I'm lying on a lumpy but relativly clean bed in a cheap motel that rents rooms by the hour, day or week. After escaping from the house in Fort Lewis, we made a quick stop at the downtown apartment to clean up and clean out.
Finlay arranged for Jamal, our fake jamaican taxi driver, to come by with a van and we loaded most of our gear into it. He has a garage where he can stash it for a while.
We then contacted Sandie, the lady with the metal teeth, to let her know the run was a bust. Finlay managed to negotiate partial payment for at least getting in and running the code. He also contacted Martha to let her know she might be compromised.
After that we exchanged numbers for our new phones and went our separate ways. I contacted Sharif to let him know what had happened. I don't think they asked me about him, but better safe than sorry. I also dropped a message to Aurora, the decker, to let her know that someone might try do some digging on me and to keep an eye on the hospital database to see if anyone triggered the trace.
I got my arm patched up by a street doc who had fixed me up before. She wanted to know how I had managed to overload the arm's servos as they are rated to 100 kilos, which is way more than I can lift with one arm. I told her I didn't really know and she didn't push it.
Then I went to ground. I have been stuck in this motel room for the last few days with only Jack Daniels for company while things blow over. Zero is currently arranging new IDs for us through an independent 'data broker'. Which is good, because my current one was pretty much worthless even before this run went down the drekker.
I'll eventually need to replace my Cavalier Deputy, duster and the other gear I had on me when we were captured but that can wait for now. Looks like this run is going to cost us more than we made, both in cred and rep. But then again, I guess we are lucky to be alive.