Bonnie

The streets would've been remarkably empty for any other part of town. Venturing into the skids on wheels often led to an involuntary exchange of ownership. When Bonnie got off the bus she checked her watch. The one thing that seemed to stay consistent among the ever changing landscape of L.A. was the inefficiency of the public trans. She was a long way from London and an hour later than she thought she'd be. She doubted the Faders would care as long as she delivered the fix. She wouldn't care much either, so long as they had the dough and she wouldn't have to waste anybody. Ugliest part of the job, that. At least she wasn't in the pleasure parlors any more.

She eyeballed the building before going in. Bullet-chipped bricks, rust, and termites seemed to be the only things holding it together. In the second story window she saw the reflection of a neon sign that read "liquor". Past that scarlet glow she saw a mutie wearing teashade glasses and a white suit. Past that she saw the bulge of a gun in his armpit, and three muscle-bound goons lined up behind him. She hit a button on her mobile and said "I'm going in. Keep my backup on standby."