Following a Rabbit Hole
Bach reset his mind and tinkered with his comlink in the cab, telling the driver to drop him off at an Extranet-shack and wait. The dead-grey elder with hills for hands… my God Richard, you do have a flair for the dramatic. Bach shook his head, not sure what it meant. Metaphors were never his forte. It would take some time just to figure out what it meant, let alone where it would lead. He just felt glad he had snagged the technomancer’s destination. London…
Bach bought a cheap and highly disposable comlink, using the rudimentary and simple device to send an email with his fake de Victoria account to Reeves. “The dead-grey elder men with hills for hands will dance on all our graves. Decode and find Wolfe. Some are headed for London. -V” When Bach was finished typing out the letter I can’t believe I had to type this out… he tossed it out the cab’s window.
“Hey! No littering, that’s a fine you know!”
“Keep driving and you’ll get a tip, now shut your mouth.” The cab driver muttered something but kept going. Jackass.
Bach was going to start searching for twin hills that notoriously looked like hands or fingers. Maybe he was being too literal, but it was a start. The cab pulled up to a corner about three blocks from Reeves’ church and Bach gave the cab a small cred stick with the exact amount on it.
“I thought you said there would be a tip?” Bach leaned in the passenger window with his gun in his hands.
“I gave you a tip. It’s your life. Now keep driving before I change my God damn mind.”