Mamba sat down, and crossed her legs, it looked like she came alone, but her car windows were tinted. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had backup in there. The duffle bag sat in her lap as she spoke. “So, where is the file?” She spoke calmly yet with intense authority. I pulled out the paper folder. She looked at it before methodically grabbing it from the table and examined the outside, before opening it slowly, and thumbed through some of the loose pages in it. She skimmed it over briefly. “Lovely.” She slid the folder towards her and put the duffle bag on the table.

“Open it. Check if the payment is… adequate.” Mamba said. I felt she was hiding something. Lorenzo opened it. It mostly had money in it, as well it had a few boxes of ammunition, and a few inhalers of what I assume is ‘kamikaze’, Anaheim’s drug of choice. “Split it however you so choose.” Mamba began walking away, taking the folder under her arm. “And do call me if you need any more work, you four prove to be more capable by the day.” I couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult. She got into the passenger seat of the car and it drove off.

Red pressed a button on his augmented eye, and the red glow of his eye turned to a gray. He was scanning for electronics, probably just making sure we weren’t about to get screwed over by a bomb, or tracking device or something. He pressed the button again, and the glow went back to normal. “We’re good, don’t take any of the money, yet Price is gonna want his cut.” Red said that with a sigh. God dammit, I forgot about him. Dakota Price, he’s a private investigator that works for the cops. We don’t know how, but he’s solved nearly every crime in the city, thing is criminals pay better than the government, so he blackmails the guys who do the crime. Basically, it’s pay him a cut of your money, or get the cops after you.

“Who’s coming with?” Red asked. I raised my hand. “Alright, Cat’s going, who else?” Lorenzo shook his head and Anaheim was already going through the fridge. “Alright, don’t burn the place down and don’t eat all my food.” Red grabbed a bit of the cash from the duffle bag, put it into some spare drawstring bag lying around, and we walked to his car. He takes way too good care of it. It almost feels rude to even be in it. I got in despite this, and we began driving off.

“So, where are we headed anyway?” I asked both with curiosity and just to make conversation. “His office is downtown. But it’s in a crappy part of downtown. Don’t make eye contact with the locals, you might get shanked.” Red answered. “You know, for someone supposedly rich off of other people’s money, you’d think he could afford office space somewhere nicer.” I said with a slight chuckle. “Personally, I think he enjoys the danger. Hell, if he made it this far doing what he’s doing, either he can fight better than he leads on, or he’s got some serious B.S. he can pull.” Red responded. “Why not both?” I asked, just to throw him off. “Because, people that can fight don’t need B.S., and people that need B.S. can’t fight.” He said matter-of-factly. It was dumb, but I got what he meant.

Red put on some music and after fifteen or so minutes we got to downtown Chicago. Red drove through a few streets. I noticed as we drove the roads got progressively worse, more bumpy, the paint fading on the asphalt. We passed a few homeless encampments, tent cities in alleyways or wherever they could station them, really. We arrived at the office space, it blended in perfectly with its surroundings, just looked like any other building in the area, dingy and like you were going to get mugged when you walked in.

We parked in a nearby lot for some grocery store and walked to the office. When we stepped out, a smell hit me. That one I get near my apartment, just a tad different. Don’t get me wrong, the piss smell was still there, additionally the smell of weed and booze was heavy in the air. Hell, you could even taste it. I felt bad for the people forced to live here. I doubt the government could give any less of a damn about this place. The infrastructure was crumbling, all sorts of bodily fluids were spread throughout the streets, it was a depressing sight.

Red saw me try not to gag and grabbed a can of air freshener from his car. He tossed it to me without a word, and I sprayed myself with a bit of it, it at least made the smell almost bearable. He gave a cocky smirk before haphazardly tossing it back in his car and taking out the bag of money.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

We walked down the street, passing a few hobos and used condoms. After a bit of walking, we got to the offices. The interior was nicer than the exterior, though still not great. There were a few chairs, a table and two elevators on the far end. There was a small paper with the names on the offices labeled. Fourth floor room 406 ‘Dakota Price’.

We went up the elevator, and walked down the hall. We found room 406, there was a copper plaque on the door.

406

Dakota Price

Private Investigator

And then what I assume is his phone number

Red knocked on the door. We heard a raspy voice with an audible lisp from inside. “Come in.” We entered to see an office much nicer than you’d assume based on the surrounding. There was a bookshelf on the left wall, at a quick glance it was mostly for show, a few legal books, some other informational texts, and a few that looked considerably older than the rest. On the right wall there were a few paintings, they weren’t amazing, but they were nice, upon further inspection I noticed they were signed by Dakota, he must’ve painted them himself. On the corner between the right and back wall was a filing cabinet, the drawer was open, and it didn’t look like it held papers. By the door was an old-timey lantern, vintage, clearly. In the center of the room sat a large desk, on it a fairly modern computer, a stick of incense burning giving off a cinnamon smell, a white ceramic mug, and a small wooden box. Behind the desk and on the back wall was a small table with a kettle and a few tea bags.

Dakota sat in a chair facing us, he was a mildly tanned man, slightly muscular, just to the point you could tell. He wore a button down shirt and a large black jacket complimenting his short black yet graying hair and stubble. His eyes were strange, you could see the details in them just from here, light gray, it almost looked like the irises were swirling, I couldn’t help looking into them.

He greeted us with a smile, I couldn’t tell if it was malicious or genuine, before he began speaking. “Mr. Austin Matthews” He spoke addressing Red, I never actually knew his real name before. “It is a pleasure to see you again. Oh, and how could I forget,” He turned towards me. “Ms. Caitlyn Cardoza” How the hell did he know my name? Clearly he knew I was a little freaked out because his smile grew slightly wider. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, it is good to finally see you in my office. May I offer you both some tea?” Red spoke up, “No, no, we’d prefer to get down to business.” He set down the bag, the money inside rustled.

Dakota looked at the bag, he looked like he was considering something. “I actually have a proposition.” Dakota began, “As opposed to giving me a cut, which I’m sure you’re unhappy with. You could work for me, for a short period of time. Now you see, my employer is looking for someone of your specific talents, Ms. Cardoza. And, before you get upset, Mr. Matthews, I understand you two and the two others are a package deal. So you all will be involved and receive payment. Which, might I add, will be more than generous.” Red and I looked at each other. We shared a look of consideration. “I’ll bite, what’s the job?” I finally asked. “Well, this will be a prolonged effort. However, the beginning of this will be you and your team taking an asset from a rival of my employer.” Dakota replied. “I thought you worked with the cops, you want us to steal something?” Red asked, a little surprised. “For one, it isn’t a thing, it’s a person. And two, my personal work is typically… well less than legal.” He shrugged, “I doubt that bothers you though.” “And how do we know we can trust an extortionist?” Red questioned. “You can’t, but you don’t have a choice… well, you have three. You could either, agree to this, make money and not have to pay me, you could, not take this and keep paying me every time you take a job, or finally, you could ignore this, not pay me, and go to prison for a very long time.” Dakota spoke with a smug, sinister honesty.

“And if we accept?” I asked. “Then you’ll be working under one of the most powerful men in Chicago.” Dakota answered, “Fine, We’re in.” I finally said. “Lovely, get your team together, and I’ll get you the details. You’re all free to leave.” We walked out of the room and back down the elevator. While the elevator creaked and shook, after a long period of silence, Red said, “This is a terrible idea.”