The Crusher turned out to be a bar, something like Ebey's, though it was considerably bigger. The furniture was heavy and made of metal, with an industrial look to it, designed to support the massive frames of the orks and trolls who made up the greatest percentage of the clientele. The bar ran along one side, with a riveted metal top and wide, heavy stools lined up in front of it. A permanent haze of blue-gray smoke hung near the ceiling, creating haloes around the dim fluorescent lights.

G-Dogg scanned the dozen or so patrons scattered around the bar, zeroing in on one sitting alone in the back. He headed that direction with Kellan in tow. It seemed to her that most of the patrons eyed her fiercely before returning to their drinks and their conversations. She was immediately convinced that, if she had entered the bar alone, her reception would have been actively unfriendly.

So it surprised her that the man sitting in the back of the bar, slowly sipping from a tumbler filled with some dark liquor, was human. At least Kellan thought he was-it was a little difficult to tell. He was thin and wiry, with broad shoulders beneath a leather jacket bulky with armored plates. He wore a broad-brimmed hat that hid his face in shadows, but close up Kellan could see he was hollow-cheeked, with a sharp nose and chin. His face was dead white, tattooed to look like a skull, and when he picked up the glass tumbler to take a drink, Kellan saw that his hands were chromed metal and almost skeletal, moving with a faint whir of hydraulics; cyberhands without the usual covering of synthetic flesh to give them a normal appearance.

The man barely looked up as they approached, though there was no doubt that he noticed them. He offered no greeting.

"Buy you a drink, Deacon?" G-Dogg asked. That seemed to get the man's attention and he glanced up at the ork, his face expressionless, reflective eyes unreadable.

"Already got one," he said flatly in a slow drawl, returning his gaze to the other side of the bar.

G-Dogg pulled out a chair on the other side of the table with a scrape of metal on concrete. He turned it around and sat down, straddling it. Kellan took a chair at the next table, sitting sideways so the chair's back was between her and the man G-Dogg called Deacon.

"Then how about I offer you something else?" the ork asked and Deacon paused, taking another sip of his drink before responding.

"What do you have?" he said.

"Work. Lothan is putting some biz together."

"Lothan is a miserable sinner," Deacon shot back. "A devotee of the devilish arts. What kind of work does he have to offer me?"

G-Dogg grinned, showing his tusks. "Simple job: relieving a megacorp of some of their ill-gotten gains."

The Deacon's interest seemed piqued. G-Dogg leaned in a bit closer and said one quiet word.

"Ares."

The other man didn't react, his face remaining as impassive as stone. He took another sip of his drink and set the glass back down on the table before responding.

"When?" was all he asked.

"Tonight, at Lothan's, 2000 hours."

The Deacon nodded slowly.

"See you there," G-Dogg replied, standing and turning his chair back around. Kellan got up at the same time. They turned and walked away, leaving the Deacon in the shadows, nursing his drink.

Kellan waited until they were outside before she said a word.

"Who the frag was that?" she asked G-Dogg.

"Calls himself the Street Deacon," he replied. "Rumor has it that he worked for a megacorp once and they shafted him. You can guess which one. Anyway, it seriously messed him up. He's been working the shadows in Seattle for years now. Claims he's an agent of divine retribution or something like that. Takes on jobs that frag over the mega-corps, organized crime and anything else he considers 'sinful.' He's one of the best hired guns in the plex."

"He didn't even ask you how much the job pays."

"That's because he doesn't much care," the ork said. "He's not in it for the money, although he doesn't come cheap. Thinks he's on a mission from God. Besides, he knows me and he knows Lothan, and neither one of us would try and lowball him on price. He's not somebody I want mad at me."

"Yeah, but he said that Lothan was a miserable sinner," she persisted, and G-Dogg chuckled.

"To the Street Deacon, everyone is a miserable sinner, kid, including him. Doesn't mean he won't work with you. Still, you might want to keep the magic stuff on the down-low when you're around him. He seems to think that anyone who slings mojo has sold their soul to the devil."

"Great."

"Don't sweat it. Like I said, doesn't mean he won't work with you. As long as he's getting paid, it's just biz. Until somebody else pays him to be on their side, of course."

Kellan paused, standing by the open car door. "Has that happened?"

G-Dogg shrugged before climbing into the car. "Sure, happens all the time. When it does, you just try to be on the winning side, or at least stay out of the way of people like the Deacon."

"And if you can't?" Kellan asked as she climbed in. G-Dogg looked her full in the face as he started the car and put it into gear.

"That's when you're on your own, kid," he replied.

When G-Dogg drove them back to Capitol Hill, Kellan thought they'd contacted everyone they were supposed to and were headed back to Lothan's. As it turned out, they had one more stop to make before they returned to the troll mage's house. G-Dogg found a parking space along a side street a short distance from Lothan's. He slotted his credstick into the meter, which automatically deducted the charge for parking and began counting down the time they could stay in that spot.

G-Dogg led Kellan past a few small storefronts and a coffee shop. The sidewalks were full of people going about their business and studiously ignoring each other. Some were talking on the phone, either with tiny cell phones pressed to their ears or simply talking to empty space, using subdermal implants that linked them directly into the cell network.

Kellan saw a small group of girls, probably only a couple years younger than her, checking out the trid ads for the latest Darkvine album and its associated fashion accessories in the window of a store, chattering among themselves. Kellan felt a surge of disdain for the obviously privileged daughters of well-off straight-citizen parents, but she also felt a touch of jealousy. They were the type of girls Kellan had been waiting on in restaurants and stores before she struck out on her own, kissing their perfectly sculpted butts for minimum wage. For a moment, Kellan wondered what it was like to come from a family with money, not having to wonder when and what you were going to eat next, where you were going to sleep, whether or not you'd be able to get a job to make enough cred to survive. She wondered how it would have been different if her mother had been around.

Her hand brushed against the cool jade of the amulet at her neck. Her mother. Who was she? What happened to her? When she was girl, Kellan used to imagine that her mother was somebody important, that she had left Kellan behind in order to protect her-not because she didn't care, like her aunt said. She used to hope that her mother would come back for her, though that hope diminished as the years passed with no word. Kellan's aunt swore that her mother was dead.

Now, out of the blue, she had this connection, however small, to her mother. Was she the one who sent the package? The note said, "This stuff belonged to your mother"-probably not something her mother would say, unless she didn't want Kellan to know she was alive. Kellan wanted the chance to find out, but she'd need resources and connections to do it.

Working with Lothan and G-Dogg was the first step toward the day when she made the big score and had credit to burn. For sure then, she could find out what happened to her mother. She would be the one calling the shots.