The old police radio sitting on the table next to the man was almost comically out of place in a lit-up Central City bar at one in the morning. The crowd noise and the music swallowed most of what it was broadcasting — you'd have to be sitting directly across from it to catch any of the words.
Jude sat down.
'…XXX Street… requesting police support…'
He glanced at the radio, then at the man eating fries with the methodical patience of someone who had nowhere better to be and knew it.
"I figured you'd blow through whatever you took and disappear for a while," Jude said. "But here you are, doing strategic reconnaissance in a bar. Snart, you absolute workaholic."
Leonard Snart picked up a napkin, wiped his fingers with deliberate care, and leaned back to look at Jude properly.
"You say things I can't place sometimes." A fry went into his mouth. "I should probably add Japanese to my reading list at some point. — Did you bring the cart?"
"It's one in the morning."
"I'm aware."
"Why would I bring a food cart out at one in the morning?"
"Because the food here is terrible."
Jude glanced at the basket between them, picked up a fry, and took a single experimental bite.
He's not wrong.
"Speaking of which," Snart said, "I'll return the three hundred thousand. And throw in an extra two hundred. You could rent this place out — put something edible on the menu. Consider it a business opportunity."
"That's how you spend your money? No wonder you're back to work before the year's out."
"I don't usually burn through it this fast." Snart looked faintly rueful. "The portion I can't spend on anything sensible usually gets donated. Depends on my mood. But your cooking genuinely merits the investment. Five hundred thousand, final offer. Take the restaurant."
"You want to tie me to a location." Jude shook his head. "I have things to do."
"Such as helping your friends deal with criminals."
"I won't deny it. And I'll benefit from it."
"More than five hundred thousand?"
"Don't be offended." Jude set the half-eaten fry down. "New question — why did you accelerate the timeline? It hasn't even been six months since the diamond job."
"Diamonds take time to move." Snart's tone was matter-of-fact. "Though, as it turned out, I didn't move them at all. They were beautiful, so I gave them to Lisa."
Of course he did.
"As for why I'm moving again—" He nodded toward the bar. "See what they're calling the new signature cocktail?"
Jude looked. Gold and red layered in a tall glass, catching the light.
"Flash," he read off the chalkboard.
"Central City has a new folk hero," Snart said, without particular inflection. "People name drinks after him now."
"You don't like the Flash?"
"I don't dislike him. He's interesting. I just don't like what he represents for my business." He picked up another fry. "I grew up here. It wasn't a good childhood, but it was mine. When I got older, this city became my playground. I understood it. I knew how it worked." A pause. "Then the Flash showed up, and my people started getting ideas, and Central City stopped being my playground. That's a problem."
"Your relationship with this city is a little possessive, you know that?"
"I'm aware. I didn't get much in the way of a healthy upbringing." He said it without self-pity — just the flat acknowledgment of a fact. "Your wisdom got to me too late."
Jude let that sit for a moment.
"So. Day after tomorrow. A Song of Ice and Fire."
Snart's expression didn't change. "Your network is thorough. Yes. Day after tomorrow."
"But you're not going for the painting."
"What would I do with a painting?" His voice was almost amused. "If I take down the Flash in front of all of Central City, the city is mine again. The painting is just the stage."
"How many people are you bringing?"
"Originally two." He reached for another fry. "Currently unclear."
Jude frowned. "You always operate on a plan."
"I operate on what I'm confident about. And lately, I've been hearing interesting things." Snart's eyes stayed level and cool. "A lot of unusual activity has started up in the city all at once. The police keep mentioning superpowered criminals on the news. If any of them have abilities that are useful against the Flash, I'd be foolish not to explore the option."
Jude produced a small notebook and pen from his jacket and set them on the table with the expression of an attentive student.
"Can you give me names? Or locations? I'll deal with them first."
Snart looked at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he smiled. It was the smile of a man who found something genuinely funny but wasn't going to give you the satisfaction of laughing.
"You understand why I'm not going to hand you intelligence so you can neutralize my potential assets."
"It's free to try." Jude didn't put the notebook away. "And consider the actual risk calculation — people with powers have tempers. You can't just recruit them like they're employees. They won't automatically respect you. Some of them will try to use you as a stepping stone." He tapped the pen against the table. "But if they go up against the Flash first, independently, and survive? That tells you exactly what they're worth. They come out of the experience — they know the Flash's patterns, they've adapted, they're more capable. And if they happen to get into trouble and you show up, you've done them a favor. No taming required. They come to you."
He set the pen down.
"I've talked myself hoarse. Yes or no?"
Snart checked his watch.
"A hundred thousand per lead."
"What—" Jude stared at him. "Why don't you just rob me directly?"
"Robbery is my profession. And intelligence costs money to gather. I'm not running a charity."
"Ten thousand per lead. That's my ceiling."
"Now you're starting to sound like a criminal."
"Don't push me, Snart." Jude's voice took on a mildly threatening quality. "I will send Cisco after Lisa. I'm not joking. He is devastatingly effective on a very specific type of woman. If he charms the diamonds out of her to cover the difference, you'll have no one to blame but yourself."
For the first time all evening, something cracked in Snart's composure — not offense, not anger, but something close to genuine amusement.
"The freeze gun," he said. "Cisco built it. He was also the one who ran out into the street that night to help the Flash, despite having no good reason to. No powers, no backup." He picked up the last fry. "I respect that. He's a loyal person, and loyal people are rare." A pause. "But the implication that anyone could turn Lisa's head with charm alone is slightly insulting to her."
"Really," Jude said. "if I really send Cisco then you'll understand what I mean by dangerous to a specific type of woman."
Snart gave a short, cold laugh and reached into his coat.
"First." He set down a folded piece of paper. "There's been activity at the Petersburg substation. An acquaintance in the underworld tells me one of the employees had their home address sold today. Photo on the back, name included. He gets off shift in about thirty minutes."
"Second." He nodded toward the far end of the bar. "There's a thief who's been operating in this city before. Not particularly clever. She caused trouble here once already and came back tonight anyway."
Jude turned in his seat and followed Snart's line of sight to a corner of the bar — where a slender young Black girl was watching the room with the careful, cataloguing attention of someone who was very much casing the place.