In reply to St. Velveteen (msg # 11):

"So I guess that means you're not going to help me move out of my mother's basement and into that apartment I'm finally going to be able to afford?"

Snow leaves the truck running as he gets out of the cab, "Oi there chummers," He calls out to the guys, "I'm looking for a guy that goes by Mr. F.  I heard he likes to eat pussy."

The three men pause for a moment. "PFFFTBUAAHAHAHA!!!" One of them nearly drops the box. "Ah drek, shouldn't talk about Mr. F like that, but ... hah! Nice burn. Heh. So are you all the runners dropping off, or are you picking up the felt paintings for cleaning?"

St. V gets out of his side of the truck and leans against the hood, all decked out in his running gear.  He crosses his arms and gives an exaggerated glance at his equipment.  "Well we definitely ain't dressed for cleaning felt paintings..."

"Now as enticing as those felt painting may be we are actually here to make a delivery."

Snow pounds on the side of the truck, "Pass me the package.  Its still sedated right?"  Having his face mauled this close to the end was not part of Snow's plan.

Carver tries to open the back door and snaps the handle instead. He begins muttering obscenities in three languages under his breath and scoots out V's open door. "Still sedated and covered in goop. Be careful, there might be another tool of the trade still stuck in there."
The bag rustles ominously.
"Maybe not totally sedate, but still glued. Unless she can chew her way through concrete, we're... she's solid for another couple of hours."

One of the handlers takes the duffel and chucks it into the back of the truck. He then pulls out a steel suitcase from the cab of the truck and hands it over.

"The case is on a timer. Give it a few."

With that, he heads back to moving boxes.

Snow accepts the case and thanks the man.  Then the term 'Timer' made its way to his conscious brain and he tossed the case away and watched it slide to a stop under the truck as he moved for cover.

The case ... doesn't really do anything. Maybe it's asleep?

St. V raises an eyebrow at Snow, but otherwise doesn't move from where he is leaning against the truck.  "What?  Did you see a spider?"  Then, reluctantly, he gets down on his hands and knees, puts his cheek to the asphalt, and reaches under the truck to grab the case.  "This thing you are throwing around all willy-nilly is precious cargo!"  He sits on his knees and brushes off the top, then examines it for broken parts and anything that looks fishy. (Just because Snow seems so worked up about it.)

12:14, Today: St. Velveteen rolled 1 success using 3d6 with the Shadowrun system with a target of 4 with rolls of 5,1,3. Electronics.

The case does seem to have some sort of an electronic lock, but lacks any obvious way to interface with it. On further inspection, you also locate what appears to be a wire, probably for a cellular connection, implanted on the rear of the case.

Snow stands up and brushes himself off to regain his composure.

"Sorry about that.  When I hear the phrase 'time' my first reaction is 'BOMB.'  Let me tell you, baking cookies at my place is a lot of fun."

Walking over to the truck Snow reached in and pulls out his tools.

"Lets see if we can bypass this timer nonsense so we can be on our way."

08:29, Today: Snow rolled 33 using 5d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,(6+1)7,(6+6+5)17,3,2. Electronics.

+1 Karma to Snow for the lol.

Snow busts out his tools and carefully pulls apart the wiring for the case, then extracts part of the computer and bit by bit manages to interface with the internals. After several minutes, he hears it click and the case pops open. Inside is a  certified credstick for the amount of $40,000.

A few minutes later, in response to a distant radio transmission, the latch on the case unlocks.

Snow gives a cry of triumph as he tosses the credstick in the air and catches it.

"Where's the kaboom?  There's supposed to be an earth shattering kaboom."

Then he looks at his companions,  "Lets go to some friendlier confines and split this up and we can all talk about what we are going to spend our cuts on."

Snow hops up into the truck, revs the engine, and throws it in gear waiting for the rest of the guys to load up.

Carver crawls back into the truck, seeing little else but dollar signs.

Unless you guys have something else cool you want to do, we can fast forward a bit. I don't want to get bogged down in business though.

snow pulls out a remote and presses the fast forward button

Firefox watched the goings on from the roof of a nearby tenement, first with concern and then with amusement.  She considered setting off a low-force fireball as snow opens the case, just for the giggles, but she didn't know this crew well.  Perhaps they also had a penchant for carrying around blocks of C4 with the detonators pre-inserted.  Plus, if the case actually did have a bomb, it'd be a shame to set it off by accident.

She settled for igniting the underwear of ganger who took too great an interest in her ride.  As the others moved back towards the vehicle, she headed for the stairs, stepping carefully over the chiphead sprawled on the second-floor landing.  Time to collect the pay-data - or deal with whatever complication invariably arose in a job that had gone this smoothly so far.

Saint Velveteen rubs his hands together in anticipation of spending that nuyen!  He eagerly hops back into the cab of the truck and buckles up.  "Let's stop at the strip club!"  In St. V's opinion, there was no better way to celebrate than by going down to the club, listening to the pulsing techno music, and zeroing in on some high class, smoking hot, grade A Seattle bacon strips.

Ready for fast forward.

So you guys split up the cash, I assume based on weight, because St. V has some MEAN grocery bills, and then he and Marilyn head out to the strip club to dance and meet some of her friends. The rest of you blow it on coke and funny party hats (except Firefox, who I assume is developing a mutual fund and some CDs).

It's a few days later that Snow's cell phone rings. F is on the other line. "You numbskull! You puff-dragon! You got the wrong damn marsupial! Did you look at her ears? DID YOU LOOK?? They are clearly cinereal! Is cinereal the same as chocolate? Are they even close to the same hue? Plus, this one's a male. I demand a refund!"

"Chocolate?  Personally i prefer dark chocolate over light chocolate.  Better for your heart as well.  Unless we are taking about shakes here. In which case I prefer malts.  So you didn't enjoy your malt sir?  I am sorry to hear that but we here at Batman and Robin's value your patronage."

and Snow hangs up the phone.  first off who even know that drop bears had genders, pffft thats crazy talk.  Secondly, what the hell is cinereal?

and finally the Johnson should have inspected the package before paying for it, all sales are final.

In the end he calls up V, "Hey V, you know how i mentioned moving out of my mum's basement, well can I get you do help me with that today, as in right now before Mr. J decides to blow up my mom's place with me in it."

The he will call the others, "So according to the J we got the wrong bear.  In this line of work all sales are final but he doesn't sound to happy about it.  We should probably meet somewhere public with lots of egress points to discuss this.  I'll meet you all at 6 points in an hour."

"MA PACK YOUR BAGS"

~CLICK~

Was there any media coverage over the past day or two over the goings on at the hotel?  Like Bella being distraught at the loss of her mate?  Because that might have been a slightly earlier hint . . .

Umm... Yes. There was a big press release About how a transvestite hooker at the hotel caught fire and it was a big deal, but everyone escaped safely, except for a single Elvis impersonator, who is unaccounted for. No mention of changing Bella's schedule for the next show.

St. Velveteen sighs and hangs up the phone.  "Not what I wanted to do today," he mumbles.  Why did there always have to be complications?  He groans as he gets out of bed and puts on some clothes.  Before leaving, he tosses a couple nuyen to the woman still laying on the bed.  "Sorry Mrs. Pants.  I gotta go downstairs and help your son."

The package - was it true? Could it possibly be?! The disgruntled postal worker announced the arrival of Carver's mail with a jovial six-round-burst into the coffin hotel's squawk box and punted it through the sixth-story window from the armored cab of his post-mobile.
Yes, yes! After all these hours of waiting, next day delivery finally paid off. He delicately scalpels off the layers of novacoke-stained packing paper, setting it gingerly aside in a pile. After minutes of surgical precision, he pulls out a tiny plastic figurine. Yes! Finally! After years of searching and wise investment, he finally had the last of the Mon Petit Equestrians' figurines: the deluxe edition Princess Sparklebutt action figure with authentic candy-roadapple shooting action!
Wait... What's that on the back of the package?
Secret Angel Queen Princess's battery powered package delivery sousaphone was released? And what is this about an entire new line of accessories?! Yes, life continues to have meaning.

Wait, the wrong koala? There was more than one? Sonuvabiscuit. Well I guess the adventures with all your friends will have to wait, Princess Sparklebutt. Duty calls.

+1 karma to everyone for completing the chapter. Also +2 for the two chapters prior. Sorry about that.