Jackie drove the Villefort Alvarado, its engine humming low as they rolled through the narrow streets of Heywood. The long sedan gleamed under the neon lights, its paint shining but still showing some old scratches—flashy, tough, and very much Jackie's style. He leaned back in the driver's seat, nodding to street vendors, corner crews, and passing cars like he owned the neighborhood. People nodded back, some cautious, others with honest respect. Jackie was a familiar face here—and that meant something.
Max sat quietly in the front passenger seat, his mask hiding his face. His optics scanned the crowd carefully, tagging heat signatures and marking anyone who might be a threat before they even noticed him. In the back seat, V leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, eyes sharp as she took in the details of the streets around them. The air smelled like frying masa mixed with gun oil.
"Padre runs everything from El Coyote, right?" V asked.
Jackie chuckled. "Not runs, hermana. Guides. He's like family here. People come to him for advice, blessings, and jobs. He's a priest, yeah, but he knows the streets better than anyone."
Max tilted his head. "A priest who's also a fixer."
Jackie grinned. "Only in Heywood, choom."
The Alvarado stopped in front of El Coyote Cojo, its flickering neon sign glowing against old cracked walls. A few Valentinos stood outside, gold glinting under their shirts, but when they saw Jackie, they nodded with respect. One even said, "Bienvenido de vuelta, hermano," before taking another drag from his smoke.
Inside, the cantina was thick with the smell of incense and tequila. Saints' icons lined the walls, and rows of candles burned quietly. The place was crowded—locals laughing, talking, drinking—but the noise lowered as Jackie led his crew toward a table in the back. There, a man sat in a black cassock draped over broad shoulders. His hair was silver, his eyes sharp, but his smile carried warmth.
Padre.
"Padre," Jackie greeted, spreading his arms. "Been too long."
Padre stood partway and hugged Jackie with one arm. "Jackie, hijo. You've been away from Heywood too long. And now you bring friends."
Max stood still, mask gleaming faintly in the low light. V gave a polite nod.
Jackie introduced them. "This is V. And that's Max. My chooms. We want to make a name out here—and no better place to start than with family."
Padre's eyes rested on Max longer than the others, like he was trying to read something behind the mask. Then he gestured for them to sit. "Sit. Drink. And tell me—why should I trust you with work?"
Jackie leaned forward, smiling confidently but with respect. "Because we'll get the job done, Padre. No half measures. You know me—I don't vouch for fools."
V smirked a little. "We're not here to scrape for scraps. We want something that matters."
Max spoke calmly, voice sharp. "A job that makes noise. Big enough to shake things up, but clean enough so it never traces back to you."
Padre's eyes narrowed slightly, though not in anger. He took a sip of his drink, then set the glass down.
"There is something," he said slowly. "A transport, moving through Heywood tomorrow night. Corpo cargo, valuable. Not Arasaka or Militech—smaller fish, but still dangerous. I could give this to someone else. But…" He looked at Jackie again. "…if you say you and your crew can handle it, then I'll trust you."
Jackie grinned, showing off his new chrome arms. "Damn right we can."
Padre allowed himself a small smile. "Then listen. This convoy will not stop for anyone. But if you hit it right, you'll walk away with more money than most earn in months—and with my blessing. Fail…" He shrugged lightly. "You'll be corpses on the highway."
For a moment, the table was quiet, the buzz of the cantina filling the space.
Max leaned forward, optics glowing faint under his mask. "Where. When. Who's guarding it."
Padre studied him again, then answered. "Tomorrow night. Eastbound, through Heywood Industrial. Six vehicles—two are fakes. You'll know the real one by the escort drones. Armed and fast. If you want it… it's yours."
Jackie grinned wider. "Heh. Sounds like our kind of job."
V's eyes gleamed. "Convoy gigs are bloody and messy. Which is exactly why I like them."
Max leaned back, voice steady. "We'll take it."
Padre made the sign of the cross and lifted his glass. "Then may God guide you. And may you not waste my trust."
The three of them raised their glasses with him, the weight of the job sinking in.
Outside, the neon lights glowed, and cars hummed past. Jackie was buzzing with excitement as they climbed back into the Alvarado.
"Chooms, this is it. Our first real gig together. Padre's blessing, big eddies, big rep." He looked at Max. "We do this right, we'll be legends in no time."
The Alvarado slid into Heywood's streets again, engine growling low as the city pressed in on all sides. Neon signs blinked in broken rhythm, people laughed and fought in the same breath, and sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. Night City didn't care who you were—but it always watched.
Jackie drummed his chrome fingers against the wheel, grinning like a kid at Christmas. "Padre's blessing, man… that's no small thing. Half the gigs in Heywood flow through him. Once we show him we're solid, we're set."
V stretched in the backseat, blades humming faintly as they slid halfway out before clicking back in. "Yeah, well, I just hope this convoy's worth the hype. I'm not putting my ass on the line for chump change."
Max sat quiet for a moment, optics dim behind the mask, then finally spoke. "It won't be scraps. If Padre's giving us this job, it's because he wants to test us. He wants to see if we're worth more than muscle."
Jackie shot him a quick glance, then chuckled. "Heh. Good thing we got more than just muscle." He jerked his chin toward Max. "We got you, hermano. Don't think I didn't notice the way Padre looked at you—like he couldn't figure you out."
V smirked faintly. "He was trying to decide if you're a psycho or a saint."
Max didn't look back at her. "Let's hope he never finds out which."
***
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