Jilead didn't come out to greet John.
He was sitting in an office even more spacious and luxurious than last time, staring resentfully at the mercenary walking in from the door.
"I rented you an iron cage at Shanglang Road Cemetery."
"Nice. Sooner or later I'll need it."
John answered very seriously.
Jilead couldn't hold it in, stood up, spread his arms for a hug, then switched to a more intimate gang handshake as he walked closer.
"Fack squid, you bastard come back to the city and don't even give me a heads-up."
His arms were solid and powerful.
John couldn't help stepping half a step back, admiring how imposing Jilead's getup was.
The body was exaggeratedly tall, just a bit narrower than the double doors of the office; no wonder the elevator car in Habitable Rental Company's building was one size bigger than outside.
Jilead's suit was custom-made, with an expensive shirt underneath, and all the cooling slits on his arms and chest had been swapped for gold.
The look alone radiated pressure.
"That fight at the Central Arena, against Crocodile, I watched the whole thing from upstairs." Jilead was pouring drinks as he sighed. "That was badass, John, you were so fucking badass… Money, fame, women—everything was chasing after you!"
He handed the drink to John, didn't clink glasses, just happily downed half a glass himself; just imagining John's glory that night was enough to get his blood pumping.
"The price I paid that night was lying unconscious in bed for four months."
John leaned against the desk and took a very controlled half-sip. "…And I lost a friend."
Jilead pressed his lips together, said nothing, blinked once, and didn't ask how he "came back to life," instead steering the topic to business.
"I hear the company hired you to investigate the weapons hijacking."
"You got a lead?"
John tilted his head to look at him—Jilead was management in the gang; if he could get intel, it meant they also thought the problem was internal.
So he really was just here to reveal the answer.
John didn't waste words and handed over the revolver bullet he'd found at the scene.
"Pulling something like that off ain't some nobody's work. Has to be someone with face in Jingke Heavy Industry or the Black Gold Gang, someone who can reroute a convoy…"
John folded his arms across his chest, laying out his analysis.
Jilead just rolled the revolver round in his hand, feeling it.
His cyber-eye flickered focus a few times, probably confirming the caliber and manufacturer, then he set the bullet upright, base-down, on the corner of the desk.
John knew he had his conclusion.
But what Jilead opened with wasn't a lead, it was a request.
"John, once you find that batch of guns, no matter how you handle it specifically, let me be the one who reports back to Indigo."
"You know her?"
"Jingke Heavy Industry's board secretary, the new one. Same as me, we both want to dig deeper into this slab of concrete before it sets."
Jilead's face had gone very dark.
"Don't you feel how empty the room's gotten?"
He jerked his chin.
"Habitable belongs to Jingke Heavy Industry. We're just the janitors and muscle. Four months ago I had a few hundred guys; one downsizing order later, I've got a few dozen still breathing, the rest all shipped off to go slug it out with the Eastern People!"
Jingke Heavy Industry was the Black Gold Gang's money man.
Back when Eden City was first being built, the biggest block of apartments under Habitable Rental Company's name was funded by them; at the same time, they were also the biggest shareholder in the Bolago Club in the West District.
"You know how the company sees gangs?"
Jilead let out a self-mocking laugh. "Consumables, trash, disposable tools. I don't want to be stepped on for life."
"You want a promotion."
John figured it out.
Jilead corrected his word choice.
"I want to cross classes. That's not something you clear with 'loyalty,' you need a shot."
"And that company chick is your shot."
John nodded, expressionless.
[New contact added - Jilead]
[Unread message *1]
Jilead had sent John some info.
The intel he'd scraped together wasn't as detailed as the broker's—just a nickname, appearance, and possible times and places he might show up.
"Who is he?"
John's cyber-eye lit up as he stared at the old man in the file.
"Only the oldest batch in the gang knows his real name. Nickname's 'Saw,' Vito Russell's personal bodyguard."
Jilead flicked the bullet on the desk with a fingertip.
There was nostalgia and amusement in his tone.
"Same kind of relic as the Godfather. Tsk tsk, black cylinder, gold shells. When I first joined the gang, I grew up on stories about Saw."
"Why would Vito rob Jingke Heavy Industry's shipment?"
"Not necessarily him."
Jilead explained to John.
Jingke Heavy Industry wanted to turn the Black Gold Gang into a subordinate department, order them around like a company, and Vito was the biggest obstacle.
So the board backed Bone Shards to move against Vito.
The situation wasn't the same as four months ago.
Bone Shards had built enough reputation in the gang war, while Vito Russell had been suppressed into vanishing; there wasn't even any concrete news on him.
Those still loyal to him either defected to the new boss like Jilead, or got thrown into the gang war as cannon fodder.
Stubborn old-timers like Saw had it the worst.
He'd been stripped of power by the company and the gang, first crippled, then, during surgery, all his high-grade Prosthetic Bodies were taken off, leaving only a bare frame.
"An old wrench still hurts when it hits you. Be careful."
A lot of street punks, Jilead included, had worshipped him once.
Saw was a gang legend.
He didn't talk much, and his methods were brutal.
Back when the Black Gold Gang was founded, they hadn't even secured a foothold in the West District.
Saw beat the surrounding seven blocks so hard no one dared make a sound.
Once, using a modded [Skuqi Kinetic Revolver], he killed over fifty people in the Bolago Club and carried a blood-soaked Vito out on his back.
The red brick wall near Dan Street Apartment still had Saw's mural on it.
Ding, clack-clack—
Jilead toppled the bullet over and said to John,
"Old hardheads are always a bitch to deal with. If the hijacked weapons aren't with Saw, you can just hand him over to me. He's not afraid of going hard—beat him to death and he still wouldn't talk."
He added, brows knitted tight,
"If you find out it really does have something to do with Vito Russell, don't rush to report it. Tell me first… You know how it is, the Godfather's got huge cred on the streets. If he really decides to go down with the company, a lot of people are gonna die!"
John didn't rush to answer.
He righted the bullet and sighed.
"How come everyone's counting on me to fix their shit? What if my luck runs out, I lose the fight, and get my skull cracked open by that old wrench?"
"You're a legend too—the kind that's already died once!"
Jilead finished with a laugh, then slowly let his smile fade, speaking solemnly.
"Indigo's a board secretary. Company dogs look down on edge-runners; they think tossing scraps is enough to buy a merc's life. But I'm not like them, John. We're brothers. Whatever Jingke Heavy Industry pays you, I'll make sure my cut's bigger."
"We really need to talk terms like this?"
John just looked at him calmly.
Jilead didn't dodge John's gaze.
"I'm done being a nobody."
...
Jilead was busy too.
He didn't have time to tag along with John, so they parted at the elevator. Right before the doors closed, he deliberately traced a circle by the jack behind his ear—reminding John to call.
The elevator doors slid shut.
John looked around and nodded in appreciation.
This was the most spacious elevator car he'd ever ridden.
Back when Jilead was still a street punk, he'd stood under the Habitable Rental Company's suspended level for god knows how many years, grinding it out until Bone Shards took power and he finally made it.
And now, just four months later.
This luxurious office already couldn't contain his ambition.
