Stray Cat Strut Chapter Thirty-Three - Cleaning Up

Chapter Thirty-Three - Cleaning Up

Gangs start when people have a reason to stick together. If the world was all nice and good, if it wasnt split because of class and race and violence, then you wouldnt have anyone deciding that the best way to earn so peace and respect is to stick together and ss up anyone that gets in their way.

--Laserjack, 2051

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I rode up the elevator with my arms crossed, glaring through my visor at the elevators door until the entire thing ca to a grinding halt and the doors shuttered open.

I hadnt hurt the Ventrats. They werent to bla, so their leader got a stern warning to keep on minding his business before I left. It wasnt fun, this chasing after thieves in the night.

The elevator had a small computer in it that tracked which floors it had stopped on previously, with tistamps and all. It was easy once I was at it to hook Myalis into the elevators little control panel and let her do her thing.

It ant that we were now on the right floor, about three floors away from ground level, deep into the pits of the ga building. That didnt seem ideal.

The door finished opening and I stepped out invisibly into a dank corridor which... I paused.

The corridor was clean.

I had co here with a clear and obvious preconception, expecting more graffitied walls and floors with years of gri stuck to them, but that wasnt the case. The linoleum was worn in the centre where people walked more, but it was otherwise spotless. The walls were clean, free of mould or stains. Even the ceiling was free of spiderwebs or smoke stains.

For so reason, the sheer cleanliness set more on edge than if Id walked out to discover an army waiting for . Who lives on this floor? I asked.

There is a database of residents, but it doesnt exactly include their gang affiliations, nor would I consider it overly accurate. One thing does stand out, however.

Yeah? I asked.

Over four fifths of this buildings cleaning staff live on this floor, and law enforcent reports suggest that one of the gangs inhabiting the building is called the Janitors.

Janitors? So theyre what, a gang of cleaners? Or is it a euphemism? They take out the trash or sothing stupid like that?

There is little information available on them on the net. Even less than Im finding about the other groups that inhabit this building. A cursory search suggests that soone is making an effort to delete and suppress any discussion of the group. Its all archived and retrievable.

So, they hid information about themselves, but you can still get to it?

Yes. But the re act of suppression and deleting that information has dampened any discussions. Oftentis, the information I can learn about soone is circumstantial, or pieced together from several sources that each only give a few small pieces of the puzzle. By keeping discussions to a minimum, I have little to work with and less information thats trustworthy or corroborated from multiple sources.

Right, I said. I more or less understood that. It was like hearing gossip to learn about soone. Only probably more complicated than I cared to dive into.

So, the Janitor gang. Any idea where they hang out?

A few mbers have active social dia accounts tracking their movents. They seem to concentrate in a small, unlicensed bar called the Broom Closet.

Of course they did. Myalis helpfully tossed the directions up onto my augs and I started making my silent way across the floor. It took a few turns before I t anyone in the corridors. I slid to one side to let a trio of middle-aged guys in jumpsuits move past. They werent wearing gear that matched, colour-wise, but it was clear that they had a the going.

Or maybe jumpsuits had beco stylish for 40-sothing guys when I wasnt paying attention. They had a whole host of drab colours to pick from, and it looked like at least one of them had decorated his with so patches and a utility belt.

I didnt miss the gun tucked into the belt either. Last I checked, handguns werent cleaning implents.

Takes all sorts, I muttered before stifling a yawn.

Fuck, I wanted to be back in bed already.

It didnt take too long to find the Broom Closet. I just had to follow the noise. All of the clubs Id been to had a thing for loud noises, this one wasnt an exception, though they werent playing modern music but so oldies. Maroon Five and Adele and the kind of stuff older people liked.

The entrance to the Broom Closet was, unsurprisingly, a broom closet. Just another small doorway with a mop and bucket logo on the front of it. The only hint other than the music that it was sothing more was the way the linoleum was worn out.

I paused next to the door. Any caras? I whispered.

None pointing to the doorway.

I nodded, then carefully turned the handle enough to undo the latch. A little pull after that, and I let go, the door slowly opening on its own montum. Hopefully it just looked like it wasnt latched properly to anyone looking.

I waited, expecting soone to co over and pull the door shut, but when no one did, I slipped into the closet. Then I chuckled, because Lucy would love this bit in the retelling.

The Broom Closet really did start off as a large utility closet. There was one of those rideable floor-cleaning machines with the pads on the bottom left to charge, and a few mop and buckets. There was a second door at the back, but this one was already opened up and led into an entirely misplaced bar.

I snuck past the cleaning supplies, then paused by the threshold of the bar. It was surprisingly festive in there. A long counter ran along one wall, with an automated bartending machine behind it. The rest of the room had a few round tables and tall chairs, though a number of them were pushed to the side.

A half dozen n were moving around, laughing, clinking drinks, and bobbing their heads in ti with the music. I blinked, then noticed that so of the n were won. Jumpsuits turned everyone into a genderless blob that was more janitor than person, I supposed.

Ah, there they are, the fucks, I muttered.

At the back of the room, sitting in a corner booth, were four guys in all-black outfits. Two were wearing familiar masks on their heads, and there were more of them on the tabletop next to half-empty mugs of beer.

Four of the six assholes that had broken into my clinic, just sitting back and patting themselves on the shoulder for a job well done.

The fucks.

I dont know if it was the lack of sleep, the untily interruption, or just the way the group looked so damned pleased with themselves, but I was getting to be pretty damned pissed off.

I crossed the room in a straight line, only slowing down to rip one of the chairs out from behind a guy in the middle of the room. I dragged the seat after , its feet scraping across the floor and drawing a few eyes its way. Chairs didnt usually scrape their way across a room all on their own.

I spun the chair around in front of the corner table, pulled out my Trench Maker, then sat down and flicked off my invisibility.

The idiots in the booth reeled back for a mont. Alright, I said. I was liking their expressions a lot more now. Where the fuck are my limbs?

A couple of guys bolted out of the Broom Closet. I probably should have closed the door. A few others pulled out guns, mostly little handguns, but one guy had an old-school pump-action. No one was pointing anything yet, but the tension in the room had reached a dangerous high.

If all of them unloaded on , what were the chances that Id co out alright?

Put your guns away, I snapped. And soone turn off that noise.

The music cut off with a snap, pitching the entire bar into a sudden silence that only made everything so much more tense.

Youre Stray Cat, one of the Janitors said.

Yeah, I said. It was nice, being recognized when I was trying to scare the shit out of soone. You guys. Where are my limbs? The last was directed at the idiots sitting across from .

One of them, who looked particularly stupid wearing his mask on his head, sat up straighter. Dont know what youre on about, he said.

I blinked. Let put it this way. Either you chucklefucks-- I assud that was a term these old guys would understand--Give back the arms and legs you stole from my clinic. Or I start grabbing replacents, and Im not picky when it cos to whether theyre prosthetics or at limbs.

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