They met at the School House around five in the afternoon. Remy had shaved that morning, but a thin stubble now ran over his chin.

“You’re shaving?” Josie had grinned, leaning against the door frame to the bathroom. “Got a hot date planned?”

Remy had shrugged.

“It’s just been awhile.” The lies came easy. Why did she even care?

Josie had stepped out that afternoon, returning to her shop for some tools or something of that sort. Remy dabbed on a touch of cologne and slipped away before she returned. He wore a long leather jacket, fresh from the tailor after its own lengthy repair. He still needed to find a new hat.

Settling into a high top table at the rear of the School House, he had to only wait a moment for Stefanie to arrive. A small group of regulars parted as she entered, as if they had never seen anyone like her before. Maybe they hadn’t, he thought. No one was like Stefanie. She smiled, seeing him in the back, and swayed to the table.

Before she arrived, Luis waddled over to their table, placing a bowl of pretzels and taking drink orders. Her order. He didn’t ask Remy; he didn’t need to. She ordered a martini. Of course, she did. Before Remy could warn of whatever Luis might call a “martini,” he was off to make it.

“Um, hey,” Remy stammered, feeling a bit tongue-tied. “Can I get your coat?”

“Please.” She smiled and turned so he could peel off the black overcoat. His hand brushed on bare shoulder removing it.Underneath, Stefanie wore a full-length red dress like she was on her way to sing a set at the Arcadia. A slit ran all the up her impossibly long legs. Thin black gloves crept up her arms. It took all the willpower he had to keep his jaw clamped shut.

“Wow,” he murmured. She, at least, pretended not to hear.

Luis returned with a glass of gin and a martini in a glass that looked like it had wanted a wash since the revolution. Stefanie didn’t say anything though and took a sip. She didn’t wince, which was more than Remy could say about his own.

“You look good,” she said, glancing at his cheek. It was less red today.

“So do you. Incredible, actually.” It felt good to tell the truth. He didn’t get the chance to do that very often in his line of work. She smiled broadly, and removed her gloves to reveal impeccably shaped arms and intricately painted fingernails.

They chatted for near an hour about the usual bullshit. It was cold outside. Neither knew if it was going to snow next weekend. Remy drank gin because his dad did and never really considered switching. Stefanie drank a martini because the old movies had made them look cool. Neither talked about Colin, or what happened at the undercity speedway. After a brief lull, Stefanie leaned into the topic first.

“By the way, I transferred a few more credits to your account. A tip, I suppose.” She said quietly. “Have any new clients, yet?”

Remy laughed. “I just got out of New Madison General when you got a hold of me. Haven’t really looked for anything since.” She looked surprised.

“After…what happened…I would think you might be eager to get back on Jack’s good side.”

“Honest-to-God, I’d rather avoid most jobs right now. Give Happy Jack a chance to cool off. I’ve been closer than I’d like to get.” He flashed her a weak smile and lit up a cigarette. He looked fine but the robodocs had done a pretty good job. He didn’t think Happy Jack would give him any other chances should they cross paths again. Stefanie exhaled.

“Interest phrase, ‘honest-to-God.’ Something else you picked up from your dad?” She gestured to his gin.

“What do you mean?” He frowned, glancing at his glass.

“Well, you don’t believe in God, do you, Rem?” Stefanie asked through a wisp of smoke from a cinnamon scented cigarette. Remy sipped his gin and tightened his lips. Luis needed to get a new fucking supplier.

“I suppose it is. Not that he was much of a believer, either.”

“That’s what your dad thought. What do you think?” Stefanie raised a hand, and Luis toddled over with a fresh drink as if he’d been doing nothing but wait for that moment.

Remy shrugged.

“I think, if there is a God and He’s anything like folks say, he’s gotta be pretty fucking pissed at all of us. Charity, love, and equality don’t seem to make it any further than lip service in these parts. Not that I’m any better, of course.” Remy tossed a handful of pretzels into his mouth before washing it down with gin. Bar pretzels always had a peculiar zip to them. Probably the smoke and the dozen assholes rubbing their hands through the bowl. No way Luis bothered to wash the bowl between scoops. He grabbed a few more and tossed them back.

“You aren’t worried for your soul? What happens next when you die?” Stefanie brushed her hair back but it was futile, like pushing back a mane. Another sip. Her eyes bored into his. Remy had to force himself to keep looking back, caught between her intoxicating draw and the intensity.

“Hah, if I got a soul, it’ll probably end up in some tank at Vascorp when I die. I’ll spend eternity inside a fancy watch doing party tricks.”

Was she asking because of Colin? Remy didn’t like talking religion. It was a good way to make enemies of friends, and friends of enemies. He had just never seen the point of talking about it particularly when no one really seemed to live what they professed anyway. If someone wanted to help him rob a bank courier, what did it matter what the other guy thought about the less fortunate? Stefanie shook her head.

“I’m serious, you’re not worried about what we’ve done and how that matters? You wouldn’t repent on anything?”

Remy shrugged.

“I figure if we’re made in His image, then God must be a crooked son of a bitch too so I’ll be just fine.”

They sat there a few minutes listening to whatever old music Luis had going on the jukebox. It hadn’t been updated for 80 years but there was something timeless about listening to a bunch of dead guys sing over synth-beats. Almost classy in a way. Stefanie finished her cigarette and put it out on the table with a rush of cinnamon. The last puff was always the strongest, making you want another. Remy wanted her to have another. On cue, she lit one and Luis stopped over with fresh drinks. Of course, fresh wasn’t accurate but they were full, at least. Stefanie blew smoke over the table and met his eyes. She reached out for her drink and brushed Remy’s knuckles that gripped his own.

“I think you’re the man I want, Remy.”

He tingled. He’d been waiting for those words since she stepped into his shit-hole office all those weeks ago, beautifully anxious to find her husband. Remy hadn’t cared about what her husband had been doing, but from that moment, he knew he wanted her. Needed her like a junkie needs another hit. She tore him up.

“I’ve got another job for someone like you.”

“Oh,” Remy said, trying not to let the disappoint show in his voice. Another job, that’s all he was good for.

“I want to get out of this town, Remy. If you can do it, we can both get out of here. Go west, maybe. Past the wastes. I don’t care where, but I’ve had about enough of New Madison.”

We?

Remy liked the sound of “we”. He was growing tired of New Madison anyway, himself. The city had a lot going for it, sure, but a man had to know when he had worn out his welcome. Tips to Luis grew more expensive. Happy Jack’s gang might be neutral to him, but JD certainly was not. The best thing that had happened to him in the past six months sat across the table.

“What’s the job?” He knew he would take it before he even asked.

“Have you heard about the auction at the Viceroy’s Ball?”

Remy looked to Luis who was helping Alvin wake up off a stack of newspapers. The man had been cagey about that prototype card Remy had passed along. He couldn’t overhear them from where he was standing. No sense in revealing all his cards, no matter the gal.

“Some rare Vascs, right?” That was the official story, at any rate. Fancy auction for the well-to-do to buy some rare and collectible Vascs as a cover for the real auction focused on that prototype.

“I mean the real auction.” She raised her eyebrows. Remy ought to have learned to stop being surprised by Stefanie. If she stepped outside and turned into a rocket ship, he might just shrug. Remy smiled back at her with a nod.

“So, what’s the job?” he repeated.

“A couple Vascorp prototypes are going up for auction while the public auction happens at the Ball. I don’t know the buyers, but if the Scrappers are selling, it’s going to be worth the risk.”

“Prototypes? What’s the job? Lifting the gear or something else? ‘Fraid I’m nothing special with credit frauds.” It was true. One summer in a Vegas Undervault had been enough to teach him that lesson.

“I’m thinking we lift the lot, then hop a shuttle up to Saint Paul to unload. From there, we could go anywhere. Might even be able to afford a pass to Luna.”

Remy didn’t let himself think about Luna. Might as well wish to be made of cheese or for a mountain of jelly beans. Anywhere else sounded appealing though. Some parts of the world still avoided the encroaching wastes. He lit a new cigarette and looked through the smoke at Stefanie. He could live without any Vascs if it was with her. New Madison was great but, Stefanie was Stefanie.

“This isn’t like tracking some petty drug runners.” He warned. Organizing this was an order of magnitude more sophisticated than finding out what happened to some two-bit attorney in the undercity.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could do it.” She purred, taking his hand.

And that was that. They spent the evening discussing the job, and far longer about what life would be like without worrying about trading favors with junkies or teaching a bunch of bourgeois brats history. His gin emptied once, or a dozen times, and Stefanie’s switched to whiskey after her third greased up martini.

Luis got busier as the night went on. Three times Redcaps burst in the door and pulled some poor bastard from the bar or the toilet. Once, when four of Happy Jack’s guys came in, Remy ducked away to take a piss. He and Jack were on good enough terms but there was no sense showing his face as a reminder. The four had taken their drinks and moved to the lower, private bar, as always. Rumor had it the bar below was a replica on the same spot in the undercity where the bar dated back to the city’s founding some few hundred years back. It certainly stank like it.

Remy came back to the front and the four were gone. He found Stefanie at the jukebox looking at the old selections.

“Have you heard this? My dad only listened to this stuff.”

“Not much one for music, eh.”

Her choices started and they caught a few looks from around the bar. Remy flashed them a smile and a wave and most grumbled back into their drinks. Tough crowd to please.

“This one’s my favorite, listen.”

The recording was old, back when they actually used physical instruments. It didn’t sound so hard. Stefanie clapped and sang along, perfectly on-key. She sang along with the chorus and placed her right hand on his, swaying to the beat. They danced through the first song, and then another. His two left feet forgotten by the whirlwind of cinnamon smoke and whiskey breath. Stefanie gave him a smoldering look and he knew - hoped - what came next.

“Your place?” he suggested. His own was no place to take anyone home let alone a woman like Stefanie.

Her place was all his mind promised it would be.