Marcus Bromley's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Marcus Bromley folded the note twice and slid it into his coat pocket. The handoff location was clear. That was the good news. The bad news sat under the same line of ink: his source wanted goods now, not caps. He looked out across the junkyard he was building into something bigger, something the whole region would have to come through, and ran the numbers in his head. The note named the price. One vintage circuit board, exposed traces and rare chips intact. Marcus knew the piece. It sat wrapped in oilcloth inside a locked cargo bed across the yard, the old truck's faded paint hiding stock no buyer would ever see. He walked to it now, keys already in hand. Losing that board would cost him a future deal. Keeping it would cost him this one. He unlocked the bed and lifted the board into a canvas bag. Then he crossed to the cracked concrete bench near the fence line and crouched. The loose brick under the seat came free with a tug. He pushed the bag into the hollow behind it and seated the brick back in place. Drop made. Source would collect after dark. Marcus stood and brushed grit from his palms. The comm equipment was as good as his. So was a hole in his inventory he hadn't planned for, and a source who now knew exactly what he was willing to give up.