By the time Rorschach reached New York and linked up with the Irish brothers, it was already evening.
There was no helping it—New York traffic was infamous.
He had left in the morning and only hit the so‑called Big Apple at dusk.
Parked on the side of the road in a high‑end neighborhood, Rorschach and the brothers sat in the car, sorting through what they had dug up.
"So the car got to New York yesterday, didn't stop along the way, and drove straight into Puff Daddy's estate?"
"That's right. We paid big money to get that intel. I watched the community's surveillance myself. No way it's wrong."
"...Shit."
Rorschach swore under his breath.
He had assumed they were dealing with some Latin or Eastern European crime group, maybe a trafficking ring. He had not expected Carl to be delivered to a celebrity's front door.
And not just any celebrity.
Who was Puff Daddy?
People who did not know better might think he was just some old‑school OG rapper, a washed‑up performer.
But Rorschach knew the man's place in North American entertainment, especially in music.
In that world, the guy was ceiling‑level.
Back in the day, he'd gone head‑to‑head with Tupac, lighting up the East–West coast rap wars, with his artist Biggie becoming a legend in hip‑hop.
Usher? He had been the one to push him into the spotlight.
Even Bieber, the teen idol who had gone global in recent years, came out of his label.
Beyoncé and Jay‑Z had both started as his tag‑alongs. Multiple A‑list Hollywood stars called him "brother."
Even the new Black president who had just taken office had publicly said more than once that he was a Puff Daddy fan.
Billions in net worth, overwhelming influence, friends everywhere, backing in both politics and business…
In money‑drunk America, a man like that was far harder to deal with than some random trafficking cartel.
"Feels off…"
Murphy muttered, frowning. "A guy at Puff Daddy's level crooks a finger and there's a line of would‑be starlets waiting to jump in his bed. Why would he need to be snatching kids?"
"And it was Gus sending him the kid to curry favor," Connor added.
Listening to them, Rorschach turned his eyes toward the heavily guarded estate in the distance, thoughts darkening.
Puff Daddy's origin story was no secret in the circles that mattered. Rumor had it his father had been the right‑hand man to one of New York's biggest Black gang bosses.
His label had been built with drug money.
He might have cleaned himself up on paper later, but plenty of gang members still claimed he was the true boss of the New York underworld, the man behind every Black crew in the city.
The shadow emperor of New York.
Looked at that way, Gus had shipped those kids to New York to win him over and push his product into the city.
As for why they had to be kids… a bad feeling crept up Rorschach's spine.
Those children were either fodder for some rich bastard's twisted tastes, or props in some vile occult ritual.
Goddamn dealers and gangsters. Goddamn Black bastards.
No—maybe not just them. Hollywood stars, Wall Street money, D.C. officials… every last one of them might have a hand in this filth.
Thinking of what those earlier shipments of kids from Gus might already have gone through in that estate, Rorschach's eyes hardened.
"How many bodyguards in there?"
Connor and Murphy exchanged a look and answered helplessly, "The estate is swimming in cameras. Not even a fly's getting in. There are over a dozen guards at both the front and back gates. Inside, there have to be even more."
"Yeah, boss. We tried going up to the gate as fans to feel things out. Didn't even make it close before the dogs at the door chased us off. Slipping in quiet is basically impossible."
Rorschach nodded slightly. Security like that was a headache.
But not hopeless. An estate this size burned through water and power like crazy.
Give him some time and he was confident he could cut the utilities in the area and walk in as a repair tech.
The downside was the bribes it would take to flip water and power crews—and once inside, he would be under heavy eyes the whole time. Moving would be slow and sticky.
"Actually, I might have something," Murphy broke in. "Word is Puff Daddy throws a big party every night. We could go in posing as guests."
"How?"
Rorschach did not sound impressed. "Anyone on that list will be his circle, people he knows. We walk in as strangers, we're burned on sight."
Murphy nodded, frustrated. "If we knew somebody who'd actually been to one of his parties, it'd help. At least we'd get a better idea of what we're walking into."
Right then, Connor, who had been quiet the whole time, scratched his head. "Now that you mention it, I do know someone who might've been to Daddy's parties."
Both Rorschach and Murphy turned to stare at him.
Connor laughed awkwardly under the attention.
——————————
Night fell.
On a street in Brooklyn, Rorschach leaned against the wall with a cigarette, eyes on a storefront across the road.
A long line snaked from the door—wall‑to‑wall men.
Over the entrance, a neon sign shaped like a pair of red high heels flashed on and off, the "legs" parting and closing again and again in the glow.
Yeah. Strip club.
Connor explained, "When we first hit New York the night before last, I couldn't sleep, so I went out for a walk and ended up here. I picked out a dancer, and she started bragging that she'd been to Puff Daddy's parties, said her 'service' was top tier, so I gave her an extra hundred bucks…"
Rorschach said nothing. The guy was helping him for free, running around trying to find leads. Blowing off some steam at night after legwork was understandable.
They did not wait long before a blonde in next to nothing—just underwear and fishnets—stepped outside.
The second she spotted Connor, she squealed, threw her arms open, and ran across the street.
"Baby, you came to see me again! I just got your text when I came off stage and ran right out!" she cried.
Connor quickly stuffed two bills into her hand, then bent his head and kissed her deep.
Rorschach took an involuntary step back.
He kisses that?
Guy had to be half out of his mind.
It went on long enough for him to get nervous, but eventually Connor remembered why they were there and hurriedly whispered the situation into the girl's ear.
"You want into Daddy's parties?" she repeated, giving them a once‑over before shaking her head. "Connor, you and your brother don't stand a chance. But…"
She dragged a finger down Rorschach's chest, licked her lips, and purred, "A tough, handsome hottie like you? Might slip through. Plenty of the big shots in there like your type."
Rorschach had no words.
Connor slipped her another bill. "Lena, do me a favor. Figure out a way to get my boss in there."
"It's not that I don't want to."
With the cash in hand, Lena still answered honestly. "Daddy's pretty strict about who gets in. If you were a girl, you might make it. Men don't get through without someone vouching for them. No invite, no entry."
"And even for girls, it's tough. You've gotta be hot, gotta be wild, and…"
She dropped her voice. "You can't be old. The younger, the better. Schoolgirls are perfect."
Schoolgirls.
Rorschach's eyes narrowed. One face popped into his mind.
Lena waved the bills. "If you aren't taking me inside, I need to get back to work. Connor, next time you come I'll give you a discount."
Connor smacked her on the ass. "Appreciate it, babe. Say hi to your mom for me."
"You tell her yourself. She's on in five," Lena said, waving over her shoulder without turning.
Watching her go, Connor tugged at his pants, looking more than a little tempted.
Murphy glanced at Rorschach, clearly torn. "Boss, I know we're doing the right thing, but are we really going to cross Puff Daddy? He's a big deal, even for the whole continent."
Rorschach was already reaching for his phone to call Chicago. He smiled slightly. "If we can solve it quietly, we solve it quietly. If we can't…"
He looked up at Murphy.
"How many bullets do you think a celebrity can take?"
(End of Chapter)
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