Anxious as I am to get back to the ship, the Watchman still got words for me and I ain't about to leave him high and dry.

Not when he still got the power to screw over Harald, Astrid, and Elodie. If he can switch the Video crystal once, he can do it again, so even though Sheriff Beauregard decided not to press charges, that don't mean they're free and clear. Ain't no Statute of Limitations on manslaughter, and the AICC could still drop by to review the footage sometime within the next year or five depending how busy they be. Don't much care for leaving the fate of my friends in the hands of the Mafia, but even if the Watchman gives me the original crystals to destroy, that don't mean much. If he can manipulate a fresh crystal to show whatever he wants in a believable manner, there ain't nothing to keep him from slipping a newly modified crystal into Sheriff Beauregard's hands, one that could see my friends land in Federal prison.

Which means the Watchman holds the upper hand for now. Least until I talk to Aunty Ray and Mr. Tillman to get their takes on how well those modified crystals would hold up in a court of law. To keep the Watchman from making another switch, we could probably file a motion to preserve the evidence with a trusted third party, preferably one out of reach of the Manfredi Family, or use Aunty Ray's expert testimony to debunk the fake. Might even use the fake as reasonable doubt in a court of law to say the original was the one that was tampered with if they try and make the switch all the same. Whatever it takes. I'll do anything and everything I can to keep Harald, Astrid, and Elodie out of jail or the Big House for Scary Innates, and that there is a promise.

This is why I told them to stay on the defensive. Suppose I should've been more specific, because if Astrid had waited a few seconds more for Dakota Slim and his boys to go for their weapons or show intent to kidnap, then they would've been free game for lethal force. Problem is, the original recording don't show if they had weapons out, only that they punched Harald before she hit them with her Pressure Wave. A non-lethal Spell if there ever was one, but Harald and Elodie's follow up was decidedly less so, and without definitive proof of an actionable threat of aggression that meets the standards for lethal force, then they could be on the hook for murder or manslaughter.

Now, given the people involved were less than reputable members of society, there's a good chance a jury believes Astrid, Harald, and Elodie when they say their lives were at risk. There's also an equally good chance the jury gets stacked with fundies who think them devil-kin ought to burn in hell, or at the very least rot in jail, and maybe they don't much care for Innates either. As such, I'd rather not gamble on a trial, and I know Gunnar feels the same, so I gotta do what I gotta do.

Especially seeing how this is all my fault. Ain't no two ways about it. If I didn't get mixed up with the Cattaneos, then wouldn't none of this have happened. No worries though. I'm handling the situation, and if the Manfredis try to hold this over my head even after the job is done, then I know they ain't one for quid pro quo and they can go the way of the Puglianos. Harald, Astrid, and Elodie might get caught in the proverbial crossfire, but that's better than a literal crossfire, and at the very least I could give them plenty of warning to get out of dodge before any fallout makes it to their doorstep.

And whether they hunker down for a long legal battle or decide it's best to get gone and live a life on the lam outside of Federal territory is up to them. I'll do everything I can to keep things from getting that far, but there's only so much I can do.

For now, I gotta play along with whatever games the Watchman got in mind, so I head over to the meeting point in another part of town. Under the cover of Settle in Shadows mind you, which unlike an Illusion Spell, will hide me from cameras since the Abjuration Spell creates physical darkness to help me blend into the dark surroundings. That's the big downside of Illusions; they don't do nothing for physical tech, meaning even if you Invisible, a camera will still pick you up. Makes me glad I got the Spell in my back pocket, because I ain't gonna lie. The Watchman's ability to create believable Illusions on fresh crystals has got me spooked. All this time, I been banking on having pristine crystal recordings of all my interactions to keep me from getting locked up, but now all I can think of is how that's just more ammunition for folks like the Watchman to copy and manipulate.

I mean shit. He done that work with Elodie's recording in a few hours tops, and it looked good enough to pass mustard in my eyes. If that's the case, it'll look plenty convincing to a jury, which is all that really matters in the end. If those twelve jurors believe it's the real deal, then it might as well be, meaning I gotta step up my game to defend against this.

We're working against the common denominator after all, and even though I've met some mighty clever people, I get the feeling that most folks got an IQ hovering round about room temperature at best.

Hence why I don't drop my Settle in Shadows Spell as soon as I arrive at my destination, a non-descript wooden house in a rougher part of town. Keep myself shrouded within the darkness even as I pass through the massive bubble of Silence wrapped around the entire building, one that's gotta be powered by an Artifact much fancier than mine. Knocking on the door spooks the lookout on standby, as he ain't seen me make my approach even though he been peering out through the window. Spook him some more when he opens the door to a mass of darkness in the vague outline of a person, as the Spell can't hide nothing when you backlit by the reddish hues of the starry night skies. He keeps his cool though, which is good because I got my gun in hand, which he can't really see since I got it hidden by the backdrop of my outline.

Moving aside to let me in, he closes the door behind me and I find myself in an enclosed foyer with armed men guarding the other two exits with weapons in hand. Not the best kill box I ever seen, but it ain't supposed to be one, as we got Sicilian mobsters on the right and what looks to be some flavour of Slavic gang to the left. All geared up for war and bursting at the seams with Spells, as I got Detect Magic going strong and it's showing these boys all got Mage Armour at the very least, and maybe an Aid or something like that to boot. The Sicilians are all dressed to the nines in their fancy vests and whatnot, but the Slavs look like generic Slavs with nothing to say what specific nationality they adhere to.

Might be because they from a big mix, as most Slavic countries outside of the Soviet Union didn't send all that many settlers to the Frontier. These fellas are most definitely Slavs though. If the broad, square faces, heavy jawlines, flattened noses, and god-awful military style haircuts ain't enough to give away their ethnicity, then the prevalence of tank tops and body hair will do it. As for the nature of their professions, you need look no further than the tattoos festooned across their bared bodies. Ain't just art to these fellas like it was with them Vanguard National types; Slavic gangsters treat their tattoos as both badge and job history.

A history Uncle Teddy done taught me how read, only there ain't much to see from these fellas at the door. All three chain-smoking Slavic scoundrels got a little barbed wire around their wrists, to show that they done a stint in prison without turning on their people. Ain't all that uncommon though; in the years leading up to the Advent, plenty of countries were scrambling to fill their quotas for settlers on the Frontier, and a lot of prisoners opted for a life out here instead of locked away behind bars in whatever shit hole of prison they found themselves in. They also got crosses on their chests, to go with the chunky gold crucifixes on garish gold chains hanging around their necks, which always struck me as odd. Violent criminals who are good little Eastern Orthodox Christians, or whatever flavour they ascribe to, just feels like an oxymoron. Then again, having read a few history books and seen what them Christians have gotten into over the years, I suppose it ain't all that farfetched.

Course, it could also mean they live and die by their own creed, as they feel only God can judge them, not the law. Either way, it's not the shared tattoos that are of interest, but the unique ones on their leader, a fella who looks no different from his companions save for the eyes tattooed onto his shoulders which mark him as an enforcer. Means he's watching you, or that he sees all, and the skull under his eye marks him as a killer. Doubt it's a tally count, because one kill ain't nothing to brag about, just a statement that he done killed for his people and is happy to do so again, which also ain't all that impressive if you ask me.

Let's be real. If you work for a violent criminal organization, the least you could do is be ready to put a knife in another man. If you can't even do that much, then might be you in the wrong line of work.

Suppose I know who hired Dakota Slim now, as them Slavs don't look none too pleased to see me. The leader steps up to my shadowy self, looks me up and down, and spits by my boots. "Drop Spell," he demands in his thick Soviet-esque accent, "I search you for weapons."

Can't place the accent, but it don't make no difference he Chechen, Serbian, or Polish for that matter. All that matters is that I'm done playing ball. "Like this one?" I ask, dropping my Spell while raising my Shortsword to point centre mass and cocking the hammer back for added effect. "Got plenty of weapons," I drawl, as the Slav enforcer looks mighty annoyed and reluctantly raises his arms, but he looks more pissed at the Sicilians than me. Changes real quick when I say, "Weapons I'll be keepin' on me, because I don't know you and I most certainly do not trust you. I been asked to this meeting, so I'm here, but didn't no one say nothin' about comin' unarmed, and I ain't stayin' if that's the case."

Credit where it's due, the Slav Enforcer keeps his cool as he looks me up and down. Sucking his teeth, he says something to one of his goons who backs off into the house proper to talk to someone with real juice, because this fella in front of me is just muscle and not shot caller material. Damn good at his job though, as he don't look none too fussed about having my gun trained on his chest. "Firstborn," he says, not to address me, but to shake his head in disapproval. "Thought you be taller. Stronger. You? I see only child."

Gonna have to do better than that to get a rise out of me, so I give him a toothy smile and let him see the Devil inside. That puts him off his game a bit, because like recognizes like, and if I was keeping a tally, my whole face would be covered in little skull marker tattoos. "Only muscle I need is to pull this trigger here," I say, waggling my finger over the trigger to really make him sweat. "A bit heavy at ten pounds of force, though that's for the double action. Probably closer to three now that it's cocked, so I probably shouldn't be wigglin' my finger about like this. Wouldn't want to accidently pop a shot off, now would I?" Giving him the up and down look he done gave me, I shrug and say, "Then again, wouldn't be no big loss if I did."

He don't much like that, but the Sicilians are eating it up, smiling to see me put their rivals in their place. Doubt they'd be smiling if they knew my Mage Hands got one Judge trained on them under my duster, while the other is pointed at Slav number three who's still leaning in the doorway. "You keep reachin' for whatever's behind that wall, and I'll kill you and your boy dead," I say, without taking my eyes off of the Enforcer. It's telling how his eyes go wide, as it means he didn't tell his man to get ready for a fight, and he glances over to see his friend standing with arms folded in front of his chest.

Little trick, because if the Enforcer here decided to get out of dodge, then that means his absent friend is going for reinforcements, not permission. I always get antsy around people who speak a language I can't understand, so I figured it was better safe than sorry. Now I know the Slavs are on the level though, because the Enforcer here ain't expecting a big fight. He knows he's been tricked and likes that even less, but there ain't nothing to be done about it since I still got my gun trained on his chest.

"Oh Howie," the Watchman begins, appearing out of the Sicilian side of the house. "No need for the weapons. You're perfectly safe. We've called a parlay and exchanged hostages with the Serbians to keep both sides honest, so put your guns away and let us move on with things, shall we?"

"I didn't agree to no parlay," I drawl, "And last time I walked into a talk unarmed, I came out unhanded." I smile at my admittedly terrible pun just to show it don't bother me much, and the Watchman's smile falters as he realizes he's dealing with someone who might well have a few screws loose. "You can trust I won't gun you down in cold blood," I say with a shrug, "Because I give you my word not to, but that trust don't go both ways. I know the value of my word, and you know the value of yours, so either you say what you have to say as I am, or I'll be headin' back to my ship now."

The Watchman rolls his eyes like Astrid does when she thinks I can't see her, and I can't decide who does it better. "So dramatic," he says, planting his fists on hips like he a stern housemarm. "Then again, I suppose I should have expected as much. I'll be right back."

Soon as he disappears, the Serbian Enforcer gives me a look and gestures at my gun with his chin, as if to ask, "Can you put the gun down now?" Seeing how I still got the Judges to fall back on, I give a flick of my Shortsword to tell him to go back to his two buddies, including the one who done come back already. The Enforcer does a casual strut on over before leaning against the wall and taking a slow drag from his cig. As for me, I carefully uncock the hammer then set my Shortsword to twirling, as that lets me keep my arm up and out of the Blast zone of the Judges under my duster, while giving off the appearance of a distinct lack of concern.

One thing I learned in my criminal dealings of late is how the appearance of strength is oftentimes more important than actual strength. If they think I'm weak, they'll treat me as such, and I'll be inconvenienced by having to set them straight. I give off the appearance of strength, like say by acting like I ain't concerned with so many armed thugs in close proximity, and they'll step softly around me, which is both good and bad. Good in that it'll keep things from getting out of hand, since there won't be no back and forth friction as we draw our lines in the sand. Bad in that if they decide they want me dead, they won't give me much warning beforehand. So I dunno if this is the best approach, as I'm still learning as I go, though I sure as shit done learned not to walk into the lion's den unarmed.

…Maybe I should've gone with 'disarmed' and dishanded' for my pun. Nah, I like unhanded more. Can't say why, but it works well enough.

Takes the Watchman a fair few minutes to return, from the same side once again. "If you insist on keeping your weapons, then my counterpart insists you are escorted by one of his people." Shrugging, the Watchman explains, "Since we called for this parlay, we can't be trusted to keep an armed guest from killing everyone, now can we?"

"So long as they keep their hands to themselves," I say, turning to the Enforcer as I hide the Judges behind my back and put the Shortsword away. "Understand?" He scoffs, then nods, and gestures for me to follow along while his friends stay at the front door, and I set off into the house with my Mage Hands and Judges at the ready once more. The house ain't all that big, but the meeting ain't in here, as they open up a bookcase on the left side of the house that leads into a tunnel with a staircase leading down into a concealed basement. At the bottom of the stairs is another room, one filled with even more Serbians with tattoos who all got weapons and Spells at the ready too. Only goes to show my refusal to disarm myself was a good move, as it looks like the Serbs don't trust the Manfredis enough to take them at their word. No, this group of armed gangsters are here in case something goes wrong during the parlay, and I can only imagine the Manfredis got something similar going on over on the other side.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

There's a nervous energy in the room, as even the most disciplined soldiers will be feeling antsy in a situation like this, but I don't let it get to me. Instead, I keep my Mage Hands concealed as best I can as I stroll on over to the only other door in the room, which the Enforcer opens up and watches me mosey on through before following in hot on my heels. Without weapons mind you, so I dunno what he thinks he'll do if I start Blastin'. On the other side of the door is a connected hallway that goes left and right, with both ends curving out into the same room, a large antechamber with a long dining table occupied by four figures on either end all illuminated by Dancing Lights.

Only man I recognize is the Watchman, standing deferentially behind what I can only assume is his seated Don. Across the long table sits a big Serbian fella who looks like he could eat glass and piss sand, accompanied by a fit second with bared arms covered in tattoos. Can't really see them in the dim lighting, not with all the glow from the Spells them four all be covered in. The Dancing Lights are to show they ain't Concentrating on nothing and got no Spell readied, though that don't mean much considering them boys outside could be Concentrating on Spells cast on any man in this room.

Whatever. I ain't no peacemaker. I'm a killer through and through, so my idea of a sit down includes a bomb under the table for mutually assured destruction.

It's a big disparity between the Sicilians to the right and the Serbians on the right. While the former got a lot of flash and panache, the latter are more about substance. Ones got an official uniform of a three-piece suit, the other an unofficial one of tank top and tattoos to really cement their role and rank. One has expensive watches and flashy gemstone-studded rings, while the other has garish gold crosses on chunky gold chains to use as collateral for bail as opposed to fashion. One is seated with spindly hands folded on the table, while the other sits in a reversed chair with chin resting on his bulging biceps like he waiting on his massage. They both the real deal of course, emanating that cold air of danger and violence you'd expect from men in their positions, but the Sicilian is a drawn blade as opposed to the Serbian's bared fangs. Cold and clinical versus wild and untamed, a juxtaposition that speaks volumes to why they don't get along, and now I'm caught in the middle of it all.

I blame Milton. If that bent Alderman hadn't gotten me arrested on trumped up charges, I could've taken out Dakota Slim myself in a proper dust up and told both sides to fuck right off. Problem is, it ain't my head on the proverbial chopping block; it's Harald, Astrid, and Elodie who'll end up paying the piper if I don't come through, and I ain't about to let them go down for a something I got them mixed up in.

Ain't no chair for me to sit in, so I make my way right up to the middle of the table and cast a Dancing Light same as everyone else. I also bring out my Judges, and feel the tension ratchet up a couple notches as they see what I'm packing. Could take out both sides with a single Blast, leaving me to deal with only the Enforcer beside me and the dudes in both rooms. Got me a Potion of Gaseous Form that could get me out right quick, but I gotta assume that they've got some countermeasure against it. All you'd need is a hit team of five or ten with Potions to get down here with weapons aplenty, since the Spell transmutes anything you wearing alongside the rest of you. Pop down as a cloud, gun everyone down, and then drink a second potion to get out, and you done decapitated the enemy leadership.

Hence why I prefer the bomb under the table. Ain't nothing like mutually assured destruction to keep everyone on their best behaviour.

"Don't worry about the guns," I say with a smile. "I won't use 'em unless I have to." Though I already got them out, I still mind my manners as I slowly reach into my duster pocket with two fingers to pull out the remains of a camera I done found and dismantled before starting in on Eugene. "Figured I'd save you the trouble and bring this back for you," I say, plopping it down on the table and sliding it over towards the Watchman. "Not for free of course. I'm keeping the Core and crystal. Can never have too many."

"Can't blame a man for trying," the Watchman replies, flashing a boyish smile like a kid who been caught stealing sweets. Don't say nothing about the Cores or crystals either, nor does he mention anything about the two other cameras I got stashed in my other pocket.

"Well I sure can, John," I drawl, and the Watchman's smile falters to hear it. "I can and do blame you for tryin', so I'd like to settle that before we move on."

His smile comes back in full force as he hits back with, "Oh my, are we on a first name basis already? How wonderful."

"I'll be sure to put that on your gravestone if you don't answer me this." Keeping the Judges pointed downwards, I make ready to flick and shoot if need be before asking, "How many cameras did you have set up in that room?"

"Three," he replies, all too quickly for my liking. I would've preferred if he stopped to think about it. Even though I only found three cameras, that don't mean I got them all, and his quick answer makes me think he's either being honest, or he knows exactly how many cameras I found because he was watching me in some other way. Like Clairvoyance, even though I went over every inch of that room with Detect Magic to make sure there wasn't no surveillance, and even broke out my Aberrtin tuning fork to look for interference from an Arcane Bug. I might not have the same fancy doodads him and Jordan Blake use to make sure the interrogation room is clean, I know enough about how things work to have a decent go at it.

And truth is, I did only find three cameras and nothing else. All recording locally with the crystals set into the contraption instead of all wired up like my security system back at the Quay. If he's being honest, then I can't exactly kick up a big fuss now can I? Or maybe I can. "You sure about that Jon?" I ask, narrowing my eyes and parting my duster just enough to show off my Shortsword. "Because my count was different."

"Then you missed a camera," he replies, without so much as batting an eye as he lists off where all three cameras were hidden, and he gets them all right. If there were more cameras, then how could he know which ones I found without a Spell I would've noticed? There's probably a way, even though I can't really think of one, so I still don't trust him one bit. "If you did miss one or two, then you can fetch them after the meeting is over. I only installed them for my own viewing pleasure, and had no ulterior motives."

I don't answer him, just give him a good, long look until he starts to sweat. Then again, I don't think it's my gaze that's got him all out of sorts, but Don Manfredi's. Can't hardly foster trust if you spying on your supposed partners or employees, and the Watchman's choice of words got me thinking this might really have just been his sick, twisted interest at play. Unfortunately for him, I came prepared and spotted the cameras thanks to Detect Magic, but there are ways around that. Like making the camera casing out of lead, or even a coat of lead-based paint would work well enough to hide it from Detect Magic, but I was more concerned about being blackmailed.

Still am, having seen what he can do, but the Don don't say nothing. He just pans back to me to see what I'm gonna do, and I give a little shrug before moving on. Glancing at the Serbs across the way, I focus on the big man in the backwards chair. He ain't dressed much better than his boys, so I can see the grim reaper he got tattooed all up his left arm. Got Cyrillic letters embossed on the back of his fingers too, and I'm sure say something meaningful that I don't understand. Most telling of all are the eyes that were turned into stars on his shoulder, which mean the same thing they do on a Ranger's epaulets. This here be the General who commands his men, a tattoo that you don't choose for yourself, but is assigned to you by someone higher up.

Meaning he ain't the head honcho of the Serbian gang, but he's high up on the food chain. High enough to meet with Don Manfredi as equals, which shows the scale of what I'm working with. While I can't imagine the Serbians sent a whole lot of settlers to the Frontier, I been told they're more united than the Sicilians who are all fighting for their own piece of the pie. There's strength in unity, and I done heard enough war stories about Serbians to want nothing to do with them, but it seems like I don't got no choice. "So lemme guess," I begin, once I've got my measure of the man. "You fellas hired Dakota Slim to get whatever it is you want out the Deadlands, and now you expect me to fill in. That sound about right?"

"You kill our man," the Serbian mobster replies, in an accent so thick he can only squeeze out one or two words at a time. "Now you do his job, or we kill you."

"Nah," I reply, and he don't like the sound of that. "I didn't kill him, nor did I come here to. If I did, I wouldn't have told half the god damned town, now would I? We was played, and Dakota Slim slipped his head right into the noose someone else fitted just fer him."

The Serbian's lip curls. "Semantics," he says, which goes to show how I shouldn't judge a man by how he speaks English. It do be his second language after all, so the fact that he learned one puts him heads and shoulders above most Americans. "Job must be done, or your blood we will spill. If you and the Manfredis want peace, then this is our price."

I don't much care to be put in the same boat as some mafiosos, and I make that clear. "You seem to be under a misconception." Giving the Serbian my best toothy smile, I explain, "I didn't ask the Manfredis to broker peace between us. John offered, and I figured it'd be easier than making a mess out of Ashbend. If that's what you prefer, then we got nothin' left to talk about and I'll see myself out." Where I'll then proceed to gun down every Serbian I see walk out of this house. Or maybe kill them on my way out, in case they got hidden exits. I don't say the quiet part out loud, but I show it all the same and let that hang in the air for a second while he mulls it over. This ain't a man accustomed to being threatened, and he don't much care for what he's hearing. Course, that's just me letting him know what's what, so once that's clear, I say, "Now, that don't mean I'm sayin' no to the job. I'm already smugglin' one package out for the Manfredis, so ain't no reason I can't pick up a second, so long as it's only a pick-up. I don't work for free though. They're paying me through services rendered, so let's hear your offer."

"Before you respond," the Don begins, pre-empting the Serbian's outburst in a calm, gentle tone with just the faintest hint of a Sicilian, "May I remind you that our young, temperamental friend here is not only heavily armed while you and I are both without, he also possesses a… colourful history of shooting his way out of conflicts much like this and emerging largely unscathed." Giving his Serbian counterpart a little shrug, the Don adds, "Come now Luka. You had yet to pay the redskin, so there is no loss paying our friend for his efforts."

Serbian Luka growls something in his native tongue while gesturing at me in a dismissive manner. "The redskin, he proven smuggler. Brought you your package last year. He tell me he have route into Deadlands and back out again, that he know their patrols and move unseen around them with ease. What proof have I this child can do same?"

"Because his patron into the Deadlands is Edward Elton," Don Manfredi replies, and Luka blinks to hear it. I do too, because I ain't told no one besides Tina and Aunty Ray, who both know better than to bring Edward up even in passing to anyone who knows anything. Chrissy and Elodie heard it too, but I can't imagine they talked to anyone running in the same circles as the Don. The fact that the Don knows as much is a little concerning, so I take a moment to study him close. He don't look like no crime boss. He look like a quiet, bookish uncle who spends his nights reading on his recliner with a glass of wine in hand. Something intellectual, like papers on arcana studies or economics or something. He's a lean, almost wizened sort of fella, with spectacles to boot, ones so thick he'd be better off using the Corrective Vision Cantrip even if he gotta manually adjust the Spell Structure for his particular needs. Yet from the way the Watchman is standing at full attention and on his best behaviour, I get the feeling that Don Manfredi here runs a tight ship, one he rules over with an iron fist which means he got some strength to him.

Not a man to cross lightly, or one to be manipulated as easily as Ignazio Pugliano. Whatever hostage the Serbians have, I can't imagine this cold husk of a man shedding tears over the loss, or at least not for long. He's got this all figured out, knows about my hair trigger of a temper and wants to keep things from getting out of hand, so he moves the conversation along like we puppets on his strings. "It is not ideal," he admits, talking to his counterpart across the table, "Introducing a wildcard into the mix, but as wildcards go, Edward Elton is relatively harmless." That's the first time I heard anyone refer to him as harmless, and I don't agree one bit. Neither does Luka, as evidenced by his surly grimace, so Don Manfredi tries a different tack. "Look at it another way. If we both use the same courier, then we succeed or fail together. At best, our packages are delivered at a slight premium of ten thousand dollars, a price he is well worth considering he could walk out with both packages in hand and no one would dare search him, not with Edward Elton at his side. At worst, neither of us receive our packages, and we are no worse off than before, for there is nothing he knows aside from this room here that can be traced back to us."

Meaning I'm a cutout, someone outside the organization who can't give up any secrets if I get pinched. I don't even know what's in the package I'm picking up, and I'd much rather keep it that way. Wasn't counting on using Edward to get the packages out, because you don't use friends like that, but I also didn't know it was an option. I keep a cool face though, especially when the Don mentions ten grand, when in fact my price was five. Suppose he's extending an olive branch then, one that comes at no expense to him. I'll take it though, because ten grand is ten grand, and the whole point of this trip was to make some money.

"A few caveats," I say, while Luka is still deliberating. "Stuff I covered with John over there, but I feel needs to be said for all to hear. Only thing I'm willing to do is pick up a package and deliver it to you. Anything extra, and deal's off. I ain't stealin' nothin, and I ain't killin' no one. If someone comes after me for said packages and is ready to use lethal force, I will defend myself, then turn the bodies and packages over to the authorities, because I am a law-abiding Freeholding Landowner of the United Federation of American States." For now at least. "I'll say I was hired by an anonymous contact who gave me instructions to follow, and that's what I did until things got hot." Giving Luka one last look, I add, "I'll accept payment on delivery. We can do the handoff here to keep everyone honest, and I'll even come unarmed like the rest of you." But not without making assurances beforehand, which I feel don't need to be said out loud.

Luka looks me over, then the Don, then nods. "Okay," he says, gesturing at his lackey beside him who raises his tank top to reveal a letter tucked into his waistband. Got a few stacks of cash in there too, which I imagine were supposed to be for me, but I try not to let that get me down. I said payment on delivery to keep any bad blood from coming up in case I can't deliver, though I'll try my damnedest to do it. If I don't, I'm not just out ten grand. Harald, Astrid, and Elodie will be back on the hook for killing Dakota Slim, and I can't have that. Sliding the letter over to me, Luka looks me dead in the eyes and says, "Instructions inside. Show no one. You bring unopened package to me and me only, or there will be blood."

"Gotcha." Taking up the envelope, I tuck it into my duster pocket and note how all four men take note of how nimble my right hand be. I got the Wildshape going because I'd be stupid not to, but I done goofed and used my right hand out of habit instead of going with the left. A minor mistake in the grand scheme of things, but the more I give away, the more prepared my opponents will be. No longer will they dismiss my right hand as a threat, although I will say that keeping two guns holstered for a right-handed draw likely gives the game away.

With the envelope secured, I look left, then right, and say, "Alrighty gentlemen. So what now? We shake on this, or do I just leave? Maybe you want to leave first? We can do this however you like, so long as it's quick."

Don't know why, but that makes both men smile, and Luka even looks at his second while pointing at me, like he wants to make sure the guy sees this too. "You go," he says, once he's had his chuckle. "We still have business to discuss."

"Okay. See you when I see you." Turning to my Enforcer escort, I gesture for him to lead the way while tucking my Judges back behind me. I ain't looking to get shot by the antsy fellas waiting in the next room over, and my foresight pays off when he gets to the door and knocks twice, then once, then thrice before uttering a password. Me, I would've figured the password was enough, though I suppose they take their security seriously. Still, I file away the knock and the word for future reference just in case they don't change it up from meeting to meeting. Can't imagine they do this often, seeing how they gotta exchange hostages before coming all this way and have hit squads on opposite ends. The curved hallway means there's one door, but two entry points into the meeting room, so even if you do breech first, you might not have the upper hand, not when a well-placed grenade could take everyone in the hallway out.

Seems a bit much just for a secure meeting, but if it works, it works.

Once we're back to the foyer, I keep my guard up even as I cast Settle in Shadows for the third time tonight before slipping out the front door quick as a blink. Rather than head back to the ship, I take a meandering route around to make sure I ain't bein' followed, then dip into an alley to check the contents of the envelope. They got a time, location, contact, and a pass phrase for verification, as well as a general description of the package I'm supposed to pick up and a way to be sure it's legit. Same as the instructions I got from the Watchman pretty much, with only the details a little different. All quick and easy to memorize, so I do that before burning the letter to ashes. Then and only then do I make my way back to the ship, though I circle around beforehand just to be sure there's no ambush lying in wait.

Back on board, I find Elodie keeping watch as a marty tonight, which means she's pacing back and forth with her ambling gait before popping up every now and then to have a look around. She don't see or hear me coming up the docks, but she knows I'm here the second I step foot onto the ship, whipping her head right around to zero in on my position. Might be some form of Tremoursense, as she done felt the vibration of my boot setting foot on the deck, or maybe she just heard me and can pinpoint me like that. Either way, I drop my Settle in Shadows and greet her with a smile, but not before dropping down to my belly to keep my head out of sight from shore. "Hey there Elodie," I whisper, reaching out to give her marty nose a little boop before tickling her chin. "Thanks for covering for me. You can head off to bed now."

Despite her adorable yawn at the mention of bed, she don't go scurrying off to the wagon. She don't run up for a snuggle either, just stands there on her hind legs while studying me with her beady marty eyes. Emerald green ones at that, as her Innate Brand comes along for the ride whenever she Wildshapes. Could probably find them green triangle whiskers too if I looked hard enough, but for a moment, we have ourselves a little stare off as Elodie doesn't leave or make her approach and just studies me real close.

"I know you're curious," I say, heaving a long and tired sigh. "Concerned even maybe, but just know, I'm doin' what I gotta do. Not just for me, though I won't lie and say it's entirely selfless. End of the day, I was the one who got you all in hot water to begin with, so helpin' you out is the least I can do. If all this works out, then might be I come away with a good chunk of change and you all won't have nothin' to worry about with regards to the law or the AICC." Elodie hisses when I mention that last bit, as it's clear she don't like them much. Can't help but smile to hear it, as marties do be adorable with their weasel faces and big old digging claws. Very strong, very sharp digging claws which you don't want to touch, not unless they belong to a sweetheart like Elodie who holds onto my finger ever so gently and helps fulfill a goal I been wanting to do forever. Contrary to what I expected, marties got real soft hands under their claws, and their fingers can even grab on tight without digging their claws into your skin.

So I savour the moment for a little bit, the give her a pat on the head and send her on her way. "Off you go now," I say. "No need to worry about Howie. I got this handled." I think. All I gotta do is pick up two packages, both of which are pretty close to one another, and bring them back to Ashbend. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, as I got more hidey holes in my wagon than a zebra has stripes. Plus, if I get a good haul while I'm in the Deadlands, then I could just hide the packages inside the storage compartment and under a whole bunch of Abby carcasses. Doubt even the most dedicated customs official will care to dig through all that, not after they been sat in the wagon for a few days and stink something fierce.

So yeah. Tomorrow morning, we head north towards the Deadlands, I do a little hunting, a little foraging, pick up them packages, and bing, bang, boom, Bob's your uncle and I'm home free with ten grand in my pocket alongside anything else I manage to scrounge up. It'll be the easiest money I ever made, and won't nothing come back to bite me on the ass.

…There's one lesson I've learned all too well. Hope for the best, and prepare for the worst, and while I got the first bit handled, I still got a whole lot of prepping to do.

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