With one glaring exception, Jacks had never much cared to kill a man if he wasn’t being paid to do it. But he was beginning to re-think this policy.
The blonde man in the red glasses continued to eat and drink his wine, as if this was a perfectly normal dining experience. Meanwhile, across the table from him, Jack’s neck was tilted at an angle from the pressure of the pistol barrel pressed against his temple.
Earlier, a number of people from the surrounding tables had stood up in alarm. They were beginning to disperse, like ants from an overturned rock. One of them took off at a run in the direction of the backroom and staff.
Jacks was relieved to feel the pressure of the gun metal at his temple dissipate. His first instinct was to feel the point of impact with his finger. There was a ring-like depression, there.
“Now I remember,” he said, “Why I don’t associate with the Federation.”
“Nonsense,” the man with the red-tinted glasses said, after taking another gulp of wine. “Bounties are your primary source of income. Federation money.”
“That’s different,” Jacks said. “As long as I’m killing bad people, I might as well get paid to do it. If I get to take it out of the Federation’s pocket, all the better.”
The henchman who’d been searching Jacks returned his steak knife to him, setting it on the table next to his place setting. He had dark skin, and a gold earring which dangled from one ear. He had this amused look on his face, like he thought something was funny. When he sat down at the table, he winked. Jacks glared in return.
“You won’t have to kill anyone for this job,” the man in red glasses said. “You just have to help us bring someone in. And we’ll reward you handsomely for it.”
“How much are we talking, here?” Jacks said. He was starting to feel better about this. More in control. These people might have treated him as inferior to begin with, but now they were beginning to negotiate. Despite all the posturing and power moves, whether or not they would admit it, they needed him.
“No money,” the man said, flat and matter-of-fact.
Jacks almost laughed out loud. It was some kind of joke.
The man only looked at him and took another bite.
“You’re serious,” Jacks said.
“Our resources are quite tied up at the moment, unfortunately. Budget cuts, and all.”
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Jacks folded his arms. “I already went one job without getting paid. I’m not happy about it.”
“I never said there wouldn’t be payment,” the man with the red-tinted glasses said. “I happen to know for a fact that money isn’t the only currency you’ve been hunting for.”
Jacks sat back in the chair and cocked his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a man in search of answers. More specifically, a singular answer to a question you’ve been asking over and over again, here and there, back and forth across the southern half of Alverand, for the better part of ten years.”
Jacks grit his teeth. Was this some kind of trap? Were they trying to get him to be the one to say it?
Perhaps he should have expected word would get around. That eventually someone would come for him.
His nerves stretched, became taut. He resisted the urge to look back toward the door, see if it was being blocked off.
Of course, if he tried to run, that in itself would be like an admission of guilt. And it seemed early for that.
“Would you just cut to it?” Jacks said.
The man finished cutting a little portion of grilled beef. He stabbed it with his fork. Held it up. Looked at it. “I’m not trying to trap you, if that’s what you think. I’m offering a legitimate bargain.” He took a bite. Chewed. He met Jacks’s eyes. “I’m offering the name and whereabouts of the lawman who killed your family.”
Jacks squinted as he looked into the man’s eyes, searching for some kind of tell. He couldn’t find one. But that didn’t mean for certain it wasn’t there.
“You still think it’s a trap,” the man said. He sat back and ran a gloved hand over his blonde, slicked-back hair. He sighed. “I’ll make one thing clear. The name and location of the lawman you’re looking for is up for bargain. What happens after you act on the information is not. Should you attempt to maim or kill this man, I will not protect you.”
“You wouldn’t have to,” Jacks said. “I’d be long gone, with a trail as cold as the southern pole.”
The man laughed, adjusted his red-tinted glasses. “It’s cute that you think so. The Federation always wins. You have no idea the target you would become after you made this kill. But let’s pretend that’s not true. Your audacity gives me leverage.”
Jacks rapped his knuckles, one at a time, in sequence, on the table. A slow, steady rhythm. He was thinking.
“I don’t need to work with you to find him,” Jacks said.
“You’ve been looking for ten years,” the man in red glasses said. “You don’t have a name. You barely know what the man even looks like, am I right? It’s a large continent. Something tells me you’re not going to get lucky any time soon. And no one else with my level of clearance is going to cut you in on a deal like this, I guarantee it.”
Jacks suddenly realized he’d been biting the inside of his cheek so hard it was bleeding. There was something off about this. “What’s the catch? Why so much effort just to recruit me?”
A shrug. “Like I said, I’m low on funds. Funds that aren’t tied up at the moment, anyway. And it’s a steal for me, really. I get the services of a hunter whose reputation proceeds him, and all I have to do is give up a piece of information that would otherwise be meaningless to me. Marshall Verrick is one of my contacts. He told me where you were, his estimation of when you’d be back. I told him to inform me as soon as you returned. I waited, and sure enough, here you are.”
Jacks frowned. Overall, it made sense. Despite the details he still found suspicious. “And these budget cuts are real?”
“Feeling hoodwinked?” The man said. “Like I’ve manipulated you? The cuts are real. Feel free to look into it yourself. But I think we both know it wouldn’t matter. You’ve already made your decision.”
And he was right.