Chapter 61 - The Fixer's Tier

"How did it go, Carl?"

Jack glanced at Blanka, who was walking toward the entrance of Afterlife, then turned back to Carl. "What's the job about?"

"No rush. I'll explain when we're back."

With so many people around outside the booth, Carl had no intention of discussing work in a place like this. "Speaking of which, what were you and Oliver up to? I saw you both chatting up the bartender earlier."

"All the named drinks at Afterlife are based on legendary figures from the past. Oliver and I figured, why not reserve one for ourselves?"

"Reserve one?"

Carl sat down next to Jack. "But isn't there a saying that all of Night City's legends are in the grave?"

"That's not entirely true."

Oliver chimed in. "I can name at least two living legends in Night City, and we happen to have some ties to both—Adam Smasher and Afterlife's owner, Rogue, the legendary fixer. You can't exactly say they aren't Night City legends, can you?"

"Fair point."

Carl leaned against the bar, a bit curious. "So, what kind of mix did you two come up with?"

"A shot of vodka, ice, lime juice, ginger beer, and—most importantly—a little bit of love."

That was Jack's mix. But after hearing it, Carl couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"That's just a Moscow Mule. The only thing you added was some vague-ass 'love.'"

"Love is the most important part, Carl."

"...Right."

Carl turned to Oliver. "What about you? What's your mix?"

"Mine? Thirty milliliters of whiskey, a small shot of Drambuie, and some ice."

"A Rusty Nail? So, you copied a classic too. Where's the originality?"

"Who needs originality? As long as people hear my name when they order it, that's good enough for me."

Oliver smirked and nudged Carl. "Jack and I already left our drink recipes. You gonna leave one too?"

"What kind of recipe would I even come up with? If I had to choose, I'd probably just copy one like you guys."

Carl waved over the bartender and ordered a soda.

"Personally, I think red wine mixed with Sprite isn't too bad."

"What kind of girly drink is that?"

Oliver scoffed, eyeing the soda in front of Carl. "Now that I think about it, you barely drink alcohol at bars."

"Just keeping my head clear and staying sharp."

Carl took a sip of his cold soda. "Not everyone can get wasted. Someone's gotta stay sober and watch over you idiots."

"Well then, I'll leave myself in your care if I get too drunk, Carl."

A familiar voice came from a short distance away at the bar. Carl turned toward it and saw Mann approaching them, a beer in hand.

"Thanks for having my back on that last job."

Mann plopped down beside Carl, raising his beer in a toast toward Oliver and Jack.

"If anything, I should be thanking you for checking in on me."

Carl had already heard about what had happened after the mission. Every single merc had come to visit him. But since the hospital was under Arasaka's control, they all left once they confirmed he was stable. Mann had been the last one to go—only leaving after getting a call from someone. The difference between Mann leaving and Carl waking up had only been about four hours.

"There's nothing to thank me for. Compared to you saving my ass, this was nothing."

Mann chugged his beer, downing half the bottle in one go before speaking again. "I was actually thinking of visiting you guys properly to say thanks, but who'd have thought I'd run into you at Afterlife instead? You guys picking up another job?"

"More like tying up loose ends from the last one."

Carl glanced at Mann. "What about you? On vacation?"

"I just dodged a bullet three days ago, so yeah, I'm taking a well-earned break. Most mercs live by the 'spend it while you got it' rule, anyway. But you guys... man, you're grinding too hard. You only just woke up today, and you're already taking a job?"

"We're just here to get some intel and see what the job's about. We're taking some time off, too."

Carl sipped his soda. "By the way, has your fixer sent over your cut yet?"

"If that bastard tried to skim anything off the top, I'd rip his head off."

Mann scoffed. "What about Faraday? That asshole pay up?"

"He did," Jack answered from the side. "Sent it over about an hour after the job was done."

Then, suddenly, a thought hit Jack. "Speaking of which, Mann, since you took the job solo, how much did your fixer take from your cut?"

"150,000 eddies. Biggest payout I've had so far."

"150,000..."

Hearing that number, Carl and the others did some quick mental math.

Their total payout had been 300,000 eddies—split evenly, that meant each of them had only gotten 100,000.

Compared to Mann's solo payout, their share was nearly half of what he had received.

And if the fixer's cut was calculated per person, then...

"That bastard Faraday pocketed a shit ton of our money."

"How do you figure?"

Mann seemed a bit confused at first, but after hearing that Carl's team had only gotten 100,000 each, his expression twisted. "That damn mutt... Faraday's as greedy as a starving street dog."

"If you think about it, he took a bigger cut from us than other fixers usually do."

Oliver was visibly pissed now. No merc in their right mind would be happy after learning their fixer had skimmed off a huge chunk of their pay.

"Next job, we choose wisely."

Jack leaned against the bar. "Thanks to Carl, our crew's made a name for itself. It's about time we get picky with our fixers. I've got a connection, so next time we need a job, we'll go through Padre. He should have decent gigs lined up."

"Padre? You mean the Padre from Heywood?"

Mann raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Padre's on a whole different level compared to bottom feeders like Faraday. You guys had a connection with him this whole time and didn't take his jobs?"

"Back then, we didn't think we had enough reputation. But now? No way we're letting some street mutt like Faraday steal our pay again."

Jack spoke with confidence, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone approaching.

"Hope you don't mind me interrupting."

A tall, muscular blonde woman stepped up to them.