Marcus hated Lost Angeles.
The place was always hot- Marcus felt sweat slide down his back, and he wasn’t used to walking around without a jacket or overcoat, and he felt naked, even with the small amount of clothing he was wearing covering him in salt and grit.
The crowds walked past- ignoring him. In Seattle, his hometown, Marcus demanded respect. But the streets were a little quieter, the people giving each other more space. The cold and fog insulated everyone from each other, gave him breathing room. He was close enough to everyone in this crowd to smell their stink and sweat, and he was sure they could smell him.
Marcus checked the holster under his left arm for the third time since leaving the hotel. The thing was digging into his ribs, chafing against his sweat-covered ribs. He wanted to make sure it was still there. He was on the job, and it was important to him to remain professional. That meant dressing quiet, and staying away from parties, at least for him.
Lost Angeles was loud and rude- people dressed in bright colors, and all but shouting “Look at me! Look at me!” The haircuts and clothes were bright, pink wigs as common as mohawks or spikes pointed in every direction.
A woman walked by in a see-through top, and Marcus swallowed his latest curse about this hot stinky town. His eyes hurt, even behind the solar shades he had bought, and he couldn’t believe women would walk around like that- but this was one of a handful he had seen walking around in bright daylight like that!
Marcus readjusted his respirator. He thought pollution in Seattle was bad, but it was nothing compared to this. The air was brown- the sunlight permanently distorted by the smog that citizens of this ‘fair city’ took for granted. He had even heard some idiotic fraggers bragging that it gave this ass of the world better sunsets.
Marcus shifted his collar again. Being professional meant conduct and dress, but it was hard to maintain either in this hell-hole. His tie had lasted the first week here, before he had needed to get rid of it to stay alive. His sweat soaked through three or four shirts a day, depending on how late it stayed hot at night. Last night, it had been hot until almost eleven o’clock at night! What the frag was with that? It looked like today would be a four-shirt day, and Marcus felt his patience wearing thin. The sweat and grit was sliding down his face into his eyes, down his chest and back, soaked by his shirts, and ruining his laundry. His face and his neck were sore – burned by the sun; baked, most likely.
Marcus shifted the holster under his left arm again, and checked the exit he was watching. He hated his city; this cesspool; this hemorrhoid. It was hot and he hated it, but that was no reason to neglect the job. Grinding his teeth to keep from shouting at people to get away from him, he moved through the crowd, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Honestly, he was the thing out of the ordinary, but he kept his eyes open anyway. The woman with the transparent top walked past again… which meant she was probably his target. Not that he had any idea who she really was, or who he was really working for. CalFree was a different sort of beast from Seattle when it came to crime. In Seattle, gangs wore colors and tattoos to identify who they belonged to. In CalFree, as often as not, they were identical in every way but beliefs. There were the big turf gangs- divided between Chicanos, Anglos, and Negros, fighting and holding their own with the yakuza, triads, and mobsters. Those were a completely different beast from the street gangs, who had no discernable organization, and as often included someone from every race, including orks and trolls. Elves were the rarest thing in Cal Free- either they lived in the northern protectorate, in the land seized by Tir Tairngire, or else they had moved on long ago.
Marcus moved through the crowd, keeping an eye on the woman at the same time he watched the rest of the street. It was easy- his cybereye set up a display that constantly showed what he could see of the woman, as long as some part of his eyes were able to perceive her. The SmartTracker was well worth the money he spent, especially as it allowed him to follow without staring at the target.
Sliding through the sweaty crowd, Marcus wished that the sun would go down already. That was still hours away, and he had a job to do until then. The woman circled the building one more time, moving to an exit that someone had left open for her. Marcus held back as she checked behind her, taking cover behind a flamboyant gay latino couple arguing in the street. They were shouting and throwing things at each other, and Marcus pushed through them quickly once his target was inside.
Marcus ignored the shouting behind him- much of it directed at him, moving to the same exit his target had entered. The woman had pulled the door closed behind him, so Marcus went up
