The Tyger Claws' hostile takeover of Lizzie's Bar was short-lived, all thanks to the Afterlife's swift action. Except for a few black eyes, some bumps and bruises, and injured pride, all of the Mox and civilians involved got away fairly clean, all things considered. It was also the kick in the ass that Suzie Q needed to shirk her habit of distrusting outsiders and start talking about hired muscle to help keep order. Rita was a more than capable bouncer, but even she met her match from time to time, and losing an arm was a wake-up call. V had always respected Suzie's brass and was happy to come to the table, offering generous terms for Afterlife protection, especially now that she had a personal interest of rekindled romance in the mix.
The damages for Vik amounted to a new arm for Rita and a full RealSkinn refresh and new abdominal subdermal plate for V; Miz wasn't so lucky, having suffered major internal bruising and several cracked ribs, not to mention the damage around her face. She pulled through well enough, but it was going to take some time to fully heal. Vik threatened V under 'pain of unpleasantness' to leave the kid the fuck alone until she could at least stand up straight without gnashing her teeth; that of course didn't stop Miz from trying to train or push herself, but not like anyone else was going to try and tell the Sandevastator what to do. It was only a matter of time before Miz got back at Ky for the cheesy nickname, but it stuck around all the same.
The whole affair was fuel to the fire that everyone had been complaining about for far too long; Kabuki TC needed a shakedown, and one visit to Wakako from the Afterlife was enough of a catalyst. Shortly following V's not-so-casual sit-down with the Lady of Westbrook Estate, which she made a point of having before Vik could fix her up, all of the K-Town faction's leadership started disappearing under increasingly mysterious and gruesome circumstances. The Council had heard enough to risk Maelstrom walking right in the back door, but with V's backing, the cyberpsychotic chrome-jocks knew better.
There was an uneasy peace in the air, but like all things in Night City, it wasn't likely to last...
--
[One month later - 05:47 - Rancho Coronado, Santo Domingo]
The house was calm and quiet, not even a stir. The light hadn't yet broken over the horizon, the interior still draped in the dark of night, but an eery red glow was forming in the distance; a red sun rising...
Pops was curled up next to Liv in their bed, sound asleep with his lover in his arms. It was a hard thing to beat; a peaceful night's sleep next to someone for whom he would give the world. Call it age catching up to him or simply the mind evolving as he grew older, but he'd taken a step back in recent weeks. He was fast approaching 50, and for someone to have to survived to his age, in his profession... well let's just say he wasn't trying to push his luck any further. Miz was a more-than-capable leader at this point, and the crew loved her; they had her back no matter what, especially Billy. Not to say he had any plans on going away entirely, but it was time for this 'old dog' to wind down. The real question was how would he break the news to the crew? Every one of them looked to him as a kind of father figure; they were his family, and the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint them or let them down.
As it was, a peaceful morning sleeping in wasn't in the cards today, as Pops awoke to a holocall ringing from Vik... and rarely did he ever have good news when calling this early. He shook himself awake as he answered, "Mornin', 'doc..."
Vik replied, "Phoenix... how've you been?"
"Spit it out, Vik", Pops already knew something was up from the tone of his choom's voice as he rubbed his brow with a groan.
A long silence passed before the ripperdoc obliged, "...Joe's dead... thought you'd want to know. They found him in his office, place was blown to shit..."
Damn..., Pops thought to himself as Vik continued, "Pops... I'm sorry... I'm sorry to always be the bearer of bad news."
"You're a good man, Vik", Pops reassured him, "I can't think of anyone better to have their finger on the pulse of the city..."
"That means a lot...", Vik admitted with touch of warmth in his voice, "Look... I-I'm sorry for wakin' ya. Call me if you need anything."
Pops smiled to himself, "Will do... thanks, Vik."
The call dropped as Pops sat up, careful to not disturb Liv. He hung his legs over the edge of the bed as he held himself upright with one arm and continued rubbing his brow with the other. As he grabbed for his softpack and lit a cigarette, he allowed himself to follow a dark trail of thought... so many of his old friends had died already, but when was his number going to come up? He couldn't do that to Liv... nor Miz, nor Billy, nor anyone else...
[2072 - Kabuki, Watson]
Five years... the fuck's it all been for...?
These and a hundred other dispiriting thoughts swirled around in the man's mind as he shuffled down the crowded sidewalks of Allen Street, south of the Creek Loop. He tried his best to keep to himself, stay out of peoples' ways, but with crowds like these, it was hard to not run into a few bodies; it was his saving grace that nobody paid him any heed. Nobody in this city cared about a damn thing except their own skin and their own scratch.
He hadn't shaved in probably a week, the scruff set and further darkening his dirtied face. His deep brown eyes were dead, the rings around them telling the whole story; it was a day like any other... yet another all-nighter on the job amounting to jack-shit. There had been too many jobs like this lately. Too many bad endings, and each of them weighed heavy on the man's mind and pulled at his heart, causing his naturally chiseled jaw to clench. He reasoned to himself if he'd wanted jobs like these, one after the other, day in and day out, he'd have stayed with the NCPD. Too bad, that decision was made for him five years ago... 'corruption', they called it. What a load of shit...
If refusing to rat on his brothers-in-blue for skimming a handful of eddies off the top of a bust was really corruption, then string him up alongside all the rest doing it on an exponentially grander scale in plain sight every god-damn day. You want to talk about corruption, make sure to mention the twisted City Council member they were sent after like a pack of rabid dogs in the first place; a truly evil motherfucker that liked to pay scavs to snatch kids off the street to be used as "entertainment" at his frequent shindigs in the North Oaks Hills... what they'd found was enough to forcibly empty your stomach. To find out after the fact someone like that was supposed to be under NCPD immunity, what the fuck was it all really for? The oath he took, the badge he wore proudly for ten years, none of it amounted to shit.
He wasn't about to take a high and mighty position and tell you he was without sin; nobody on Night City's payroll was truly clean, but at least his small amount of grift didn't come from hurting other people, and it sure as shit wasn't going to buy him a house in the Hills anytime soon. Doesn't matter anymore, he reminded himself as he crossed another street, just another shiftless body in the sea of beating hearts beaten down by the 'house rules' of Night City's game.
Before long, he was in the heart of Allen's 'Kabuki South' proper, having passed under the Cartwright Bridge before meeting the sun again as his eyes squinted. You couldn't ask for more of a shit-hole to base out of, but nobody around here asked questions as long as the rent was paid on time; and for his chosen profession, that was a mighty attractive amenity. Buildings on top of ramshackle buildings all crammed together with almost no room between, the entirety of this few square blocks looked as though it would crumble into the bay if you looked at it wrong. It was a veritable maze of nooks, crannies, passages, and tunnels, and after five years the man still had trouble navigating sometimes.
Today, though, he knew his way home; or rather, the office. He took a deep breath as he climbed a few concrete flights of stairs covered in trash and waste. The entire City was like this, and had been for as long as he could remember. He pushed past a small crowd of people formed in front of the buildings on his block, bypassing the entrance to the tenement altogether. His destination was elsewhere, tucked away in one of the winding paths, and he liked it that way. Hardly any foot traffic ever came his direction, unless they were coming to pay him for his particular skillset. Not today, he hoped; today could just as well be silent and boring, and he wouldn't complain one bit. Maybe a nice stretch out on the sofa in his office could do him some good. He wanted a drink... and sleep... and another drink... maybe just one more... he shook his head as he walked down the cramped and narrow alley between tenement buildings; it was always just one more, except it never was. Too many times had he found himself waking up on the floor of his office, a dull pounding in his head, clothes strewn about with no regard, and no recollection of the night before.
That was Joe Miller, former NCPD Detective First Grade, currently a private-eye for hire; he was grizzled, streetwise, world-weary, and a bit of an alcoholic on top of it all, but if you wanted someone or something found, Joe was your man. He was one of a dozen or more in the sprawl of Kabuki alone, marketing their services for cold hard scratch; dealers, gunrunners, pimps, enforcers, hired muscle, so on and so forth. If you needed something done off-books, Kabuki was your place to find it, along with the best street noodles in all of Night City. Joe was just one cog in that machine, happy to play his part as long as it put food on his table and drink in his glass.
He had a tired smile on his face as he looked up, seeing the sign hanging in the window reading 'Miller Investigative Services', and the smile grew even wider at seeing that his assistant was still there; why she continued to put up with his bullshit, he could never quite figure out. But he was happy that she stuck around. He chuckled to himself as he looked down at his own two feet, reaching up to scratch the shaved side of his head; that was one thing he never cared for as a beat cop, was having to maintain the grooming standard expected of all officers in uniform. Probably the happiest day of his life on the force was getting the bump to plainclothes detective, and the first thing he did was fully embrace his Watson streetkid roots by getting a haircut; a haircut he had maintained since leaving the force altogether, with one whole side of his head shaved all the way up, the medium-length brown locks hanging loose and undisciplined over the other side. Looking at his own reflection in the window, he noticed for the first time since leaving this morning's job that his hair was covered in dirt and dust, resembling something of a bird's nest. He brought his other hand up to ruffle it loose, shake out anything that didn't belong. He gave a deep sigh as he looked at the hand and the cybernetic arm it was attached to; door prize for a bust gone bad, he had lost his entire right arm up to the shoulder, receiving an Arasaka-made NCPD-branded black-and-blue arm and a medal as a 'reward' for his sacrifices. It came as a small miracle to him that the City didn't try and take it back when he was kicked off the force. He scoffed with a sigh of relief as he collected himself and pulled the door open as he called out in a warm but gravelly voice with a not-so-subtle American Northeast accent, "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Chelle!"
He could see a pair of beautiful bright green eyes rolling over the top of the terminal display alongside the clickety-clack of keys as a silky smooth voice fired back, "Can it, boss... you still owe me an apology for how you ran out of here last night."
Joe laughed nervously as he undid his antiquated suit vest, baring his off-white button-down shirt before threw both arms out and swaggered over to a filing cabinet behind the desk, reaching up to the top as he tried in vain to defend himself, "Duty calls, darlin'... you know how it is with these hot cases."
After a few seconds, the clacking stopped, and the chair swiveled around as the woman leaned to the side, propping her arm up and resting against her hand as she eyed him with all the skepticism she could muster. Rachelle Diaz, or 'Chelle', was not a woman to be trifled with. She was a desk sergeant for NCPD Homicide before her entire precinct was unceremoniously shit-canned for crossing the wrong corpo during a major serial killer case a few years back. She and Joe and had crossed paths before, and were always friendly with one another, leading her to reach out when she was cast off the chopping block just like him. She was a strong but sensual woman with a medium complexion, strong jaw, full lips, and long and thick dark brown hair to frame her face. Like her employer, she embraced her wilder Heywood roots, shaving one whole side up to expose the threading running along her scalp, a pattern cut in the peach-fuzz to match. She was only a few years younger than Joe, himself teetering on the edge of 40, but where his forming crinkles just left him looking rugged and worn, the teasing crows' feet at the edges of her eyes only made her more distinguished. She'd seen her fair share of shit, and survived it.
While she was a bulldog in her NCPD Blues trying to rise above the sea of pigheaded machismo around her, she had embraced her feminity as a civvie, allowing her hair to hang loose and rest against her shoulder to accent the the long line of her strong neck and the simple black eye makeup she wore; she dressed plainly, but professionally, a white collared shirt tucked neatly into a pressed plaid skirt stopping above her kneecaps. She had long and toned legs accented by dark sheer stockings, finishing the entire ensemble with a pair of nondescript black pumps sporting a two-inch heel.
Joe kept rooting around on top of the filing cabinet, a clinking of glass indicating he'd found the object of his desire. He turned to meet Chelle's stare, a part of him screaming inside because he knew exactly what that look meant. He placed a glass down carefully on the corner of her desk as he uncorked a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the good stuff, and eyeballed a greedy three-finger pour. As he returned the cork to the bottle with a moist squeak, he placed the bottle down and picked up the glass with a raised eyebrow as he stayed locked with Chelle. He brought the glass to his lips and took an intentionally obnoxiously loud sip, his eyes never once breaking from hers, before he gave an equally loud and refreshed sigh.
She met his raised eyebrow as her eyes narrowed, "So... how'd it go?"
He finally broke his stare, looking down into his glass through the sloshing brown contents as he answered with defeat in his voice, "Same as all the rest, Chelle... blood, bits and pieces, but nothing definitive. Seems like all we find lately are leftovers..."
He slouched back and leaned on a desk against the wall, his eyes becoming lost in recalling the events of the last twelve hours. Chelle's demeanor softened, and she reached out with her hand to him. He gave a quiet smile through closed lips as he reached out with his cybernetic hand, gently stroking her fingers. For all of her efforts to look like anything else other than the butch cop she used to be, she still had dirt under her fingernails. He admired them before he looked back in her eyes as she nodded her head back to another room in their humble office space, "You're 09:00 is here..."
Joe quickly checked his HUD, 09:48, as he muttered to himself, "Shit", and grabbed the bottle before crossing in front of the desk. He could only make out part of the potential client sitting casually in the chair, his long legs poking out from behind the open door frame. There were simple dark green tactical trousers bloused into a huge pair of combat boots, but they weren't meticulous like any military man's; they were aged, scuffed, worn out, and much like Joe himself, had probably seen better days. He walked slowly, step by step, as he took another sip from his glass, until he finally crossed the threshold and his eyes went wide. He turned back to Chelle, "I-Is this a joke?!"
She raised her eyebrows with a shrug as a gruff voice spoke calmly, "Ain't no joke, amigo... and I'm short on time."
It was none other than Phoenix Gray sitting in the chair, tumbling a lit cigarette end over end between his fingers as he looked up to his host with a tinge of sarcasm, "Glad you could pencil me in..."
Joe was in shock at the infamous nomad gunslinger darkening the door of his business, now wondering if he was a target for some reason... there were a lot of reasons; the only thing worse than a cop was an ex-cop for hire. His fears were quelled as Phoenix stood up, towering over him by at least eight inches as he switched the cigarette to his other hand and reached out for a handshake, "I need your help..."
As he took the much larger man's hand in a firm grip, Joe had to force himself to blink as he stumbled over his own words, "Y-Yeah, come on in, have a seat."
He turned to lead the way as Phoenix followed him into a smaller room in the back. It was sparsely furnished, a simple faux-wood desk with a run-of-the-mill office chair; there were no personal effects of any kind, the only other furniture being an old couch against the wall upholstered in some old-world fabric. It looked comfortable enough, and Joe directed his guest to take a seat as he ungracefully set the bottle down on his desk, the glass banging against the surface before he similarly crashed into his chair behind the desk and finished his glass. He wasted no time in reaching for the bottle to pour a second helping as he removed his sidearm holster, placing it on the desk as Phoenix took a seat, his eyebrow subtly raised at the second three-finger pour in as little as five minutes. He reached over for an ashtray, setting it down on his leg as he ashed his cigarette nonchalantly, "Hmmm... long night?"
Joe laughed with a sharp exhale as he took a generous sip from the glass, "...somethin' like that. So what can I, of all people, do for Phoenix Gray?"
Phoenix smirked as he pulled a photograph from his jacket pocket; hell of a thing, physical photographs. Little more than quaint relics from a simpler time in the neon wasteland of Night City. He dropped it on the corner of the desk, giving it a light push with his fingertips as Joe reached to grab it. As he turned the photo over to look at it, he was struck immediately by its warmth. Phoenix was standing next to a slightly younger Japanese woman, his arm around her; in front of both of them was even younger girl bearing a striking likeness to the woman. They were all smiling, happy. The silhouette of Night City was visible in the background as they leaned against the Badlands Dam Lookout Point. Joe scoffed to himself with a smile as he said, "Nice lookin' family, who took the picture?"
"A good friend wit' a bad haircut.", Phoenix answered, returning the smile.
Got to be Reyes... of course he knows Reyes..., Joe thought to himself. Hardly the time, but there was a question in his mind he needed to ask as he took another short sip, "How'd you find me?"
His guest answered as if he'd already anticipated the question, "Boris sent me..."
"Ah yeah, B-Boris... good ma—", Joe's face wasn't hiding it very well as he rubbed his brow before calling out, "H-Hey Chelle, which one was Boris again?"
Phoenix's jaw clenched; he was in no mood for games, and his face didn't hide it very well either. After a few seconds, the silky smooth voice rang out from the front, "Farmhouse in the Badlands, Scav site... two little girls?"
"Right! Thank you!", Joe snapped his fingers, "Yeah, real shit-show of a job that was... man."
Another sip; another narrowed eye twitch as Phoenix chided him, "Couldn't be too bad if he sent me your way..."
Joe backpedaled as he choked on his whiskey, "S-Sure, the job got done, got him his girls back... but fuckin' Scavs, choom... barely human by the way they treat their victims... anyway, I take it these two cherry blossoms are in some type o' trouble..."
There was a low grunt from Phoenix as he leaned forward from the couch; he was none too impressed thus far, and he wasn't afraid to make it known. The recommendation came with a word of warning, and he was seeing that word fully realized before his eyes. The hair stood up on the back of Joe's neck as they locked eyes for several seconds. The silence was deafening, but neither of them were going to back down from this nonverbal cockfight they'd stepped into. It was a game of chicken, a test of the nerves to see which hardened merc cracked first, until a voice as sweet as sunshine called out from the door to Joe's office, "Mr. Gray, would you care for a cup of coffee?"
Chelle was standing in the doorway holding a white cup with steam rising, a coy smile on her face. Phoenix could see in an instant who really ran the show, who was really the brains of the operation. His eyes broke to her as he smiled and reached out, "Well, since ya went through the trouble, I wouldn't want to be rude, now would I?"
She gracefully sauntered over with the cup, her steps reverberating with a rhythmic clip-clop against the vinyl floor, and handed it to their guest before she turned to leave, snaking away the bottle from Joe's desk as she whisked herself out the door. Phoenix smirked to himself as he looked down for a moment before meeting Joe's eyes again, "Hell of a lady you got there..."
Joe cracked a smile, "Why she puts up with me, I'll never know... mystery for the ages, I guess."
There was another awkward silence as he finished his glass before placing it heavily onto the desk. He leaned over before noticing the bottle was gone, his eyes full of amusement before he settled on leaning forward as he continued, "So these two are obviously very near and dear... how can I help?"
Phoenix eased up as he leaned back and took a sip of the coffee, Damn, that's good stuff.
After a few seconds of choosing his words, he answered, "They were taken thirty-six hours ago by Kenji Yamada... I was in the Badlands on a job at the time... I want 'em back, and I need answers on where they are."
Tyger Claws again... JESUS, Joe thought to himself as his face visibly winced and he went on the defensive, "What makes you so sure it was Tyger Claws?"
Phoenix's face hardened; he didn't really want to get into it, but he could tell this particular private dick needed some convincing, "The woman's a TC joytoy workin' under Kabuki jurisdiction... daughter's a shatei risin' up the ranks. Both decided recently they wanted to cut ties. Mother started skimmin' eddies off clients to try an' save up enough to buy out... Kenji got wise, and near as I can tell, decided to make an example of them both..."
Joe's heart nearly broke for the nomad sitting on his couch, but he couldn't shake loose a bad feeling like all the rest of his recent cases as he made a startling confession, "A lot of my work recently has been looking into missing kids... everyone suspects Kabuki TCs are snatching 'em up off the streets. So far, all I've found are pieces, leftovers..."
His eyes began to cloud over before a brief glimmer of hope shone in them as he perked up; it could have just been the whiskey setting in, but he aired his theory anyway, "This isn't a normal snatch-and-grab for them, though... it's personal, it's revenge... that may play in our favor."
Phoenix lit up, following Joe's line of thinking, "You think he'll keep them alive until...?"
He couldn't force himself to finish the sentence, as the very thought of his girls in any pain or danger was enough to break him right then and there. He had to fight a tremor in his hands as he reached one of them up and ran it through his prematurely greying brown hair. Joe had to wonder if the grey hadn't set in just from all of this; he could see the love in the large man's eyes for these two, and despite his less-than-stellar track record as of late with TC kidnap jobs, he wanted to help the man. After several seconds of consideration, Joe offered a lifeline, "I think Kenji Yamada is a greedy bastard who'll squeeze whatever he can out of something or someone, so time is on our side for the moment, but we have to work quickly..."
There was an honest smile on Phoenix's face, "So you'll take the job?"
"I'll take the job", Joe stood before continuing, his tone shifting to more business-like, "My fee is fifteen thousand now, another fifteen on completion."
Not one to be swindled, Phoenix stood as well, towering before his host as he said, "Not a chance, amigo... but I'll pay you fifty all at once when the job's done."
Joe had been swindled himself before, but there was something about Phoenix's eyes that compelled him to trust the man as he reached out for a handshake, "Then I'm your man..."
Phoenix met him in the middle as their eyes flashed blue to exchange contact details before he turned and left as his voice trailed out, "Call me when you find something, I'll get out of your hair for now... got a few other leads to chase down..."
Reputation was a hell of a thing, and Joe's was hurt in this moment thinking that the Nomad Gunslinger might have better options; he couldn't fault the man, it was a race against time. And Phoenix was willing to pay top dollar to get his family back. Joe had to admire the man's tenacity, watching as he pushed on headstrong back into the underbelly of the City.
He turned back to his office, taking his seat behind the desk as he rubbed his brow with a low groan. He needed sleep, badly, but he also needed to find something, anything... he was deep in thought before he sensed a strong presence standing in his doorway as she'd done so many times before. His mouth curled into a smile as he said, "Smooth move, with the bottle... thank you."
Chelle chuckled as she kept her distance for the moment, "He was two steps away from tearing you apart if I hadn't stepped in... Joe, you got to get it together... you've gone off the deep end these last few months."
Joe didn't want to hear it; he knew it all too well already. He looked like hell, he looked he hadn't eaten in days, he looked like death warmed over... he was slipping, fast, and he wasn't sure he could hang on much longer. All those kids, lost in the black...
You can't save the world, Chelle thought as she watched him inside his own mind, writhing in pain. She walked over to his desk, leaning against it with her arms spread apart, "Joe, you're a good man... but you can't save everyone. This... churn... is too much, even for the best of us."
He looked up with a sadness in his eyes, "...they're just kids, Chelle... and I can't lose another one... I-I used to be good at this..."
She rounded the desk as she placed both hands on his shoulders, "But you're stepping up, and that's what matters. You're giving families closure that they need where nobody else will give them the time of day... not even the law."
Joe scoffed as he placed his hands on hers and looked in her eyes, "Chelle, you know better than anyone else there's no laws in Night City... just cops..."
She smirked at his cynicism as she carefully lifted her skirt and settled comfortably on his lap with an exhale, "Well then it's a good thing we both got out when we did... isn't it?"
Her arms shifted to wrap around his neck as she pulled him close. She could feel him hardening through his pants before he tried to shift away, "I-I have to run this down, Chelle..."
She arched her back and tightened her grip around his neck to grab his attention, "Uh-uh. You still owe me for last night..."
Joe laughed as he brought his arms up to brace against Chelle's back and leaned up to kiss her before their breathing grew heavy, turning to moans as they lost themselves in one another...
--
[One hour later]
BANG— CRASH— RATTLE— SCREAM—
"Have you lost your fucking mind?! Who the fuck do you think yo-O-O-A-A-AGH!!!"
Joe threw the handcuffed TC lieutenant over the railing of a second-story catwalk, his screams trailing as he slammed into the heavy arm of an automated repair unit with the full force of his face before crashing against his back on the floor. As he came to, he bled profusely from a broken nose and screamed, "We had a deal, you fucking asshole! Money for protection! Information for a blind eye! What the fuck happened?!"
The lieutenant continued yelling and shouting as Joe stopped in the middle of the catwalk. He punched a large button on a mounted control panel before grabbing a joystick. The heavy machinery whirred to life over head, nearly drowning out the ganger as a pulley system maneuvered into position; attached the to pulley was a junked Thorton Colby, suspended twenty feet above the ganger. Joe eyeballed his positioning before leaving the panel as he leaned against the railing, taking in the torrents of abuse being hurled at him. He finally snapped, cutting off his captive as he yelled, "Our deal didn't include kidnapping children, you fucking shit heel! It didn't cover me running my ass around the whole god damn city for the last six months, chasin' down your chooms for leftovers!"
He punched a few more buttons on the panel, the machinery whirring again as the pulley's chains rattled, lowering the car in place. The lieutenant's screams resumed, falling on deaf ears as Joe stepped away from the railing, trying to collect himself as he paced back and forth with his hands on his hips. He had an undeniable swagger to his gait when he was in his element, and this was one of those lately-rare moments. He snubbed his nose a few times, scratched the shaved side of his head, a few other ticks here and there. He was sweating the asshole out. It wasn't long before proximity alarms sounded, the screams increasing in volume. The car was resting on top of the lieutenant, the weight pressing against him. All the while, Joe casually removed his blazer and folded it over the railing, patiently biding his time without a care in the world; the jacket, like his vest, was another relic of a bygone era.
Finally, he pressed another series of buttons, the machinery ceasing once again. He grabbed his coat from the railing and walked briskly down a flight of steps as he called out, "You still alive under there? Huh?! Do I have your attention now, asshole?!"
The lieutenant fired back with a strained voice, "F-Fuck you, pig! B-Badge or not, you are what you are!"
"That... is... so profound", Joe jested as he approached the voice from under the car. He carefully removed the photo given to him by Phoenix from his vest as he knelt down and held it out while snapping his fingers, "Hey, look at me... look here, huh? ...oh right, you have a fuckin' oil pan smashing your face... here, allow me."
He carefully walked over to the other side, taking his sweet time as his captive groaned and gasped for air. The weight wasn't enough to kill him, but it was enough to make his life hell. Joe tossed his jacket over the hood of the suspended vehicle as he leaned down again, this time looking the ganger in the eyes as he held out the photo, "Start talkin'..."
The ganger's eyes reacted, not by much, but just enough that Joe knew he knew something. Naturally, he vehemently denied it, "Like I'm supposed to know who the fuck that is?!"
Joe smirked for the first time through this entire ordeal, "Well... you could make some inquiries... y'know, for old times' sake."
The ganger spat as he rebuked Joe, "The fuck am I doing you a favor..."
"Well, 'cause if you ever want a chance of leaving here alive, Yoshi", Joe continued his point, "You're goin' to tell me what I want to know..."
By now, the ganger's face and neck were covered in blood from his nose as the vehicle pressed against his entire body. Joe gave him a little love-tap as he slammed his implanted arm on the hood before grabbing his jacket and heading for the exit; the ganger cried out as Joe's voice trailed off, "Not goin' anywhere, right? Ask around about the two girls for me... your buddies'll come get ya eventually... maybe..."
--
[A few hours later - Kabuki Market]
The sounds of the market flooded the roundabout on all levels; people coming and going, talking and laughing, and the clatter of dishes and utensils at any of the numerous food carts and stalls. Joe already had his destination picked as he descended the concrete stairs to the lower levels. There was a particular noodle joint he'd loved ever since he moved into the area; the owner was older than dirt and spoke very little English, but it was hard to find a better bowl of stir-fry anywhere close by. He smiled as he approached the counter, waving back to the owner's daughter, who was always so excited to see a returning customer. She smiled and bowed her head before placing a clear glass down on the table as she reached down. She knew Joe well, and was trying to be anticipate his usual order. He quickly placed his hand over the glass as he shook his head, "Thank you, but no. Coffee, please... and my usual bowl."
There was some surprise in the young girl's face, but she nodded with a smile as she pulled down the glass and turned away; she spoke a few words to her father, who turned with a smile and a wave, to which Joe reciprocated. The young girl returned, placing down a ceramic white cup. The coffee poured thick and dark as night, some loose grounds splashing against the rim of the cup. Joe bowed his head as he brought the cup to his mouth and blew before taking a sip. It was strong, lighting up his throat as it traveled down to his stomach. It was also burnt, had probably been sitting for hours, but he didn't mind. He needed some kind of pick-me-up, and what better for a down-in-the-dirt private dick than a down-in-the-dirt cup o' coffee?
He gave a satisfied exhale with every sip as he enjoyed the goings-on around him. He couldn't explain why, but he had a good feeling, for the first time in a long while. It was a weird sensation to have considering he left someone pinned underneath a car not too long ago, but he couldn't lose this stupid smirk plastered on his face. He was snapped back to reality as a splash of coffee burned his hand. His head whipped around, seeing the young girl bowing and apologizing as she held the coffee pot with trembling hands. He smiled wide and comforted her quietly, "I-It's okay..."
She still bowed, though she returned the smile, turning to put the pot back as the father navigated around her before placing a bowl down with a fresh pair of chopsticks. Joe bowed his head as he grabbed the chopsticks and scooted himself further in. He leaned over the bowl, breathing in deep as the steam assaulted his face. His mouth watered at the smell, and he couldn't wait any longer. Chopsticks in-hand, he picked up the bowl and tilted it towards him as he began shoveling the noodles and scop into his face. He tried to remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal, but it really didn't matter now. He gorged himself on the contents of the bowl like a starving beast before his body forced him to breathe. He set the bowl down for a few seconds as he negotiated the mound of food in his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose as he tried not to choke. Once he had some room to work with, he took another large sip of coffee with a deep sigh.
For these few moments, life was okay. He had a good lead on a hot case, he had a good meal, and he had a beautiful woman waiting at the office... I should do something about that..., he thought to himself. There wasn't really a label for what he and Chelle had. There was physical attraction, sure; and they cared for each other, no doubt. But was it that simple? He hadn't looked at another woman since Chelle came to work for him, and they were sleeping with each other in as little as a few weeks from that point. Maybe it is that simple..., he thought before he was pulled out of his daydream by the sight of three approaching Tyger Claws. Fuck.
His entire body tensed up as he placed the bowl down on the counter. He could feel the weight of his shoulder holster concealed under his jacket, his hands ready to move in an instant. He was mostly sobered up, but he prayed his reaction was quick enough if it came down to it. The gangers shifted and pivoted on their feet, careful to avoid the civilians around them; they weren't on the offensive, even though they all look pissed. Joe had to fight a smirk as he figured they were probably chooms of the lieutenant he'd left behind. Oops...
The gangers stopped, keeping their distance as a group before one of them stepped forward alone as he approached Joe. The young girl serving the other guests had all but disappeared, trying to avoid being noticed as she worked diligently alongside her father, her back to the counter. She was afraid, and she had reason to be.
Joe gave a half-hearted wave and a smirk as the ganger stepped up to the counter, eyes locked. His jaw was clenched tight, anger in his eyes, but he obliged his host, holding out his hand and dropping a shard on the countertop as he spoke in a thick accent, "Yoshi say lose his number... don't come around again..."
"Ain't got'a tell me twice, kid", Joe answered before he realized he couldn't help himself, "...pleasure doin' business with ya."
The ganger stopped, wanting so very badly in that moment to turn around and deck Joe; by the looks on his chooms' faces, they were debating among each other whether to take their chances here and now. Joe leaned casually against the counter as he stared them down and narrowed his eyes. Make my day, kids...
After several seconds, the ganger's head turned as he said, "Be seein' ya... soon."
Another half-hearted wave as they all turned and left back the way they came. Joe waited until they were out of sight before he picked up the data shard. He was cautious, but he had to know. He held off for a second, taking the last sip of coffee in his cup before he threw caution to the wind. He reached behind his ear, fiddling with the socket until he found the right grooves and slotted the shard. His eyes lit up blue as he viewed the stored data in his HUD; a smile crept on his scruffy and worn face as he pinged a holocall to Phoenix, "Hey, Creek Loop, Allen Street just north of the Cartwright Bridge... old strip club called 'Turkish Delights'... you need an extra set of hands?... you sure?... good luck, choom, I'll look forward to some good news..."
--
[Two days later - Vik's Clinic, Little China, Watson]
Emotions were high, the air was tense, and on top of it all, Phoenix was still reeling from the entire experience. He hadn't slept since coming back from the Badlands, every waking moment spent finding Mei and Mizuki; and finally, he had found them. His heart was torn in two, grieving for the woman he lost, and rejoicing for the girl he saved.
Vik went right to work, having to put Mizuki under to keep her from screaming and clawing at him. She had been mostly numb to anything since Phoenix had carried her out of that place, but as soon as the 'doc tried to come near her, the panic started all over again; no one in their right mind could blame her. For what she and Mei had to endure for three days, it was a miracle she held on at all. Vik worried for her mental state. He could treat the physical wounds easily enough, but there was no telling where her mind would end up when all was said and done. Had Phoenix not already handled most of them, Vik could have killed the bastards behind all of this. Mizuki was a punk, but she was a sweet kid behind the rough and tumble persona. He wondered if she'd be the same person after all this, and his heart broke for the whole situation.
He had finally kicked Phoenix out of the room, convincing him to grab a smoke. There was genuinely nothing the old nomad could do, but he didn't want to leave Mizuki's side ever again. He knew she was in good hands, but all of it brought Tallulah and Lily back to the front of his mind, and their memories tormented him as he fought the tears while leaning against the stairway's railing outside. His entire body shook as he grieved all over again. He swore to himself in that moment, and to all of them, that Mizuki was his one chance to make it right. He wouldn't fail her like he failed the rest. He would teach her everything he knew, teach her how to protect herself, and above all, he would always be there to protect her himself, with his life if it came down to it. She was his world now.
The tears subsided as Phoenix took another drag of his smoke and decided it was time to check in; there were accounts to settle. He pinged a holocall to Joe, "Good call on the Turkish Delights..."
There was a heavy sigh of relief on the other end, "Y-You found them...?"
"Yeah, I found 'em", Phoenix answered before his voice broke, "I-I was too late for Mei... b-but I g-got Mizuki out... t-they... they d-did..."
Joe tried in his own way to provide some comfort, "Phoenix, Mizuki's alive. What matters is that she's alive. I'm sorry about Mei, but Mizuki is the one thing you can do something about."
He wasn't wrong, and Phoenix did find some reassurance in the words as he returned the favor in kind after clearing his throat, "You mentioned most o' your cases involved kids goin' missin' 'round Watson, right?"
There was a slight pause before Joe answered, "Yeah...?"
"Maybe this doesn't help much, but...", Phoenix chose his words carefully, "Found a room in the Delight's basement, lined wall to wall with dead bodies... children's bodies... it's an unholy mess, but maybe you can find somethin' that helps? Old partner o' mine's there now, lookin' after it all."
Joe was genuinely caught off-guard, stumbling over his own words as Phoenix continued, "Anyhow, I'm at the 'doc's now wit' Mizuki, but I'll flash the eddies over shortly..."
"Keep your scratch", Joe found his words, and his backbone again, "If this is as big as you say, you've given me and a lot of families closure today... parents that can bury their children. That's worth more than all the money in the world, Phoenix."
That hit home a little harder than Phoenix would have liked, but there was a sincerity to the private dick that he had to admire, but not without a gentle rib, "Not to mention you get to collect..."
Joe sidestepped the jab altogether, "Hey, I'm glad your kid's okay... not everyone gets that much. Don't be a stranger, choom... I think you and I could work well together."
"We'll see...", Pops left him hanging as he dropped the call, and his butt. He was still raw, but there was hope on the horizon. A lot still had to happen, but thanks to a new friend, he was in a better place than where he had started.
--
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