Valentinos controlled areas dominated by Latin communities and valued honor, fairness, and brotherhood. Their friendships were said to last until the grave, and anyone dealing with them should think carefully first. With that thought, the food arrived.
"I remember Valentinos and 6th Street don't get along. Is it really fine for you to go into Valentinos territory with me?"
"What's the problem, chew chew," Oliver said while eating. "I'm not really with 6th Street anymore anyway, and off the books, plenty of our people get along with Valentinos. As long as things look fine on the surface, it's okay. Chew chew, this steak is great, really juicy and tender."
Watching him talk with his mouth full, steak juice splashing everywhere, Carl leaned back on instinct. Seeing him chew like that gave Carl a vivid image of biting into bugs and having them burst. It was unsettling in a strangely stimulating way.
"If that's fine, then we'll head over after we eat. How are we getting there, by subway?"
Carl remembered reading that Night City had a metro system. He finished a bite of noodles and waited for the answer.
"No need for that, I drove here this time. Everything I own is in the car."
Oliver pointed with his fork toward a black car parked outside the restaurant window. "Quartz EC-L R275, my sister gave it to me for my twentieth birthday. Cheap, sturdy, and reliable, and I know some of the roads in Heywood. You can ride with me."
After that, the talkative Oliver added another line. "It's a two-seater. Before this, only my ex-girlfriend ever sat in it. You're the first guy."
"Then I should thank you for that."
Not knowing much about cars from this era, Carl did not comment further. He finished his Chinese Cold Noodles quickly and felt a bit tired of it, since this was his third wheat-based meal in a row counting last night. Even if it tasted good, he did not want to eat it again so soon.
"Oh, speaking of thanks, you really might need to thank me."
Oliver suddenly remembered something and spoke up. "I've got two Nokota D5 Copperhead kinetic assault rifles in the trunk. That way, if things get intense, we'll still have guns that can handle the job."
Assault rifles.
"I might not even be able to control the recoil."
"Then just point it at the sky and shoot wherever luck takes it."
Oliver swallowed the last bite of steak. "So, KK, what do you say, ready to go?"
"Of course. Let's go, Oliver."
The Wild Wolf Bar in Heywood District was not hard to find. In a part of the city packed with judicial buildings like City Hall, the Mayor's Office, the Courthouse, and the NCPD Headquarters, a bar that clashed so sharply with its surroundings stood out at a glance. Compared to the rigid official structures around it, the place looked loud even before stepping inside.
After parking by the road, Oliver hesitated over whether to put on the body armor he had bought after splitting money yesterday. He had grown up in neighborhoods controlled by 6th Street and was still a former member, and even though he claimed many people in 6th Street had quiet ties with the Valentinos, he was still uneasy inside. He could not help wondering if the Valentinos members gathered here might decide to kill him just because of his past.
While Oliver was still hesitating, Carl had already moved quickly and slipped his body armor on under his clothes. After finishing, he gave Oliver a strange look and said, "What are you hesitating for? We are here to find an employer. A merc with no basic protection or armor looks like an idiot to any client."
That made sense. Oliver realized he was still thinking like a gang member, back when living in Santo Domingo meant the whole area was their turf and constant caution was not needed. Now he was an unemployed merc, and if a merc did not show decent gear and strength, no one was going to hire him just by looks.
They were not famous legend mercs who could stroll in wearing a shirt and holding guns like props while jobs came looking for them. Those people worked however they liked because clients sought them out, but he was not that kind of person. If he could not look cool, he could at least look dangerous.
He put on his body armor as well, added a jacket over it, and slid his revolver Nova into the holster. Copying something he had seen in movies, he did not fasten the strap so the gun could be drawn quickly and the grip stayed visible. In his mind, it felt right.
Unaware of the thoughts his partner was having over a simple gun, Carl calmly holstered his Militech Lexington. After a brief pause, he decided not to bring the Nokota D5 Copperhead from the trunk. Going into a bar with a pistol was normal enough, but carrying an assault rifle inside would look like a challenge.
Fully prepared, the two rookie mercs stepped into the bar under the curious gazes of Valentinos street members lingering outside. Inside, the lighting was clearly dimmer than the street. There were no walls of flashing ads here, only a few fluorescent lights, and if not for the bright bar counter and scattered drinkers, it might have seemed closed during the day.
Standing behind the counter was an elderly woman in a leather jacket with white hair. Despite her age, she looked sharp and energetic, and without noticing her hair, it would have been hard to guess how old she was. She greeted them as they entered.
"Oh, two faces I have not seen before," she said with a smile. "You are a bit early, but you are welcome. What would you like?"
Before Carl or Oliver could answer, a customer at a table raised his hand. "Mrs. Welles, I need another bottle of Blue Note vodka."
"No," she replied at once. "Ernesto, you already had a bottle today. You still have things to do tonight, so go sober up."
"Come on, I was planning to wait for Jack and have a drink with him."
"Jack is not allowed either."
As Mrs. Welles spoke with the man who clearly looked like a member of the Valentinos, Carl caught a name that sounded very familiar. Jack. If it was that Jack, Jack Welles, then it was someone he knew well from demonstrations. Still, Jack was a common name, so it was probably just a coincidence.
Mrs. Welles turned back to them. "So, what will it be, kids?"
"I will take a bottle of lager," Oliver said at once, choosing something low in alcohol that would not affect taking a job. She nodded. "One lager. And you?"
Carl glanced over the menu on the counter and chose a drink that looked like it had Chinese on the label. "A sweet tea, and an order of fries."
"All right. Find a seat and I will bring it over soon." She turned to the shelves behind the bar, and Oliver pulled Carl toward a spot with a clear view of the door.
"You come to a bar and only drink something without alcohol, and even order fries," Oliver said quietly. "If I could be like you, that would be nice."
"I can share the fries later," Carl replied. Oliver grinned. "Deal. I love fries."
"I am more curious what they are made from," Carl added. As long as it was not bugs, he was fine with it.
While waiting, they looked around the bar. Most people were just drinkers, and only a few were like them, sitting with weapons at their waists and body armor or visible subdermal plating. At least what Oliver's father said was true, there were mercs here waiting for work, just all at the bottom with no fixer in sight.
Lowering his voice, Oliver said, "Honestly, fixers are just like mercs. There are top fixers who can mess with corp business, and bottom ones who only handle small street jobs. But mercs who cannot even get work from the lowest fixer are really miserable."