"Slider?"
Hearing the name, Jackie repeated it aloud. "Never heard of the guy."
"You'll know him soon enough. He's a traitor. Didn't mesh well with us, so he bailed to Dogtown and started working solo. Took a bunch of our people with him too."
Placide's tone made it obvious he wasn't telling the whole story.
A defector going solo wasn't that strange. But hiring outside mercs to clean it up? That reeked of weakness.
What kind of gang needs hired guns to deal with its own traitors?
From Jackie's days running with the Valentinos, he knew that if something like that had happened internally, and the crew couldn't handle it themselves, it'd be the end of their rep.
The real issue was probably that the defector had grown strong—too strong. Strong enough to threaten the Voodoo Boys. And the Voodoo Boys couldn't take him out alone. Otherwise, why bring in paid mercs?
As if confirming Jackie's suspicions, Placide added, "Lately, he's been building his own version of the Voodoo Boys in Dogtown. That's a direct insult. We were going to let it slide, but now… there's no reason to spare him."
So go deal with him yourselves. What are you bragging for in front of a crew you're hiring? Jackie thought.
Oliver was clearly thinking the same thing. Since this wasn't exactly a typical job run, he kept throwing snarky comments over comms. Luckily, he was playing the lively and outspoken Pira, so it didn't blow his cover.
Unbothered, Placide kept going: "We need you to go to Dogtown and take out Slider. I'll send you his location. Given your track record, it shouldn't be a problem."
"Getting rid of someone in Dogtown's fine," Jackie replied. "But sounds like he's not alone. You said he took others with him—how many defectors are we talking about? You got numbers?"
"I didn't hire you to hand out intel."
Placide locked eyes with Jackie. "When I looked at your file, I didn't see you asking for intelligence back when you were working for other fixers."
"Yeah, well, that changed after one dumbass fixer sold us out."
Jackie stared him down. "We're not looking to get burned again. Asking for intel seems pretty reasonable."
The two glared at each other until Placide finally looked away.
"Just this once—I'll help you out. But I expect you to do your job right."
Just this once. Meaning… there won't be a next time.
"Take a seat."
Placide turned from the window that overlooked Dogtown and headed into the building's interior. He stopped at a desk covered in computer equipment.
"You. Sit."
Jackie scanned the room. Around the desk were several sofas—and they were all occupied. The men seated there were all Black, their skin inked with ritualistic tattoos. They looked relaxed, but their arrangement and the weapons within arm's reach said otherwise. It was a kill zone. One wrong move, and his crew would be riddled with lead.
Another layer of security, Jackie thought as he sat down across from Placide.
"Wait."
Placide nodded slightly, like Jackie's obedience had earned him some approval. He started typing on the keyboard, fingers clacking loudly in the tense silence.
Just as Jackie opened his mouth to ask what he was doing, Placide stood abruptly and reached for Jackie's hand on the table.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Jackie frowned, grabbing Placide's wrist before it could reach him. It was clear Placide had been trying to yank out the data cable from Jackie's forearm.
"I'm assigning the job—transmitting the intel."
Placide twisted his wrist, trying to break free. But Jackie's grip was like a vise. He couldn't even twitch.
Surprise flashed briefly in Placide's eyes, though his face remained unreadable. "Isn't this what you asked for?"
"That doesn't mean you jack in without asking."
Jackie pulled a compact connector and display device from his pocket. "Use this. I'll read it myself."
"You mercs still carry this kind of gear?" Placide said, clearly not expecting it.
He hadn't planned on this. His intent had been to push a virus into Jackie's system alongside the intel—nothing flashy, just surveillance and a brain-burner that would fry him once the job was done. That's how most Voodoo Boys "cleaned up" hired mercs—use them, then wipe them.
But Jackie's caution caught him off guard.
So they've learned from getting burned. Placide thought of Faraday—the infamous fixer who'd screwed over too many clients and paid the price. Amateurs like him were the reason even low-tier mercs were getting smarter.
If he insisted on a direct link now, this guy—Maine—would get suspicious.
Fine. He changed tack. They'll still have to come back for the payout. I'll just take care of them then. Hell, that device he's using might be easier to track… or rig to blow.
"I hope this is the last of your demands," Placide muttered as if making a reluctant concession. He plugged in the cable to Jackie's external reader.
And at that exact moment—
"Nice. I found the Voodoo Boys' LAN access port through the uplink."
T-BUG's voice came through the team channel.
Turns out, the ones pulling strings weren't the Voodoo Boys after all.
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