Liquid had come through after all. Not quite to the extent Jack had liked; zoomed in drone footage of the target and some “friends” offing a corner drug dealer was hardly conclusive when it came to pinning down his present location, but it at least confirmed his involvement with the new gang. Redcap didn’t exactly let Jack forget it in any case; but at least he never had any money riding on things.
Running the plates on the car Kozlowski had been in brought up the name of one Martina Ramirez. Scoping out the individual from street level revealed her to be nothing more than a harmless old lady living in the slums of Frasier. Still, it was the only lead they had so far, and the mind tends to fixate on them “for want of better fare”, as Jack’s old boss had put it, once. Digging through her commlink and her memories (yet another wizzo trick that just somehow seemed creepier than a standard hacking job) turned up that she was at least tangentially related to the case, being the mother of Kozlowski’s new employer, Hector. She also had five other cars registered to her name she wasn’t seemingly using, leading Link to dub Hector’s group the “Six Rides”. Hey, if you’re not going to name your own gang, someone’s eventually going to do it for you. Jack thought about how their own group lacked a name as well, a deficiency they’d have to address before some smartass did.
Redcap’s Knight-Errant connections were not very helpful, so it came down to doing some good ol’ fashioned surveillance. Finding some likely BTL dens, Jack staked out one, while Redcap and Link took another. Boring work, but better than pissing off some highly militant drug-slingers. Just as Jack was beginning to get a feel for the routine rhythm of the place, there was a break in it: some sporty number jet in to pick something up, then left. It wasn’t one of the Six Rides of Martina, but it was a possible lead. Trying to tail it from a distance, Jack kept with it, perhaps fixating on it a little too much as he ran a red light to keep pace. Unfortunately, a friendly neighborhood Knight-Errant was watching, and Jack ended up fifty nuyen and some professional pride short. He got the plate number at least, and had some time to make something less embarrassing up before he checked in with the others.
I wasn’t happy to be right, though I suppose it’s better than being wrong. Moving past the fact that our boy was snuggled up with the newest, meanest ganglord on the East Side – and I was trying to – we still didn’t have much to go on. The few bits I managed to wrangle from the old lady’s head at least pointed us in a workable direction. Surveillance has never been my strong suit – all that sitting still without a pint or two to make it bearable – but sometimes its necessary.
We didn’t have time to check in with Zephyr before we had a hit on a smart little ride hitting all the right spots. Link did a nice enough job tailing her back to University, and a better one getting us inside the car park. The firecracker who stepped out of the vehicle was a sign I was probably going to have to handle this part.
The fact that she was awakened set it in stone.