Chapter Text
The coffee grew cold on the wooden table top, the blue mug untouched as the hand next to it tapped out a rhythm against the table.
“We need to pick up the bike.” Faridah mentioned, her early morning companion sits across from her, his head to the table, the orange mug gripped so tight in his hand that his knuckles were white.
“I’m not going out today. Can’t you pick it up on your way to work?” He mutters, his eyes half closed.
“No, Frank, I can’t. The shop doesn’t open for another two hours and I’m leaving in about thirty minutes.” Faridah resisted the urge to do an over-dramatic sigh. Pritchard was going to be pain in the neck, this Sunday, wasn’t he.
“Then get it on your way back?” He suggested, lifting his head up for a few seconds before deciding it was too much work to bother and dropping back to his position on the table.
“Oh, come on, you still owe me for the last time I kept Sarif off your back, Frank.” Faridah said, her fingers still tapping as she leaned back in one of the dining chairs.
“He charges us more when I pick the bike up, Malik. Seriously, it’s easier when you do it. We save money. Then we don’t have to scrimp on food to make enough to buy neuropozyne.” He was practically whining at this point. Faridah debated dumping her coffee on his head. It’d feel so nice to do, but wouldn’t get them anywhere. It was such a different start then their usual Sundays, which were more of the ‘avoid each other until one of us shows up to the other’s place with takeout, alcohol, and a bad movie’ style.
She bit the inside of her cheek. “Frank, seriously, he makes me uncomfortable. He stares at me with this creepy smile and if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s the only good mechanic in the area who’s cheap enough, I’d smack him across the face and never go back.” She said and picked up her mug. She sipped it and grimaced at the cold coffee but continued to drink it.
He sat up and leaned back in the chair. “Fine, I’ll do it.” He paused for a second, then leaned forward. “In exchange, would you go buy me a new bag of coffee to leave in my desk at work. A certain somebody has stolen it. Again.” He huffed in irritation as he loosened his grip on the coffee cup.
Faridah laughed. “Deal.” She said before leaning forward to match Francis. “And why have you not gotten a padlock for your desk drawers?” She places down her coffee cup to wiggle her finger in his face. “You know that our darling spyboy has the stickiest fingers in the company when it comes to food. Or viruses. Or anything, really.”
He huffed and pouted before leaning back again, tilting the chair. “He’d just cut the locks off with his blades. That, or he’d buy a lockpick kit.”
Faridah bites back her laughter. “He leaves things alone when they’re locked. I had to do that for some of my cyberboost bars, and they’re untouched. Helps that I leave one out for him, obviously.”
“Yeah, well, that’s other people. You know he’ll just walk off with my stuff just to piss me off.” He said.
“You two and your petty war. You’d think that you two hanging out and attempting to be civil would alleviate some of this, but noooooo.” She smiled, however. They’d grown pretty close as a group since Panchaea, but some things never really changed.
“Yeah, yeah.” He mimed the motion of talking with his right hand then looked at the clock behind her. “You better get going, unless you plan to call in sick.”
She pushed back the chair. “I’ll catch the bus and then I’ll pick up your coffee on the way back. When you leave, lock my door.” She turns to leave and pauses. “Oh, and for the love of god, wash your cup.”
“Whatever, I know the routine, Malik. I’m not a five year old.”
“Your actions sometimes speak differently.” She snickers as he shoots her a dark look.
He waved her out, “Get going, flygirl. You’re going to miss your bus.”
When the door closed, Pritchard leaned back even more, and brought the cup up to his lips.
Then his chair tipped over.
“Fuck!” Thankfully, the coffee was cold.
It was about an hour later when he’d cleaned up the floor of Malik’s kitchen, washed the mug, and gone back to his apartment to wash the coffee out of his hair.
He figured it’d take him about an hour to walk get the credits and to the mechanic’s shop. It’d be easier to just pay and get it right as they opened up. No wait, no irritating people to wait behind, and he could get home quickly and spend the rest of the day sleeping or something else productive. Maybe write.
The elevator was empty when he called it up to his floor, but around the sixth floor, he squeezed himself into the corner as that irritating large family shuffled in. He tried to remember their name. Mccoy? No, wait that was that Star Trek character. Mc… Mc something. He shook his head as he tried to block out the excited jabber of the little kids.
He scowled and started to shift uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his pockets. He should have just taken the stairs.
When they finally reached the ground floor, he stood back after exiting the elevator and fumbled through his pockets before finding the old mp3 player he somehow still kept around, earbuds attached.
If he was going to walk to the bank, he might as well block out the noise of the streets.
It was a decent day, for Detroit. The music blared in his ears as he walked down the street, before he noticed the car accident up ahead.
That threw a chink in the plan. He glanced around. Well, there was the short cut through the side streets he could take. He thought for a second, then turned into the side street. It was oddly empty for once, but he thought nothing of it.
Until Pritchard felt something hit his neck and lower back and he dropped to the ground, his earbuds dislodging. He couldn’t move, the pain was so great he couldn’t even scream.
“He looks healthy enough. Doubt anyone would miss him, looks like a loner. Give me the syringe and we can leave.”
“Where’s this fucker’s vein, I swear?”
“How high is the dose?”
“High enough, he looks like a lightweight. This should knock him right out.”
The pain stopped, but he’d been pinned down immediately and felt a needle press into his neck. It was warm, and soon he was out.
Malik knocked on the door to Pritchard’s apartment. “Hey, jerkbutt! I bought your coffee, you better have gone and gotten the bike. Or I’ll just keep your coffee for myself.” She stood there, grocery bag in hand.
She frowned as there was no answer. Time to try the infolink. Hopefully he was just out doing something.
Static.
She went back to her apartment. Time to retrieve her extra key. Hopefully he hadn’t finally fulfilled that worry of hers, of tripping over some bundle of wires and knocking himself out.
She placed the bag on her kitchen and dug through the closest drawer in the kitchen. Bike keys, valet keys, old car keys, that weird thing her mom gave her, after turning the drawer inside and out, she found them on a small black lanyard in the back, underneath an envelope with a credit chip in it.
She quickly ran over to Pritchard’s door and put the key in the doorknob, along with the access code. It was the only way to get into his apartment. Someone had to have both key and code to get in.
“Francis? You okay?” She called out as she entered his apartment. Despite the fact it was a mirror image of her own place, it was darker due to the blackout curtains he kept up to keep the light out when needed, and a hell of a lot messier, cables and discarded electronics on most surfaces.
There was no response. She bit the inside of her cheek as she walked carefully through the mess of wires and other devices.
He wasn’t there, his infolink wasn’t on, and she doubted he had his phone with him, as she could see the screen of it, sitting on his unmade bed.
She flicked the infolink on again. “Jensen? I need help. I can’t find Frank and his infolink isn’t on.”
“His infolink isn’t on? Are you sure he isn’t asleep or finally tripped over all those cords he has?” There's a hidden concern in his voice, masked by a jab at the hacker. Francis wasn't one to just disappear like this.
“Adam! I’m sure he isn’t fucking asleep. I’m in his goddamn apartment and he isn’t here.” She said, her voice rising.
“Give me a second then, I’ll see if I can call up his GPL signal.”
She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” There was what suspiciously sounded like a muttered “fuck” then he started. “His GPL isn’t active. The last time it was pinged about 10 hours ago, in the side streets of Detroit.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit.” He agreed. “I’m going to go check the place out.”
"Good. I’m going to see if the motorbike was ever picked up." The infolink shuts off and Malik felt alone in the darkened apartment.