Chapter 20

POV Arnold

"So... what are we supposed to do?" I asked, trying to sound confident, but in reality, I was nervous.

"You, find a way to start a gang or become the leader of one. Me, make sure you don't get killed in the process, and I guess I'll give you one or two tips," my companion replied quite naturally... as if the fact that I might die was just a minor detail.

Well, that's one of the twenty most wanted people for you.

"Anyway, let's find a bar or something, I want a drink," said Psycho Eye as we walked through one of the city's poorest and most dangerous areas.

"Seriously? One of the world's most wanted people, known for his intelligence and cunning, but he's a damn alcoholic," I complained as I watched him walk away. Then I realized I didn't know the place, and I'd most likely get robbed if I stayed here, so I hurried to follow him.

...

After walking for a while, we arrived at a bar—or rather, a rundown tavern. When we entered, everyone looked at us as if we had just punched their mothers, but after checking us out and not recognizing us, they went back to whatever they were doing.

We walked to the bar, where there were some available seats, and sat down. Psycho Eye ordered something to drink for both of us, but honestly, I didn't feel like drinking.

I had already asked him what we were supposed to do, and he had answered. Sure, it was a crappy answer, but if I asked again, I'd look like an idiot. So, I was trying to find a way to ask him indirectly—or at least, that's what I was doing until he suddenly asked me:

"What did the boss teach you during the years you were with him?"

"Ah, well, he taught me about combat, leadership concepts, and some other things."

"What did he teach you about information?"

"Information gathering is fundamental in our line of work," I replied exactly as 'He' had taught me.

"Good. So, what is our objective?"

"To start our own gang or take over an existing one."

"If that's the case, then why are you lost in thought instead of gathering information?"

I stared at him speechless for a few seconds before realizing that this was very likely a calculated maneuver on his part—or at least, that's what I thought until he downed his entire drink in one gulp and ordered another.

...

We've been at the bar for about two hours now, and I've managed to gather some information. First, this area is divided among three main groups that, in turn, control weaker gangs, ranging from a dozen to nearly twenty.

Second, the people here really hate the three gangs. Apparently, they impose ridiculous "protection" taxes. Protection from whom? From them, because if you don't pay, some guys will come to your house, break your legs, and take your wife. That actually happened about three days ago, and today they found the woman dead. I'd rather not go into details about how they found her.

I also discovered that the hero group in charge of this area works with the gangs—or rather, the gangs pay them so they won't interfere in their territory. However, they seem to do a good job protecting the city's walls.

Aside from that, I didn't find much else of interest, except that the gangs rely on the usual things to survive: drug and human trafficking, prostitution, some casinos, and protection fees. As 'He' would say: "Just an unimaginative group with a bit of luck."

I looked at Psycho Eye, who was sprawled on the bar, mumbling incoherent things with a bottle in his hand and several stacked glasses forming a house of cards in front of him.

"I don't know what's more surprising—whether he took one of my bottles without me noticing or that he drank enough to build that tower," commented the bartender while cleaning some glasses.

"I knew the guy was an alcoholic, but not this bad."

"Speaking of which… which one of you is paying?"

"Him."

"That's what I thought," he said, and that was the end of our conversation.

Another half hour passed, and I was thinking about what to do. Psycho Eye was still slumped over the bar with no sign of moving. I considered kicking him to make him wake up or something because I had no money to pay. Leaving and abandoning him here wasn't a good idea either.

While debating what to do about Psycho Eye, he suddenly sat up abruptly, making everyone in the bar look at him. But when they saw he wasn't doing anything else, they lost interest.

He asked the bartender for the bill and paid. Then he told me to leave, and so we did.

"So, what did you find out?"

"This area is divided among three main gangs, which in turn control smaller gangs. The group in charge of this area is bought off, and the people here hate them."

"Typical poor region in the walled cities then... So, what do you think is the best course of action?"

"There are two options: The first is to form our own group to go against the three gangs, or I can join one of the existing gangs and rise to power from within."

"Both are valid options but come with clear drawbacks. The first option takes time and will bring the most challenges—if there's one thing people hate, it's losing power. So, the three gangs won't hesitate to work together to get rid of you. The second option, while safer, is also slow, and we don't have the time for that."

"Then what?"

"Simple," he looked at me with a chilling smile. "We make them kill each other, and when they're weak, we take over."