Meeting Acrylic

I exited the subway at 56th street, still mulling over Acrylic’s message. One thing was for certain, I needed an ally and this one seemed to have what it took.

I walked to 58th and Elm, where tucked in an abandoned basement room I had stored a few essentials. This was once owned by a freelance photographer who died blackmailing MegaCorp. The photos were destroyed, the apartment ransacked, but the unlocked, filthy place was the best for stashing things in plain sight. I grabbed a lightweight Epson MagTrue. Close range, but I couldn’t hide anything bigger while on foot.

The alley off 60th was clean and smelled of soap. Acrylic’s bald head stood out, even without the glare of the neon, casting a porcupine shadow.
“Evening.” I chose a friendly sounding greeting.
A volley of rapid fire blasted over our heads as we rolled behind a vacuum dumpster reeking of teriyaki.
“I told you to bring a gun!”
“I did!” I whipped out my Epson.
“That?! They have laser.. oh nevermind!”
Acrylic whipped out a Blaze rifle.

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