I don’t know, Rupert.
You know I like to keep a low profile. I barely have the wherewithal to keep Poppa Zak’s bar running. Stay on the down low, don’t raise any eyebrows, and you can keep on keepin’ on, right? If all you are is a harmless drunk, you keep the targets off your back.
Maybe I shouldn’t’ve let Johnny stash that thing in the place. Meetings are one thing, but stashing goods is a step too close to being a hot zone. Should’ve paid closer attention, but Oasis was running his mouth again. It’s getting worse. I lost my head when some guy pulled a piece on that seabreeze-drinking bastard, did something that I shouldn’t have.
Good thing Scully rolled up when he did. I’m starting to figure out how he patches people up – it’s not hard, and it’s stuff Nana Fawn taught me, but I feel like I smoked enough of that out of my head that I need a refresher course.
And hell, that was just last night, Rup. Tonight was a doozy. Scully asked for help – a wheelman for something that might get him closer to that thing he’s looking for. I played the bored card, but it’s tough, y’know? Poppa Zak always said you gotta watch out for the good ones, help them keep what keeps ‘em human. If I were in Scully’s shoes, I’d need all the help I could get.
It was a handoff for that thing Johnny B brought over. Got to meet the Madame for once, after hearing about her from fifty different angles already. I figured she was kin, and sure enough. We headed out to the ‘Borough for the drop – easy enough until the Medicine Men showed. That Mr. Shakes, man – I don’t like how he keeps turning up. We beat fleet feet.
I’m worried about Jaxxon, Rupert. He keeps skitting off, and that Shakes guy keeps coming in to talk to him.
Well, the rest, you were here for, huh? Scully came over, we took a look at what he’s found. Wynne’s in town. In reach. And he’s got deals across the board. I reached out to Dom; he’ll get back to me with what he can ear up. Sounds like next step’s this Succubus jawn next Saturday, maybe get a lead on Scully’s boy.
Fuck all, Rupert. I don’t like the sound of this. Too many pies, and my finger keeps getting jammed in ‘em. But hey, that’s the sun pokin’ through the blinds. Time to pass the fuck out.