pimlico tells Sands to wait there for at least a half hour and he will see what he can do.

Pimlico calls Willy and tells him to meet him back at Matchsticks.

On the way through Matchsticks, Pimlico asks Seymour if he is going to join them this time.

Pimlico's bodyguards wait outside the room while Willy Jack, the elf and the ork enter along with Pimlico.

Pimlico retrieves his money and the diminutive gnome somehow appears to dominate the room. Standing on his chair, he passes an icy gaze over everyone in the room. "What the frag is going on here?" Before anyone has a chance to say he continues, his anger evident from the lack of alliteration.

"I'm putting together a job. It pays 80K." He levels a gaze at Carter, "Take it or take a hike. The job used to pay 100K and you can see where opening your fraggin' mouth has got you so far. You may think you are hot drek, but I know 10 guys just like you that can pull this job off."

"Willy Jack has the inside info for the job, if you don't feel like trusting him, take a fraggin' walk. Any fraggin' questions before we discuss the run? Any comments about who's a wanker? Any threats about gettin' even as the door hits yer hoop on the way out? Well? Say it now or get the frag over it. If I hear any more fraggin' bickering, your paranoid delusions will become reality."

"And you guys that just sat there and minded your own busuness might think about what the guys doing the talking are doing for your employment opportunities."

Sloan looks from Sands to Pimlico and back again.

No snappy lines this time, eh?

"Okay Pims," the runner nods slowly as he leans forward in his chair. "We got off on the wrong foot. We get that. We're still here. If you say it's a ledit deal we're listening."

Lucas stood, stubbing his cigarette.

"Go to hell, Wilson," he said softly. "You shovel that drek as much as you like, I'm not buying. Who the hell do you think you are? The only fixer in town? No. The price is 120k, and I'm not agreeing to anything without some background. You don't like it, tough. I will walk and I will see that your abuse of your runners gets around. Think fast, because I ceased caring the moment you tried to abuse us into accepting your unacceptable terms,"

"I feel like I'm already in hell, Carter. I'm not selling anything to you, the price for the job was minus you. If these other guys want to pay you out of their share, that's between you and them.

You think this is abuse? This is me having to spend my time arranging for a job. Time that I'm charging 20K for. Oh, and the job now pays 75K. I can already hear you crying to people, "Pimlico Wilson verbally abuses his runners. He almost makes them cry.

Don't start making threats, I'm sure everyone knows you have a chip on your shoulder. If you don't like the way things are being handled don't let the door hit your hoop on the way out."

Wilson pauses a moment for Carter to take a seat or take a hike.

"It's a theft run. When everyone agrees they are interested in the run for the ballpark amount, we can discuss details. If we need to renegotiate because of something that comes up that I have not considered, then we can negotiate. As you saw, when people keep running their mouth I have to assume I misjudged their qualifications and will re-assess my offer.

I've got one "in" so far."

"Your call, your loss." Carter's voice was heavy with contempt. "Pathetic, Wilson. You screwed up, and you're so terrified of admitting that fact that you abuse everyone around you to make yourself look bigger. If you can't see how your rep will suffer for it, that's your problem, and one you won't have for long. And you think I've got a chip on my shoulder? Good God." He glanced at the others. "Good luck, gentlemen, you're going to need it. And Sands? Next time this prat calls you - don't call me."

Lucas left without another word.

Pimlico Wilson shakes his head.

Sands stood, smoothing down the lines of his coat.

"Erm, yeah. Sorry about him... and sorry again to you guys too - I blew you some cash and regret that...

"Aw, who am I kidding - you all know my life-theory... I'm not sorry at all. Wilson, I'll be leaving with the limey now, and I don't suppose you'll be calling again. I'm sorry you couldn't accept a little probing earlier and don't suppose you believe that it was, ultimately in your best interest. Unlike Lucas however, there's no hard feelings my end - I simply don't care enough to bother with things like that.

"Ciao for now... see you... or maybe not."

2 days later Sloan and Thyrian deliver the goods to Willy. Evidently the run went off without a hitch.

"That has to be the easiest 37.5K I ever made," Sloan says.

Thyrian nods in agreement.

"So you don't want the 25K bonus," Willy asks? "It's for hanging in there and having such a great plan and execution. They might think the missing goods was due to an inventory error."

"Since you offered," Thyrian says and accepts a certified credstick and passes the other to Sloan.

"Good luck and I'll keep you in mind if I hear of any other jobs," Willy says.

Seymour entered the bar, it was a late Friday night and he was tired from a full day's work. Someone was sitting at his table in the darkest corner of the bar, he'd have to do something about that. There was a secret to looking bad-ass, it wasn't about mouthing off, it was about exuding confidence. It wasn't about getting in someone's face, it was about never looking them in the eye, letting them know they mean nothing. It wasn't about flexing muscles, it was about demonstrating your mental superiority.

With those thoughts in mind, Seymour picked up the paper from the counter as he headed towards the table, a mug of beer and an order of nachos with cheese and salsa in hand. He sat down at his table, pretending to not notice that someone else had already occupied it. Laying down his nachos, he spread his paper out, taking up the entirety of his half of the table with it. Ah, crosswords, that was a sure-getter for showing ones superiority. Seymour immediately set into action his brain, solving line after line of the crossword. He took a swig of his beer, then grabbed a big nacho from the top of his bowl, loudly crunching on it in a most intimidating way.

Something went wrong though, the guy across the table also hadn't paid Seymour any attention, until he crunched on the Nacho. The strange man reacted by grabbing one of Seymour's Nachos and crunching just as loudly. The nerve! Those were clearly not free nachos, you just don't go and eat another man's nachos. He'd have to be set aright, so immediately Seymour grabbed another monster-nacho and bit as hard as he could into it, crunching away as loudly as he could muster. The nachos were taken, the crunching said.

The strange man wasn't one for taking a hint though, and reached over to Seymour's nachos, and took another, crunching loudly and slurping the nacho sauce into his mouth in a grotesque manner. Two can play at that game though, thought Seymour as he reached for yet another nacho, this one covered with cheese and a jalepeno. He licked the cheese off obscenely, biting into the Jalepeno like only a man could. It hurt, tears formed, but Seymour focused on the paper, and crunched loudly, he was the better man.... The strange man had balls, Seymour would give him that, for he took another nacho, this one with 2 jalepenos, and he ate them right in front of Seymour. I bet he's crying thought Seymour, who refused to look up and meet the eyes of this vile intruder.

The game continues, the man never relented no matter the effort. Eventually the bowl was empty, with the strange vile man having eaten half the nachos for himself. The nerve... then the man stood up, never a word said and headed up to the bar, where he sat down and drank some of his beer. Seymour had won the day in the end, the table was his now, and he could spread the paper out over the whole table. Moving the paper, Seymour discovered the most embaressing moment of his life. Ok, not the MOST, there were alot worse, but as he moved his paper, he noticed that there was a bowl of nachos under it.... right where he had placed it. This one without Jalapenos, and realization occured, Seymour hadn't ordered Jalepenos on his nachos....

Seymour looked up at the strange man in the metal studded leather jacket with the word SAND written on the back, then shrugged, not like he'd ever have to talk to the man again.