March 6, 2052
Noggin’s commlink went off, playing the latest song by .666 Essence. A quick look at the display revealed Club Chiaroscuro’s LTG number. Golgotha was calling, an ork chica that ran a successful club in northern Tacoma. Her club liked to play electoslam and was popular, surprisingly, to orks and dwarves. The club had a back room and Golgatha found that she could make some extra nuyen renting it out for meets. The chica rarely called, so Noggin surmised the chica had a gig. Noggin plugged the commlink into the cyberdeck sitting next to it. The Excalibur was a top of the line cyberdeck that allowed Noggin some measure of anonymity in the shadows. Activating the masking program, Noggin answered the call.
“This is Noggin,” Golgotha heard the deep raspy voice of an ork.
“Hey seksi, how ya been?” Golgotha always cooed when they spoke. She had never questioned Noggin’s ‘orkiness’. Noggin mused at the thought, it was always best to give the customer what they wanted. No sense confusing biz with that policlub agenda drek. Noggin preferred to remain anonymous.
“Bizness can always be betta, whatcha you got goin’ on Chica?” Noggin brokered no illusions about the call. Golgotha probably thought Noggin was simply playing hard to get; after all orks are more prone to explore their base instincts. Even though Golgotha was a business woman, she never strayed far from her previous career.
“I got this breeder who slotted me on a show, says she was fleeced. Some hot shot label stole her goose. Typical corp pissed on me drek. I would have written it off, but the breeder is all zealot on it. She’s looking for some runners. I told that I knew someone. You slot?”
“Yeah, I slot. Usual thousand nuyen for the room?” Noggin’s mind was turning runners over. Sounded small time, probably use some green runners. Make some calls, one runner came to mind almost immediately.
“You got that right? Hey, when we gonna get together and meet. I’ll make it worth your while.” Golgotha’s words dripped with sex.
“I don’t attend meets, I arrange them chica. I slot you the nuyen when the runners take the gig.” The line went silent.