The pub stank like old piss and fried meat. A ceiling fan lazily clacked overhead, doing absolutely nothing to move the thick air. Rusty lightbulbs dangled from exposed wiring, flickering now and then like they were having a seizure. The tables were sticky. The people were loud. Half the patrons looked like they hadn't bathed in weeks. The other half were armed. Cass and Wang sat at the back table, just close enough to the bar to hear things but far enough to stay out of the line of fire—literal or metaphorical. Cass lit a cig and kicked her boots up on the chair beside her.
"Alright," she said, dragging smoke deep into her lungs. "Let's see what these degenerates know."
Wang nodded and slid the first two drink tokens across the bar to a scrawny guy with wild eyes and a missing tooth. The guy grinned like a dog just shown a steak.
"Oi, appreciate it, mate!" he said, slamming the warm beer back in one go.
"You two lookin' for stories? Cuz I got stories."
Wang offered a neutral smile. "We're new. Heard there's a guy named Red Beard running the coast near Glenelg. Big shot." The man's eyes went wide.
"Oh, fuck yeah, Red Beard! Craziest bastard this side of the gulf. You know he once chopped off a bloke's dick with a meat grinder? Swear on me mum. Said the bloke owed him money. Fed the bits to his dogs."
Cass raised an eyebrow. "That true, or are you just pissin' on our boots?"
"Dead fuckin' serious!" The guy leaned in, breath rancid. "You ever hear about the crocodile pit? That's where he dumps the ones that talk. Some poor fuck got in there still alive, screamin' the whole way down. Bloke lasted seven minutes. Seven."
Wang passed him another token. "What about security? Guards? Hideout?"
"Guards?" The man laughed and nearly fell off his stool. "Shit, he's got freaks. Feral ones. Ex-soldiers, raiders, half of 'em don't even speak English. Saw one with three eyes. Swear to God."
Cass snorted and stood. "Alright, thanks for the show, prophet of bullshit." They moved to another table. This time an older woman with a patch over one eye, sipping rum like it was tea. Wang placed a drink token gently on the table.
"Evenin'." She looked up, suspicious. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just lookin' to learn a few things." Her gaze lingered, then she took the drink and downed it in one practiced gulp.
"You lookin' for Red Beard?" she rasped.
"Fool's errand, that is." Cass raised an eyebrow.
"Why's that?" "Bastard lives in a fuckin' fortress. Concrete walls, gun turrets, dogs that ain't dogs—they're those fuckin' demon hounds, I swear. Seen one tear through a man's spine like it was paper."
Wang leaned forward. "You've been there?"
"No," she admitted, cracking her neck. "But I used to fuck a guy who did jobs for him. Mule work. Drugs, women, arms. That sort of shit."
Cass flicked her ash into a bottle. "Where is this fortress?"
The woman laughed and shook her head. "That'll cost more than a beer, sweetcheeks."
Wang slid over three tokens. She took them, grinned, then leaned in.
"Old hotel near Glenelg. Beachside ruin. Used to be a resort before the world went to shit. He's holed up in the penthouse. Top two floors wired to hell. Only way in is either the front—which is suicide—or through the broken sewer line out back, which smells like Devil's anus."
Cass smirked. "Thanks, granny."
"Don't mention it," she said, pocketing the tokens and mumbling to herself, "Goddamn suicide mission…" The next table was a trio of loud ex-cons already deep in their cups. Wang offered another round of drinks. They welcomed him like an old friend.
"So what's the fuckin' plan, Jackie Chang?" one of them slurred, clearly recognizing Wang from the fight scene. "You lookin' to scrap with the Red Baron himself?"
"That's the rumor," Wang said calmly. Another guy, bald and covered in prison tats, laughed so hard he spat beer all over the table.
"You? Man, Red Beard ain't a fighter, he's a goddamn monster. Has a fuckin' cybernetic arm with a chainsaw built in. I seen it! Took a bloke's head off mid-sentence!" "Bullshit," Cass muttered, but smirked anyway.
"No, no, I swear!" the guy insisted. "And he fucks like twelve women a day. They just line up. One time he made a guy fuck a pig just to prove a point!" Wang sighed and stood up. "Appreciate the laughs."
"Wait wait!" the bald guy called. "You goin' after Red Beard? Take this!" He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a... crumpled condom wrapper.
"For luck," he grinned. Cass rolled her eyes.
"Bejezus..." Back at their corner table, Cass dropped into her chair and cracked her neck.
"Well. That was a waste of beer." Wang didn't sit yet. He stood with his hands on his hips, thinking.
"No," he said. "Not a total waste."
Cass raised a brow. "You get something I didn't?"
He nodded. "Multiple people said Glenelg. Hotel. Beachside. Even the crazy ones didn't contradict that."
She lit another cigarette. "Still sounds like a fuckin' death trap."
"Maybe," Wang replied. "But now we know where to start."
Cass smirked and raised her beer can in a mock toast. "To sewer lines and the devil's anus."
Wang clinked his glass against hers. "To the worst goddamn plan we've ever had."
Clink.
Q: Do you have any tall tales about yourself?