At the front door of apartment 23-C, all chipped and spray painted old-world high class, two women wearing tank tops and brandishing rifles are sitting with their backs to the marble walls. The glass doors behind them are boarded shut. One is chewing tobacco, and spits at Amstrad’s feet when he arrives. He doesn't have nice shoes or anything, but he thinks he'd be upset if he did.
"What do you want?" the other asks.
"I'm a mercenary. I talked to Marcus over email and he said to come."
She nods and knocks on the door behind her.
It opens a crack. Someone says something from inside.
"What's your name?" she asks.
"Amstrad."
She nods. "Come inside."
Another armed guard leads him through the empty lobby to an elevator. Over the checkered floor is a collection of ripped paper, wood chips, the forgettable litter of manual work that no one’s had the spare time nor good spirit to clean up. They press the button and wait.
"You a cop?" the guard asks.
"No." Amstrad says. He’s looking around at the open hallway doors and the sheepish way the guard carries the gun. "This your first time doing something like this?"
“Mhm.”
Amstrad nods.
The elevator doors open. There's an older man with a pistol in his belt waiting for them. They get in, but no one presses any buttons yet.
The man looks Amstrad up and down, then gives him a standard pat down.
"No bugs.” he says. “You ask him if he's a cop, Little?"
The guard nods."They can lie about that." Amstrad says.
The older man nods. "They sure can. What's in your bag there?"
Amstrad looks at it. "Indian, I think."
He takes it and does a cursory inspection of the contents. He gives it back.
The older man presses the button, and they start going down.
One floor lower, it stops. They lead Amstrad out into a dim concrete hallway.
"I'm Marcus.” says the man. “We've spoken via email. I'm gonna put you in with the others and let you sort yourself out. If you have any questions for me or the other guards, don't hesitate to ask. We’re not sure when the eviction squad is gonna get here, but it could be any day now."
"And payment?"
Marcus rubs his chin and clears his throat. "Payment is being worked on, sorted out, divided up, you know how it is with this bureaucratic type stuff."
"Right."
"Anyways," Marcus gestures down a right turn. "Here you are. Great to have you."
"Thanks."
Down the hall, he sees someone is sitting in front of the door to the storage unit with a gun.
Just as he’s starting to walk, Amstrad's phone buzzes. He opens it.
Your Deliveree sent you a message!
Where are you?
Amstrad closes his phone.