"Hey, Droog?"
The conversation started as many others have in the past.
"Yes, Deuce?"
"Do you remember when you guys found me?"
He nodded. "I do."
"It's been eight years."
He quirked a brow and looks up from his paper. "Has it really?" He didn't sound surprised.
It was Deuce's turn to nod.
It really had been eight years. He'd been counting to the day just because it seemed like a fun thing to do. He kept track of time on a calendar he had stashed away. He wrote important dates on it – birthdays, holidays, and most importantly the day the crew found him.
X X X
Eight years already… How time flew.
He was sixteen when it happened. The orphanage he lived at was empty for a change. He made sure. He'd searched every room just to be safe. They were all on field trips or shopping or just plain out.
That meant he could work on his secret passion: bombs.
Ever since he saw his first firework at the age of four, the beauty of explosions had captured the boy's imagination. And so he worked on them in private. Or at least he'd been planning on working on them for a long time.
And today was the day.
Except things went, terribly, terribly wrong.
Deuce just tweaked one little thing wrong and boom went the dynamite. Well, it wasn't dynamite but a time activated bomb just to be "safe". If it was dynamite, Clubs Deuce wouldn't be here today.
But he did lose his home and most of the feeling in his right leg.
The doctors said he'd never be able to walk again. And that's when they showed up.
X X X
"Do you remember what happened after the bomb?" Deuce asked0.
Droog exhaled smoke from his cigarette. "How could I forget?"
X X X
As Deuce lay in a hospital bed, bleakly staring up at the ceiling, panicked doctors announced he had a visitor. With a bit of effort, the boy sat up.
"And who are you guys?"
"You think you'd know who runs this city," one of them said. He was the shortest of the bunch and wore a fedora. His eyebrows were constantly knit together like he was pissed at the whole world.
There were two others with him. One wore a fancy suit and carried a cue stick with him. Why a cue stick, Deuce remembered wondering. But he didn't have the courage or energy to ask.
The other guy was huge and had a permanent scowl on his face. He kept cracking his knuckles and glaring at the doctors like he might start a fight with one any second now.
And then it clicked for Deuce.
"You're the Midnight Crew!"
He knew them. How could he not? Everyone knew the Midnight Crew. Their ancestors started this city, and now they ran it with an iron fist. Or… at least the Crew territory. They couldn't get their hands on neutral or Felt territory no matter how hard they tried.
"Nailed it," their boss, Spades Slick, said with a smile. "And I gotta say, we liked what you did."
"What? The bomb? But it was a total disaster!"
"It destroyed half of that orphanage. With a little work, you could be a genius."
Genius? Those words stroked Deuce's tiny ego. Not many people called him smart. Airhead was a common replacement. Stupid also worked. But a genius? Him? He smiled.
"Me? Really? I don't know about that."
Slick reached out a hand and put it on Deuce's shoulder… before quickly pulling back. Too awkward for a first meeting and for Slick.
"Kid, we want you on our Crew."
Deuce's eyes widened. Him? Part of the Midnight Crew?
He laughed. "What? You want a lackey?"
"No. You'll be right up there with Droog and Boxcars if you keep making those bombs."
How could he say no?
There was just one problem.
"Um… Doctors think my leg is caput though," Deuce said looking away.
The tall man, apparently named Droog, approached with something in his hands. It was a cane.
"And that's why we brought this as a welcoming gift," Slick said, jerking a finger at the cane.
"It's a bull penis cane," Droog said. "It's very expensive."
Deuce remembered flipping the fuck out because – hello! – it was a bull penis cane.
X X X
Deuce laughed at the fond memories. "I've been with you guys since, haven't I?"
Droog nodded, looking up from his paper for just a moment. "Yes. I suppose we could say the Crew adopted you."
"Aw, don't put it like that! You're my family, but I'm no kid! I just turned twenty-four last week. You know that."
"I do."
"Say… where's the boss anyhow?"
"He's out seeing Pallas."
And Deuce nodded. If you needed intel, Pallas Athena was the way to go. She was the number one intel broker in Midnight City. If they were going to do a heist and they didn't want to bother getting intel themselves, a few hundred dollars lead them to everything they could ever want to know about their case and more. Pallas was good like that.
At that moment, something toppled over. Spanish swearing followed.
Deuce and Droog shared a glance. "Mesita," they said at once.
As if they didn't have enough problems on their hands planning their next heist, it seemed a Felt member had managed to sneak into their base.
Time to deal with that problem.
Droog put his paper down on the table and stood, taking long, precise steps towards the entrance to the base. Droog hobbled along after him, using his cane to help him along.
Sure enough, there Mesita was, trying to climb up the ladder before anyone could stop her. It was too late.
She slowly looked over her shoulder and stopped. There would be no escape.
Droog's cuestick was out in moments. He approached the brunette woman, grabbed her by the green jacket, and pulled her from the ladder. She tumbled to the floor.
"Lo siento, lo siento! Por favor, no me mates!" she begged in Spanish.
But Droog didn't care. He looked over at Deuce and quirked a brow. A twisted grin began to spread across his face. "You might want to look away, Deuce. Things are about to get a little bloody."
And then came the cuestick.