Round and round the world we go...

[Guy Jefferson]

Fuck I hate home. Guy cursed as he tossed a spent cigarette butt out the window of the hire car. Melbourne streets were a gridlock again, even this far out of town. In fact, he was sufficiently pissed off that it was taking a great deal of willpower to not turn the car around, go back to Tullamarine, and catch the next flight back to New York.

Ya fuckin' stupid wog! he screamed at the driver of a lime green HSV Commodore, massive wankpack spoilers and subwoofer thumping away.

Guy dismissed the moron, focusing on the heavy traffic instead as the Commodore disappeared, weaving through the slow moving cars.
Hrmph. Fuckwit.

The traffic cleared and he accelerated, heading for the outer suburbs where he was supposed to pick up something for a friend of his back stateside. Trouble was, his friend had been less than forthcoming in details as to what he was picking up, and why.

Not that it mattered, Guy thought, he was a fixer by trade. Getting called to do weird shit like fly across the world to pick up a package wasn't exactly outside his job description. A little different, perhaps, but not too much so.

Pulling off the freeway he counted streets looking for the shopfront he'd been told to look for. A panelshop in a light industrial section, Ziggy's Smash Repairs, unit 4 number 26 Banksia rd.

Twenty-two, twenty four - there, twentysix.

Pulling off the road in the small hire car he drove down the front carpark of the small complex, six units total, to the front of the smash repair joint.

Parking out the front he walked in the door, an annoying beeper alerting the occupants of his entry. A squat, balding man in paint and grease stained overalls appeared from the workshop wiping his hands on a rag as he came up to the counter.

G'day. he drawled laconically.

G'day, here t'pick up a package mate. Guy drawled back.

The panelbeater looked Guy up and down before shaking his head and reaching below the counter, taking out a piece of paper and handing it to Guy.

Guy was incredulous.What the fuck?

Obviously this was the package....or was it?

Written in italian were the words "Game changed. See the Toad at the Kangaroo's." Guy frowned, ever since Kattra had disappeared, swallowed up in the Cinelli famiglia once more, he'd not been overly keen on dealing with Italian families. Looks like perhaps he'd have no choice again...

Fuckit! he swore, crumpling the paper and throwing it at a bin before stomping back to the hirecar, exiting the carpark in a squeal of protesting rubber.

His mind raced as he headed to North Melbourne, home of the Kangaroos football club. Speeding through traffic he was thinking of what he'd been dragged into this time, when out of an intersection roared a lime green HSV Commodore, smoke pouring off of it's tyres as it tried to get through the traffic, directly in front of Guy.

Slamming on the brakes and throwing the car down two gears he locked up the wheels, just clipping the back of the Commodore hard enough to spin it around, the highpowered V8 car ending up facing into traffic on the centre island. Steam billowed out of the front of the small hire car as Guy leapt out of the car screaming invective at the driver of the Commodore, traffic banking up behind the two cars.

You fuckin blind moron, why don't you watch where the fuck you're going, arsehole?! A muffled 'Get Fucked' emanated from the driver's side of the Commodore as the occupant slowly got out, a short, heavyset italian stepping to the curb, rubbing his neck.

Guy recognized him instantly, walking up to him.

Toad! he cried out, the man looking up. Guy punched him solidly in the jaw, knocking him to the ground, then extending a hand to him, pulling him to his feet.

The man known to most as Toad rubbed his jaw, wincing as he opened and closed it.

At least you didn't fuckin' break it, asshole. And fuckin' hello to you too, dickhead.
Fuck you. You got any idea how much of an excess I have on this fuckin' hire car? And no I don't give a rat's arse about your fucking wankpack HSV.

The other man snorted, walking around to the rear of the Commodore, wincing at the mangled panel and destroyed fibreglass spoilers.

Y'know, fuckwit, anyone else hit me like that, they'd be lyin' on the floor with a fuckin' hole in them?
Whatever, Toad. I was supposed to be meeting you at the 'roos clubhouse. You doggin' me, or is this just a case of wrong place, wrong time?
Yeah, that. You shouldn't drive those buzzboxes like yer in yer old RT. Deceptive. as he poked idly at the dented panel again.

Guy chuckled and couldn't be bothered reminding the other that he'd ran the stopsign.

[Guy Jefferson]

Toad, ya wanna call me a towtruck? Guy queried.
Ok, yer a towtruck. he replied. Look, a towie will be here in a few few minutes, they're like fucking vultures.
Yair, but the hire company will go into conniptions if I don't use their people.
Con-what? You been stateside way too fuckin' long, Guy. Why don't you settle down here again, my cousin Sophie is askin' after you alla time.

Guy flipped the Toad a universal symbolof negation as Toad produced a mobile phone, proferring it to Guy.
You're still a rude son of a bitch, I don't know what she saw in you.
Mostly the tail lights of my Charger.... Guy grunted and started to dial the hire company.
Leave the money on the fridge, eh?
Guy chuckled and finished dialing, explaining the accident. Sure enough, even as Guy was ending the call two F-350 Class 1 two trucks rolled onto the scene. Guy waved off the second as Toad directed the first to hook on to his damaged HSV Commodore.

As the tow truck operator worked, Toad retrieved his phone from Guy who'd been told a half hour wait for a recovery vehicle and replacement car.
Catch you 'round, Guy? Here's my number, anyway. The Toad slipped a piece of paper into Guy's hand before climbing into the cab of the towtruck.
Yeah, whatever. Probably at the 'roos clubhouse later. Guy grumbled from his perch atop the boot of the hire car.
Toad laughed, Sure thing, I'll be there after I drop this at Ziggy's. Lighten up, at least it wasn't your car. as the tow truck drove away.

[Kaishi]

The pungent aroma of clove filled the air as a pair of reddened lips wrapped themselves around the butt of the cigarette, drawing tightly together as a wisp of smoke fluttered into the sky. Fingers, tipped in the same red as the mouth, wrapped around the filter of the cigarette as the woman pulled it from her mouth, lips parting slightly to allow smoke to escape from its confines. The look in her delicate almond shaped eyes could almost be described as bored, and her attention was focued almost entirely upon the cigarette in her hands, the filter slowly becoming more yellow with every one of her measured, patient inhalations. She inhaled again, the crackle of the black paper temporaily drowning out the man before her.

"What th' fuck you doin' with my money, bitch?" The greasy, pallid man before her demanded. Two pools of brown focused on him as she blew the smoke out, directing it in his face.

"Sumimasen." She apologized, her voice very soft and thickly accented.

"Don't ya give me any o' that jap talk, whore." The man hissed, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. A slight hint of a smile twitched at the woman's mouth as she shrugged, once more showing her indifference to the man and his rantings. "I'm payin' ya good money to take out O'Malley!"

She merely nodded, her eyes never leaving his face. Deliberately, she brought the cigarette back up to her lips and inhaled once more, filling her nostrils with the sweet aroma. Her other hand remained in the pocket of her long trench coat.

"Don't forget you whore, you came to me for the fuckin' job. I didn't go lookin' for you." The man's short stature and olive complexion gave away his Italian heritage, but at this point, the woman didn't care. Her attention was focused once again on the smoke that rose from her cigarette into the cool November air. She shrugged slightly, the short bob of her jet hair moving slightly with her motion.

"Did you hear me? Answer me when I fuckin' talk to you!" The man demaned. This time, the cigarette was pulled away from her lips and she quickly darted forth, pressing her lips against his in a mock kiss. The smoke from her cigarette surrounded his head, clouding his vision. Her hand which had been resting in the trench coat darted out, and a syringe filled with a clear liquid was emptied into the back of his neck.

She pulled away, and her expression remained the same as the man's eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he slumped to the ground. Casually, she flicked the smoldering cigarette down, watching as it landed on his stomach. One stilleto heeled boot came down on the cigarette, grinding it into the man's stomach.

"Fuck you too." She commented, all traces of her accent gone. Without a glance back, she walked away, humming quietly.

[Kaishi]

The clove remained smoking in the ashtray near the computer, the expression of the woman who smoked them one of confusion. She clicked the mouse across the screen.

Every night, it was the same thing - unless she was on assignment. This night she was busy appearing to work... charging money to a firm for so called 'monitoring of systems'. It was a cover up, and the money was her support - for tax purposes, of course. The Organization was careful about that - no fallin' down the way that Al Capone did, with tax ecasion.

Especially as they were a foreign company, with many foreign trusts. The IRS was quite picky about what they wanted and who they wanted it from - especially when it came to the foreign corporations.

Frustrated with the lack of activity on their servers, the woman stood up and paced back and forth across her apartment, stopping to examine her reflection in the mirror. She turned her face to the right, then to the left, watching as the jet hair swirled about her chin. Scowling at the bob cut, she slipped the wig off and tossed it to the side, before reaching back and undoing the coil of hair that was gathered at the nape of her neck.

Hair the same color as the wig cascaded down the woman's back. Oblivious to the motion of her hair, however, she continued to stare into the mirror before wiping her hand across her lips, white skin coming away red from the lipstick.

She sighed softly before turning back to her computer, picking up the cigarette and drawing in the smoke once more.

"They say smoking will kill you." she stated softly. The rest of her thought floated through her mind and she smiled. And if the smoking doesn't, I probably will.

[Guy Jefferson]

Guy tapped the ash from his cigarette as he surveyed the bar from his corner table. A half finished pot * of Melbourne bitter sat on a sodden coaster before him.

Where was the Toad?

To their credit, the hirecompany had been quite prompt with their replacement vehicle and he'd got to the club bar about an hour after the accident with Toad's HSV Commodore. He was on his second beer, nursing the full strength bitter after lengthy exposure to american beer and on his fourth cigarette. Even in these enlightened times it was good to be able to smoke and quietly drink a beer without fear of being looked at like one was killing a small child.

He took a deep drag on the cigarette and ground it out in the ashtray before him, raising the glass of beer to his lips as he spied the squat lumpy form of the Toad pushing his way through the growing late-afternoon crowd. He drained the glass as Toad sat down heavily opposite him.

'Bout time you fuckin' got here, I really wasn't looking forward to ringing you, yanno how much roaming call charges here cost?

The Toad managed a passable impression of a man deeply hurt.

It's always about the money, isn't it Guy?

You fuckin' got that right. What's the go to on this package?

Toad made a quick sign with his fingers meaning 'quiet' and shifted his gaze to a corner of the bar behind Guy. Guy nodded slightly in response and noisily praised the charms of a passing barmaid who promptly told him to fuck off. Feigning a look of hurt Guy craned his neck as she passed, ostensibly examining her retreating legs but his peripheral vision discerned the familiar face of an old nemesis, Gaskin from Melbourne CID.

Guy, apparently satisfied with the good look he'd got at the barmaids form turned back to the Toad.
Which one of us did he follow, and which one does he want? he queried.
Fucked if I know, ask him yourself.
Fuck that, I don't want to talk to the c- Detective-Sergeant Gaskin, what a pleasure. Guy smiled, the irony obvious in his voice.
Cut the bullshit Jefferson, and it's Detective Inspector to you now.
Well, I'll be fucked, they'll make any cunt DI these days I see. Guy sneered derisively, lighting another cigarette as the bulky police officer's reddened in apoplectic fury.
You'd do well to remember who's city this is Jefferson, Gaskin grated out.
Guy smiled a knowing smile and exhaled deeply, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the detective.
Oh, I never forgot, Detective INspector.

Guy leaned back on his chair as the Detective stomped off angrily.
You really should know better than fucking with that bastard.
Yeah, but what can ya do? Guy shrugged and ordered another beer.



* Pot - also known as a middy ~285ml

[Guy Jefferson]

Now that you've been fingered as being in Melbourne by Gaskin, that cunt's gonna make your life hard.
Fuck him, I don't intend being here long anyway. You able to give me the dirt on what it is that's going down here or not? This was supposed to be a simple snatch and deliver job.
Yeah, things change, that's the beauty of this game, remember?
Guy snorted, interrupting Toad and ordered another Melbourne Bitter.
Anyway, the deal's this..There's a small problem with a shipment down at Webb dock that a bloke called Gino Panetti really, really wants to see delivered.
Guy almost spat out his beer as he ejaculated tersely, Fucking Cinelli's again!
Toad smiled wryly. Your reputation spread a little fast for you, bud? I'm surprised you've heard of Panetti, he's a quiet one.
Not that, but I thought I'd seen the last of that lot with the last clusterfuck I worked through. Between them, the Columbians and the ATF almost managed to tear my asshole three ways from Sunday the last time I got involved with dodgy fuckin' shipments. And Panetti...I dunno if he's a consigliere, a button-man or just a big earner for the Cinelli's, but I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't know the name at least, Guy grinned slightly
This one goes beyond dodgy, Guy... Ever heard of black ice?
Sure I have, I read my share of trashy cyberpunk when I was a kid.
Toad nodded and continued, What would you say if I told you that the item Mr Panetti wants delivered was something that was designed to..for want of a better phrase 'melt' through black ice?I'd say I'm not a hacker, never was, never will be. Give me a set of picks, a drill and a pound of plastique and I'm your man. You want to play with ice, go find a skinny pale fucker with cokebottle glasses and bad acne. Not my scene... paesano.
Toad frowned, trying to ignore Guy's rather derogatory remarks.
You don't have to implement the shit. Just pick it up, and get it back to the big apple..
Guy raised his eyebrows, So this is the fucking package!? A fucking floppy disk?
Hardly, but I'm glad to see you've kept up with the times on computer hardware, Guy Toad retorted sarcastically, the code is currently encrypted onto a flash EEPROM stick residing in a laptop that was sent as part of a shipment of exploration gear out of mainland China.Guy raised an eyebrow, China? What the fuck?
Yeah, seems that a dissident there was trying to find some sort of method of quietly allowing access to the outside world without the government knowing where and what he was looking at. An idealist, he was hoping to be able to gain access to the whole of the internet for the whole of China.
So where do the Cinelli's come into such an altruistic bunch of code?
Fuck you're an impatient son of a bitch, Guy, let me finish. In the process of trying to break into the government's telecommunications mainframes he built a worm that was more effective than any other one designed, it literally melted through the intrusion countermeasures in place. When China's blocks all went down the shit literally hit the fan and the guy went way deeper underground. What happened after that, and how the Cinelli's got involved, is none of your business, but it's sufficient to say that once they heard about it they managed to get a copy of it wangled onto a return and repair shipment of gear out of China to Australia, appears that there's some sort of natural gas concern there is a handy conduit between China and Australia.
Well, fuck me. That explains why it didn't just go straight to the states. So what went wrong?
Not all bases were covered and someone leaked that something important went out in that shipment, and in a scary show of international co-operation, most likely fueled by the Australian government's greed for the profits out of those gasfields, the Federal Police have that entire shipment in impound. Our guess is that they're hoping that someone will come to grab the important stuff and they'll nab them and find out what all the fuss is about.
Right, and the whole bullshit with the panel shop?
Toad grinned wide and leaned back in his chair, draining his beer.
You'd have run a fucking mile if you'd known what was really here, but know you're here, you may as well take a shot, right?

Fuck you. Fuck you and the Cinelli's. Where's the shipment?

[Kaishi]

It wasn't much, admittedly. But the clingy red leather bolero jacket and skirt had definitely gotten quite a few looks from several of the patrons of the pub where Kaishi sat, lightly sucking on one of her cloves. Stilletto red heels and the a platinum blonde bob wig adorned her body as she sat in the booth, a small tape recorder going in the padded bra she wore.

Her eyes remained impassive as she listened to the two men discuss the shipment from China. A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth as she heard the man who wasn't Italian complain about getting the shipment, and about his bosses - and everyone else who was involved.

The purse that sat by her side also had another tape recorder going, and she sat there calmly, continuing to listen. Settled beside the tape recorder was a wad of unmarked, unsequential small bills. The Okanayas wanted that equipment - and the man who created it. They were already working on getting the man out of China - it was Kaishi's job to get the goods, by whatever means possible.

Looking around once, she adjusted the padded bra which accentuated her already ample cleavage. She smiled slightly at this, and allowed herself a moment's reflection on growing up. Being a young jap with boobs wasn't easy... especially in NYC. But that was neither here nor there.

Standing up, she sauntered past their table, having heard what she needed. There'd be plenty of time later for bribery, theft - and hell, if it came down to it, murder.

She stopped for a moment and did a double take, peering rather closely at the Italian at the table. A picture flashed through her mind and she smiled. Reaching into her purse, she brought out her lipstick and applied it, the red streaking across her mouth vividly. Then she reached in and applied an unmarked tube of what appeared to be gloss, before sauntering back.

"Hey, ain't you that one guy, sugah? Y'know, that one guy from TV?" she drawled, before leaning down and kissing him deeply, and fully on the mouth. "I just love yer show!" she said again, before pretending to press a hand to her lips. "And I can't wait to tell my friends that I just kissed you! Oh I gotta go call Jean right now!" With a mocksqueal of excitement, she scurried out of the pub and faded into the shadows, red leather being removed and stuffed in a dumpster, all while moving, quickly, away.