11. The Corporate Stooge Appears

"Jack, come over and have a drink."

As soon as Jackie Welles stepped into El Coyote Cojo, a member of the Valentinos who had been shouting at Mama Welles for a drink with Jackie earlier immediately stood up, extending a hand to beckon him over.

Before Jackie could speak, Mama Welles, carrying a tray, cut them off: "Jackie, you've arrived just in time. Come help me out—take these over to those two customers."

"I'm on it, Ma."

Fresh home and already put to work, Jackie Welles could only offer an apologetic look to his friends. He took the tray steadily from his mother's hands and walked over to Carl and Oliver. As he set the tray down, he pulled up a chair and sat right next to them.

"What do I call you, mano?"

Jackie Welles was here in the flesh. For Carl, who had already met Viktor, the sight was, well, fairly ordinary.

"Carl," he said, taking a sip of the sweet tea he’d poured into a glass. "You can call me KK."

This sweet tea tasted exactly like iced black tea.

"Oliver." Oliver raised his bottled beer in a toast to Jackie. "You're Jackie, right? I heard them say it. Let's have a drink; I don't mind making new friends."

"That works for me."

Jackie had initially approached them out of concern for his mother’s bar, wanting to scope out these unfamiliar mercenaries. Finding they weren't the dangerous types he’d imagined, he readily accepted Oliver’s invitation.

He hopped over to the bar, grabbed a beer just like Oliver's amidst his mother's nagging, and returned with a plate of sliced jamón (of unknown origin). On the way back, he apologized to the Valentinos: "I’ve got some things to take care of later, so I can't drink with you guys right now. I’m going to keep my new friends company."

"Next time, then, for sure."

"You bet!"

Jackie sat down with a grin and took a long swig of his beer.

"Dig into the ham," Jackie said after setting his drink down. "Are you two mercs?"

"We formed our crew yesterday. Haven't even landed a job yet," Carl said, sipping his 'iced tea' and stuffing another fry into his mouth. He found them crispy and delicious. "We heard you might find work at El Coyote Cojo, so we came by early."

"Formed yesterday?" Jackie’s eyes widened in surprise. "You don't look like rookies. Did you have someone guiding you?"

New mercs rarely understood the importance of weapons and armor. Even in a place like El Coyote Cojo, filled with freelancers who didn't even have fixers, most had walked the line between life and death—and lost plenty of teammates—before they finally grasped the value of bulletproof vests or sub-dermal armor. There were plenty of greenhorns on the street who, dazzled by the glory of legends, dove into mercenary work with absolutely no preparation.

"We got help from a ripperdoc named Viktor. He’s a good man."

Faced with Jackie, whose smile was so honest and trustworthy—a far cry from the tough-guy exterior he’d worn when he walked in—Oliver didn't think twice before blurting out what he considered a trivial detail.

Beside him, however, Carl noticed that beneath Jackie’s reckless, brawny exterior lay an incredibly meticulous mind. In just a few sentences, Jackie had already managed to get information out of Oliver.

It didn't matter, though. Carl just stuffed a few more fries into his mouth. They were delicious, though it was a shame the bar didn't stock salt and pepper, ketchup, or even mayonnaise.

"Viktor?"

Hearing that familiar name, Jackie immediately realized it was likely the same Viktor he knew. "You mean the Viktor in Watson?"

"Yeah. You know him too?"

"Of course, brother. We go way back."

Jackie’s smile broadened. He let go of his last bit of suspicion toward Oliver and Carl; anyone helped by Old Vic couldn't be a bad person. It seemed he had gained two new friends.

As Carl joined the conversation, they chatted for a bit about Old Vic. Afterward, Jackie shared his own situation: "I'm in the same boat as you guys—a merc who hasn't been in the game long. I've taken a few jobs, but they were all small stuff. I know a fixer, but I don't think I'm at that level yet. I don't want to bother them until I've improved enough that other fixers will offer me work based on my reputation, not just connections."

"That’s real ambition, Jackie. Unlike me—I’ve always relied on my old man and my sister. If it weren't for Carl, I wouldn't have known how to make it on my own."

Oliver admired Jackie’s grit, but he glanced over and noticed Carl was finishing off the fries.

Jackie noticed the empty plate, too. "Carl, how are those fries? My ma makes them. I’ve been eating them with corn chips since I was a kid and never got tired of them."

"They're good, but I feel like they need some ketchup."

"Exactly! That's what I say, but my ma won't have it. She likes them plain." Jackie felt a surge of excitement; he and Carl were clearly on the same page. He was ready to drag Carl over to give his mother a piece of his mind, but before he could, a new customer walked into the bar.

"Suit and tie. A corpo," Oliver whispered.

As he said, a woman walked in with a furrowed brow. She was dressed in expensive, tailored clothing and wore heavy makeup; she was quite pretty, though her arrogant expression ruined her look.

"Keep your voice down, or we’ll get bitten by the dog," Jackie whispered back, pulling a mocking face.

Few people had any love for 'corpos'—those who served massive corporations, looked down on everyone from their high perch, yet knelt faster than anyone else when dealing with their superiors.

"She’s looking over here," Carl said in a flat voice.

Jackie and Oliver immediately looked up as the woman in high heels clicked her way toward them.

*She heard us? What kind of cyberware ears does she have?*