While recovering from his pit-fight injuries, Vints Courraine had sent the Hi-Viz Jackers to make a grab for the last remaining bit of unclaimed turf in Sector H8. Given the gang's record so far, Vints was keeping his expectations low, but he wasn't prepared for the news that Akilles and the boys brought back.
Seems the Jackers weren't the only ones pitching for the Clam Breath wastes. They'd run into rival Orlocks The Wasted and, inevitably, a gunfight had broken out. The gangs closed to medium range and started plugging away at each other, but then the Wasted started chucking firebombs around - the benefits of controlling the Ol'Kent promethium refinery. Half the Jackers got lit up, but they rolled the flames out and hung on in there. Akilles stayed cool as ever under heavy fire; recently-recruited veteran Griv Javinski got in some solid shots, as befits a son of Bedlam Town; Dwice and new juve Steez showed their steel by rushing the enemy - though their shooting was far less impressive.
The way Akilles told it, it looked like the Jackers were on the verge of bottling it, but then came a shout from Wasted leader Irving Trudeau, calling for a parlay. Akilles said he weighed up whether to listen to Trudeau or keep fighting. Considering the House connection, plus the Jackers' desperate situation overall in Sector H8, he opted for the former.
If he was honest about it, Vints was grudgingly impressed - he doubted he would've been inclined to hold off on the trigger. But Akilles had made the call and, after some discussion arrangements were made.
And so Vints found himself here, face to face with Irving Trudeau across a flimsy table in an ancient manufactorum block in the Ol'Kent warehouse district. Both men were wary - Trudeau had offered a slug of wildsnake out of a sense of obligation and had been unsurprised when Vints had refused. Both men had backup waiting outside, their toughest gangers steel-eying the competition, weapons holstered - for now.
'So,' drawled Vints. 'You got me here. What's there to talk about?'
'I'll say it straight, I was sump-damned impressed with how your boys handled themselves, Courraine. Especially that big guy Lebow.' He rapped the table emphatically with his fist before continuing, 'Frag me if I ain't ever seen a man take getting set on fire so cool. Just turned and walked down to the domefloor and rolled them flames out. And then takes a krak grenade practically on the chin and doesn't even flinch!'
'We Orlocks get bred tough,' said Vints.
'You bet your last cred we do,' said Trudeau, 'and that's just what I want to parlay with you about. See, after the Ba'King's tournay and so on, there ain't a gang the Hacked Knee with a meaner rep than us Wasted. And the Slagwell Springsteens, well, they've got more turf than any other. We Orlocks are running on top here... for the most part, anyway...'
Trudeau let the words hang for a second, allowing an uneasy silence. Both men acutely aware that the Jacker's less than spiretop performance wasn't being mentioned.
Vints sucked his teeth. 'Go on...'
Trudeau grinned and continued, 'Well, of course, between all those Cawdor faith-bashers, the other houses working the sector, and proper scum like those three-armed muties, I reckon it makes sense to hang together for the House of Iron. Look to protect our mutual interests.'
'Hang together how exactly?' said Vints.
'Well, those wastes at Clam Breath we just tussled over - they mark the edge of our turf. What say you and your Jacker boys take custody of them? Keep 'em safe for us.'
'A stretch of ash-clam-infested deadzone? Why, that's mighty generous of you!' said Vints sarcastically. 'I wasn't born last shift, Trudeau. What the big pict here?'
His counterpart laughed. 'They said you was a proud one, Courraine! Come on, man - turf's turf - and you fellas ain't exactly carving out much of it...'
'Yeah, turf's turf,' said Vints. 'But like you say, the Wasted got the meanest rep in the sector just now. You could hold Clam Breath yourselves - what gives?'
'Alright, I'll level with you. I got big plans. We want the river, total control of it. Sure, it's a dicey run just now, but imagine if it could be secured, made a steady haul route - that's the sort of thing makes an impression on the Guilders...'
'... and the Ba'King's a man with a lot of sway.... I get ya, Trudeau. Big plans indeed. The more hands you've got, the better.'
'Better still if those hands are Orlock iron.'
'The Springsteens in on this?'
Trudeau paused again. 'Let's just say I'm working on that... but in the meantime, here it is, clear as a bolt shell in the brain: I want you Hi-Viz Jackers in an alliance with us Wasted. Whaddaya say?'
Vints made a show of stroking his barbe and pouting, pondering the ins and outs. Really, though, he'd made the decision in a lasflash. A scrap of turf, a powerful ally, with the chance of greater glory down the line - there was no way he was going to pass this up.
Vints clenched his hand into a fist and extended it across the table in a formal Orlock salute.
'Irving Trudeau, I hereby accept your offer,' he said.
Trudeau returned the gesture, slamming his fist into Vints's. 'I'm glad to hear it, Vints.'
Gang before house, house before the rest, as the old Orlock saying goes. Today, the second phrase won out. But Vints Courraine would be spiderfood before he lost sight of the first...
Seems the Jackers weren't the only ones pitching for the Clam Breath wastes. They'd run into rival Orlocks The Wasted and, inevitably, a gunfight had broken out. The gangs closed to medium range and started plugging away at each other, but then the Wasted started chucking firebombs around - the benefits of controlling the Ol'Kent promethium refinery. Half the Jackers got lit up, but they rolled the flames out and hung on in there. Akilles stayed cool as ever under heavy fire; recently-recruited veteran Griv Javinski got in some solid shots, as befits a son of Bedlam Town; Dwice and new juve Steez showed their steel by rushing the enemy - though their shooting was far less impressive.
The way Akilles told it, it looked like the Jackers were on the verge of bottling it, but then came a shout from Wasted leader Irving Trudeau, calling for a parlay. Akilles said he weighed up whether to listen to Trudeau or keep fighting. Considering the House connection, plus the Jackers' desperate situation overall in Sector H8, he opted for the former.
If he was honest about it, Vints was grudgingly impressed - he doubted he would've been inclined to hold off on the trigger. But Akilles had made the call and, after some discussion arrangements were made.
And so Vints found himself here, face to face with Irving Trudeau across a flimsy table in an ancient manufactorum block in the Ol'Kent warehouse district. Both men were wary - Trudeau had offered a slug of wildsnake out of a sense of obligation and had been unsurprised when Vints had refused. Both men had backup waiting outside, their toughest gangers steel-eying the competition, weapons holstered - for now.
'So,' drawled Vints. 'You got me here. What's there to talk about?'
'I'll say it straight, I was sump-damned impressed with how your boys handled themselves, Courraine. Especially that big guy Lebow.' He rapped the table emphatically with his fist before continuing, 'Frag me if I ain't ever seen a man take getting set on fire so cool. Just turned and walked down to the domefloor and rolled them flames out. And then takes a krak grenade practically on the chin and doesn't even flinch!'
'We Orlocks get bred tough,' said Vints.
'You bet your last cred we do,' said Trudeau, 'and that's just what I want to parlay with you about. See, after the Ba'King's tournay and so on, there ain't a gang the Hacked Knee with a meaner rep than us Wasted. And the Slagwell Springsteens, well, they've got more turf than any other. We Orlocks are running on top here... for the most part, anyway...'
Trudeau let the words hang for a second, allowing an uneasy silence. Both men acutely aware that the Jacker's less than spiretop performance wasn't being mentioned.
Vints sucked his teeth. 'Go on...'
Trudeau grinned and continued, 'Well, of course, between all those Cawdor faith-bashers, the other houses working the sector, and proper scum like those three-armed muties, I reckon it makes sense to hang together for the House of Iron. Look to protect our mutual interests.'
'Hang together how exactly?' said Vints.
'Well, those wastes at Clam Breath we just tussled over - they mark the edge of our turf. What say you and your Jacker boys take custody of them? Keep 'em safe for us.'
'A stretch of ash-clam-infested deadzone? Why, that's mighty generous of you!' said Vints sarcastically. 'I wasn't born last shift, Trudeau. What the big pict here?'
His counterpart laughed. 'They said you was a proud one, Courraine! Come on, man - turf's turf - and you fellas ain't exactly carving out much of it...'
'Yeah, turf's turf,' said Vints. 'But like you say, the Wasted got the meanest rep in the sector just now. You could hold Clam Breath yourselves - what gives?'
'Alright, I'll level with you. I got big plans. We want the river, total control of it. Sure, it's a dicey run just now, but imagine if it could be secured, made a steady haul route - that's the sort of thing makes an impression on the Guilders...'
'... and the Ba'King's a man with a lot of sway.... I get ya, Trudeau. Big plans indeed. The more hands you've got, the better.'
'Better still if those hands are Orlock iron.'
'The Springsteens in on this?'
Trudeau paused again. 'Let's just say I'm working on that... but in the meantime, here it is, clear as a bolt shell in the brain: I want you Hi-Viz Jackers in an alliance with us Wasted. Whaddaya say?'
Vints made a show of stroking his barbe and pouting, pondering the ins and outs. Really, though, he'd made the decision in a lasflash. A scrap of turf, a powerful ally, with the chance of greater glory down the line - there was no way he was going to pass this up.
Vints clenched his hand into a fist and extended it across the table in a formal Orlock salute.
'Irving Trudeau, I hereby accept your offer,' he said.
Trudeau returned the gesture, slamming his fist into Vints's. 'I'm glad to hear it, Vints.'
Gang before house, house before the rest, as the old Orlock saying goes. Today, the second phrase won out. But Vints Courraine would be spiderfood before he lost sight of the first...