Chapter 109: Deal Me In

  What does an obvious drug dealer look like? That's a trick question, because the ones who can be pigeonholed so easily tend to become inmates soon after. Say what you will about corruption and turning a blind eye, but even a guardsman on the take won't ignore blatant criminality staring him in the face, because to do so would place his own job at risk. Inevitably, those criminals who struggle to blend in are quickly taken out of the game, leaving behind a more circumspect set of replacements. Accordingly, the shop that Armand led me to was remarkably plain. A single unit in a long row of houses, with a narrow corridor leading inside, the latter barely wide enough for Armand and I to walk shoulder to shoulder. All around from ceiling to floor, shelves overflowed with an assortment of bizarre oddities. From the relatively mundane silverware and china cups, to the more fantastical, such as the picked eyes in jars that followed me as I browsed, or the shrunken skulls that rattled in place.

  [Junk]

  It was all junk, a statement even the System wholeheartedly agreed with, the kind of antique and oddity shop that could be found in every tourist trap the world over. I'd be surprised if the place saw more than a dozen sales in a week, not even coming close to recouping the cost of even a minimum wage worker. In other words, it was the perfect front for some illicit goods and money laundering; a business that never made any profit on its own merits, and thus left considerable leeway to cook the books for everything from wages, to inventory, to rent and more besides. As we came into view, his eyes singled out my guide at once.

  "Armand? Who've you brought me this time?"

  [Joe Blow

  Level 5 Merchant]

  The shopkeeper sat at the end of the corridor, a wrinkled old man who looked like he was alive during the Normandy landings. His perch behind the till gave him line of sight on all visitors, whilst also barring the way to the staff quarters behind him. The name displayed was an obvious fake, though I figured the Class was probably valid; Merchant was such a broad category that it served as a cover all on its own.

  "Sorry boss. He looked like the average mark at first, but that didn't last long."

  Armand, for his part, was doing his best impression of honest contrition, keeping his head down and making his apologies. It would have been fine ordinarily, but with Pumpkin still wrapped around his neck like a cravat, it looked a bit ridiculous.

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  "You can let him go," I relented, recalling my feline companion to his preferred spot on my shoulder. "We have what we came for."

  It was something of a gamble, as in theory Armand could have led me to a useless old man, but I considered myself a good judge of character, and I simply didn't think the lad had it in him to play games. Not with his life on the line, since he couldn't possibly have known that I'd release him at the first destination. Besides, I was almost certain this was the right place, because really? Joe Blow for a covert drug dealer? Either the System was playing games with me, or this was a drug den, I'd bet my last coin on it.

  "Is that right?" Joe finally turned his attention to me, a bit cavalier of him really, but who knew?

  Given how Armand sighed in relief, maybe the old man was actually someone dangerous. Probably not, but it never hurts to be careful. I let the old man stare me down, seeing no reason to volunteer information for free; whatever he saw in me, it likely wasn't too bad, since he visibly relaxed soon after.

  "Eh, can't be helped, in this case. You got paid?"

  Armand nodded furiously, not even trying to lie about the coin he'd kept.

  "Get going then, you already got yours."

  The pickpocket didn't hesitate, shooting out of the door like all the hounds of hell were at his back. Was it Joe he feared, or myself; I didn't think I'd been overly harsh on the boy, hell, he wasn't even maimed!

  "So, you have something for me then?" Joe grunted.

  His voice was softer with me, compared to the harsh barking Armand got; it reminded me of certain managers I'd known who were true tyrants to their employees, only to turn on a dime and be the best host ever for their wealthy clients. Truly, the marketing department recruited all sorts

  "Armand seemed to think this was the right place," I agreed, pulling the vial of Valkyrie Dust from my pocket and handing it over.

  "Hoh."

  Joe's eyes sharpened as he examined the vial, every bit the discerning salesman now as he looked it over. I had no idea what he saw in it; I was a numbers man, not a chemist, so I could only hope it did the job. It wasn't like we had a variety of customers on hand, not with Harvey's contacts all six feet under.

  "Looks good," Joe eventually admitted. "Looks are only half the story though."

  He followed that statement up immediately, uncorking the vial and inhaling the contents in a single sniff. Apparently, the age-old wisdom 'Don't get high off your own supply.' did not apply in this world.

  "Now that's the good stuff! Ah, this makes me feel fifty years younger, back in the war and taking heads again!"

  Joe made a fist, flexing muscles previously hidden under an inconspicuous tunic. The bracelet around his wrist shattered, broken fragments falling towards the floor, None of them landed, as a wave of golden light erupted from Joe's hand, reducing them to nothing.

  "Thanks, youngster. I needed that. You got more where that came from? In that case, let's talk terms."

  [Joe Blow

  Level 23 Warrior of Light]

  My first thought was that it made sense he was a Warrior, because who else would be familiar with a combat drug like Valkyrie Dust? My second thought was: that's his real name?