“Is this it? Is my cover blown…?” Devon’s nervousness grew even taller upon hearing Killz’s accusation. Already he was secretly channelling electricity through his dreads just in case the situation went south.

However, Killz abruptly released his captive's garments and stepped back cackling. "Cho rhaatid! Yuh shoulda see yuh face just now, youth! Priceless!" He shook with wheezing laughter. "Fooling country brainiac pups never gets stale!"

Wiping tears of amusement, the swaggering hustler clapped Devon’s shoulder almost fondly. "Lighten up tall-ears, no mystery to yuh. The Doc already confirmed that you’ll be coming here tonight.” Killz tapped his temple meaningfully before continuing, “I was just messing around with yuh.” The gang lord smiled coldly, flashing his gold teeth.

“Oh...” Devon swallowed hard, relieved that Killz's initial suspicion had only been a charade. For a moment there, he thought his disguise had been compromised. Luckily, his secrets remained secure for now. But he had to tread carefully around these scoundrels to avoid accidental exposure.

“Yeah man, got ya good!” Killz cackled loudly. “Shoulda seen ya face when I grabbed yuh collar! Priceless!” He shook with wheezing laughter. The gangsters watching snorted in amusement at their boss’ antics.

Devon rubbed his neck, managing a weak chuckle. “Yuh got me proper there, chief. Thought my number was up when yuh snatched me.”

“Nah kid, yuh good.” Killz gave a final amused sigh before adopting a patronizing tone. “But seriously now, a word of advice - ditch da nervous act before heading uptown. Them high-class clients can smell fear from a mile away. And they eat fearful pups alive.”

Nodding compliantly, Devon made a mental note of that counsel. Masking anxiety around potentially volatile contacts proved pivotal for his infiltration goals. With the Loki-7 sample delivery achieved, now began Phase Two of his scheme - gaining Killz’s trust to unlock more distribution intel.

“I appreciate da wisdom, sir. Still getting used to these kinda runs, ya know?” Devon injected subtle ingratiation into his words. “Not every day a country youth get to rub shoulders with top league hustlers like yuhself.”

That strategic flattery brought a cocky grin from Killz as he tucked the valuable vial into his shirt pocket. “Yeah, we moving major weight out here. While other crews fight over crumbs, my Lid Syndicate street gang supplies half the neon in Portland and St. Thomas!”

Sensing the gang lord’s boastful mood, Devon probed further. “Wow, half the supply? Yuh crew must be stacking mad paper. How much product yuh push each week?” He whistled appreciatively. “Yuh probably swimming in gyal and rides from that cake too.”

“Ha! Swimming? More like drowning!” Killz bragged loudly, puffing his chest. Behind him the lackeys exchanged weary looks, having heard their boss’ conquest stories far too often. Nonetheless, Devon made certain to laugh approvingly at every ridiculous claim of wealth and women that spilt from Killz’s mouth during the next several minutes.

He learned that the small-time hustler supposedly owned five luxury cars, a dancehall recording studio, exotic pets like snakes and pelicans, over a dozen high-priced mistresses plus three baby-mothers, and enough weapons to supply a small militia. Devilishly alluring portraits were painted of wild parties from months back featuring dancehall artists, models and shots of expensive Rolex watches - trapping images for starry-eyed youth desperate to taste that level of notoriety and thrills.

Of course Devon knew at least ninety percent of Killz’s extravagant boasts were outright fabrications or extreme embellishments. The patches of mildew on the warehouse walls, rumbling hunger pains in the lackey’s stomachs, and frays in even Killz’s own flashy garments were evidence of the struggling reality his lies glossed over. Nonetheless, Devon laughed loudly in false awe at descriptions of grandiose wealth, revelry and conquests. He needed this slimy scammer relaxed and boastful enough to let vital secrets slip regarding wider Loki-7 distribution networks across Portland. Any nuggets could prove pivotal in Devon’s clandestine quest to dismantle the region’s dangerous Loki-7 supply chain that was harming so many lives.

Eventually, Devon interjected gently, eager to shift topics towards operational intricacies. “Wow boss man, yuh style rich bad! When are you going to show off some of them fancy rides around town?” His smiles dimmed slightly with faux concern. “Although with all the patrolling recently, it might not be safe cruising posh in certain areas right now...”

That subtle reminder of increased police pressure gave Killz a brief pause. “Yeah man, yuh right. Getting hot out there for real lately.” He chewed his lip while glancing at the precious glass tube obtained from Devon. “Why them blasted detectives keep meddling inna mi business...”

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“Things was chill up Monymusk way at least,” Devon remarked casually. “Country vibes them always more laidback. Less worries bout Babylon trucking down constantly.”

Killz blinked in surprise. “Monymusk?... Oh right, the Doc park him lab deep inna them bushes. Yuh work with Vargas now?” He studied Devon with renewed scrutiny. “Since when yuh link up out there?”

Devon cleared his throat, committing fully to his fictional backstory. “Yes I, I recently took the job with the Doc's operation. I need the income to fund trade school next semester.” He shrugged trying to appear as guileless as possible. “Marvin was the guard who recommended me. Him say Doc be desperate for new assistants lately.”

“Desperate eh?” mused Killz aloud while rubbing his unshaven chin. Fresh possibilities were occurring now regarding this talkative young courier and his convenient access to untapped resources. If cunningly exploited, this hapless country pup could prove a productive asset. But first deeper measure of his competence and discretion was required.

“Tell me more about yuh hustle out inna Monymusk...” prodded Killz with narrowed gaze. “Vargas working yuh hard? Yuh feel comfortable?”

Devon noted the gang lord’s shift to suggestive tones but maintained his guise of an innocent worker. “Well, everything is pretty smooth so far. The Doc mostly keep to himself; busy with his formulas and experiments. His lab is well supplied though.” Devon whistled softly. “Wish yuh could see the fancy tech gadgets and vats bubbling. Crazy futuristic setup!”

“Yeah? Him operation staying productive then?” Killz smiled like a patient spider awaiting tasty flies ensnared in his web. “Vargas making nuff cake from him jungle hideout?” This country pup was playing directly into scheming hands by ignorantly revealing insider information.

“Well...” Devon scratched his head awkwardly. “To tell the truth, funds seem kinda tight lately. That’s why Marvin claims the Doc is so desperate for fresh couriers. Supply cost must be climbing but buyers still demanding product...” He trailed off uncertainly. “Not like it’s any of my business to question his finances though.”

“Nah, course not, youngster.” Killz lay a comradely hand on Devon’s shoulder, hiding his true excitement at this windfall intelligence. Financial woes at the production level could be ruthlessly exploited by street connections. Sly manoeuvring might gain him a controlling monopoly over Portland’s neon distribution.

“Although, it must be exhausting hustling nonstop out there for the boss man and barely scraping by...” He paused meaningfully. “Maybe...just maybe I can help you come up somehow. We little guys need to stick together inna this business, right?”

Devon regarded Killz uncertainly, not fully grasping his implication. “What you have in mind, chief?”

The gang lord grinned like a shark sensing blood in the water. “Tell me Devon - yuh ever do side deliveries before? Like eoff the books special runs in yuh spare time?” Before Devon could respond, Killz barrelled ahead enthusiastically. “Cause it just so happens I may have discreet packages needing delivery tomorrow right here inna the city. And I will be truly grateful if a capable bredren could provide that service...”

He retrieved a wad of bills from his jeans pocket and fanned the stack invitingly. “What yuh say, youth? Yuh game to put in extra work for some quick cash? I pay double the rate too. Killz takes care of his loyal friends.”

Biting back victorious laughter, the scammer dangled money he likely obtained illegally via exploitation. But Devon played along as if Killz was proposing a mutually fortunate business transaction rather than a criminal recruiting ploy. This was deeper than finances - it meant major progress ensnaring a mid-level player within Lord Skull’s network!

“Double rate pay for special delivery? Sure I’ll help out anyhow I can.” Devon reached to shake Killz’s hand excitedly like an overeager trainee seeking a cagey mentor’s favour. In truth, he was sealing a pact to trace the exact roots poisoning communities for so long. If plotlines remained consistent, crippling the country’s neon infrastructure from the ground up stood inevitable through mentally strategic manoeuvres instead of brute force. Devon’s scheming should prove Ras Nine proud indeed.

“Bless my youth! I knew I sensed potential in yuh from the jump.” Killz gleamed with satisfaction at cleverly roping this unsuspecting warehouse labourer into his blossoming plot. Let Vargas choke on production costs over in Monymusk forests. Street-level channels would continue expanding faster than police suppression could ever hope to restrain.

“What time yuh need me to pick up the package, chief?” Devon was practically bouncing with fabricated eagerness to impress the sketchy gang lord flaunting his sudden generosity. In truth, he was thrilled at this early chance to intercept more evidence exposing Killz’s criminal supply chain.

“Easy now, eager beaver!” Killz checked a flashy platinum watch adorning one wrist. “Plenty hours yet till dawn. Tell yuh what...” He withdrew several liquor bottles from under the card table and distributed them to his cheering crew. “Link up with we later tonight. The warehouse roof functions as our executive lounge sweet. We discuss business further over some quality rum.”

Numbed by false friendship, Devon failed to recognize the cunning invitation aimed to inebriate his defences. Thinly veiled coercion easily disguised itself as hospitality when the desperate and gullible stand blinded by short-sighted goals. But Devon saw only elevating prospects full of advantageous progress towards dismantling Skull’s formidable forces.

So as raucous laughter and pouring libations echoed from the warehouse chamber, he slipped into concealing night eager with purpose. Communications were hastily dispatched towards Tanya summarizing promising developments. The blackest hours ahead held much work left undone in hidden alleys where influence was subtly won through grit, discretion and mental adaptiveness.