When Los Carnales fell to ruin, thirty years of Lopez influence over drugs and bloodshed came to a freeing end in Stilwater. Manuel Orejuela, liaison to the Colombian Cartel, found a new avenue to do business with. Saints Row had less hot heads and a more positive influence on the street that was beneficial as far as Manuel was concerned. Even after Julius disappeared, Dex assured him the Saints still wanted to do business.
Troy agreed on the promise that the partnership would ensure a safe future for Stilwater. Four months later standing in the police parking lot, Troy didn't know if he was safe. Why did Manuel come back, he wondered? Gaining control of the whole city was hard won, but from a tactics standpoint, Dex was ready to counter any retaliation before it hit the Saints.
The last time Troy even heard Manuel was in town was to take Luz to Argentina on vacation. She collected any missing shoes from the Lopez mansion when suddenly she ran into Gat. In retrospect, Troy was surprised he let her go; Aisha's doing no doubt. Too few knew fashion was her coping mechanism from Angelo's abuse.
From what he learned of the Cartel's go-between, Manuel was a man of action. He maintained peace between the Carnales and the Cartel, even when their drug shipments were in disarray by the Saints. Troy's blood ran cold and body stiff from head to toe, darting his eyes along various rooftops for any sniper flashes, all the while trying to keep his composure.
"Manuel, Troy coughed soon after, didn't know you were in town. If you're looking for Dex..."
Manuel cut him off.
"I am not here for him." He kept observing his wardrobe. "How long has this... charade of yours has been going?"
"... I am still part of Saints Row." Troy replied. "Julius, he..."
He cut off the dry mouthed "Saint" once more.
"Come now, we are both experienced in double crossing our own people. I abandoned Angelo when he lost his way, and cast my lot with the Saints, did I not? Julius always struck me as a perceptive man; not very perceptive of you, was he?"
"W-why are you here?"
Manuel opened the passenger door, "Let's take a ride, you and me. We shall stop at a "Freckle Bitch's" along the way. From where I'm standing, you need it."
Troy slowly walked to Manuel's car like he was heading towards a firing squad. Who knows what was going to happen next. Was the anonymous tip a ploy to assassinate him? Was this Julius' way in making sure Troy would never keep tabs on him? Dozens of scenarios ran in his head as they drove from the police station.
Ten minutes in, they passed by two Freckle Bitch's restaurants without so much as the car slowing down. Troy broke out a pack of smokes and lit one up to settle his nerves. The trip was silent, almost unnatural.
Being 2:16 in the afternoon, usually something would break the tension, whether it was some hotdog mascot being chased by pimps with shotguns, or a Friendly Fire store getting robbed. Troy took another puff before getting into the reason for this ridealong.
"How long have you known?" Troy asked avoiding eye contact.
"I have traveled to and from this town since before you were born." He replied. "The policia haven't changed all that much in thirty years. They possess a... how do you say it? A certain vibe."
"Trust me, I've been on the force long enough to know which cops are clean, and who served that fuck Monroe."
"I never liked the man, to be honest." Manuel said putting his left signal on. "There's taking bribes, and then there's murdering public officials like Marshall Winslow. It is a terrible business unless there is a legitimate reason behind one's treachery. I had you pegged as a lawman when you, Dex, and that quiet kid started going after Angelo."
Troy the stressed to him, "That bastard was outta control."
"Agreed, Manuel said, considering the way he was treating the senorita."
"Yeah, Johnny ran into Luz when he was at the Lopez mansion, said you two were going to Argentina or something?"
"Ah, yes Mister Gat.."
"So, where are we headed?"
"I told you. We are going to Freckle Bitch's. It's a remote spot just up the road. No one will bother us."
"That doesn't sound encouraging..." Troy uttered under his breath.
Cecil Park settled down after the Carnales fell. The main drug lab that cooked Marijuana and sold Koma to children was still in cinders, thanks to Playa's efforts. Most of its tatted inhabitants kept to themselves, still cautiously aware should any Carnales flags do a drive-by.
Outside of the apartment complex had a rectanglular table set with six armed men guarding it. Troy could feel the weight of their arsenal as they drove closer; this was the end of the road, he thought. As they got out, the entire park felt like a ghost town, not so much as a radio playing house music.
The table displayed a variety of Freckle Bitch's "finest" cuisines. A lifetime ago, Troy would never have turned down a Fist Burger and a Big Swallow to wash it down. All it did now was curdle his stomach.
"Take a seat." Manuel told him and turned to one of his guards. "Is the area secured?"
He spoke in Colombian, "Everything is quiet here, sir. "One of my men however did spot a green vehicle surveying the neighborhood."
Troy couldn't comprehend what they were discussing, but judging from Manuel's un-shaken demeanor, things seemed to be safe. And that's what scared him the most. Stilwater was not a town to take a sick day. There was always something going on.
In a way, it reminded Troy of his birth home in Brooklyn. Manuel then turned around and had his pick of Freckle's fine dining.
"Many do not know this, Mr. Bradshaw, but I have a very specific palette. Lukewarm meat usually churns my stomach. Angelo and Victor used to frequent at Freckle Bitch's so over time, I've developed a tolerance for it..."
Troy didn't say a word, keeping his eyes glued to the table's wooden frame as Manuel took notice.
"... I know the last few months have taken a toll on you." He sympathized. "It is not easy being on both sides of the law.
"No shit. I lost friends on both sides." He said rubbing his eyes. "What's this tip you got for me?"
Manuel bit into a Fist Burger and took a moment before swallowing, "Are you familiar with phrases such as, "I have a stone in my shoe," and "I have a thorn in my side?"
"I'm familiar with both." He replied.
"Your friend, Johnny, is "removing the stone" as we speak. I sent him to another city called Steelport to handle some business for me."
He took a sip of soda, "Surprised he agreed..."
"His skill set will be most welcomed there, given the bombastic characters who roam its streets. In your case however, Manuel handed him five case files, this thorn requires a more gentle touch."
As Troy slowly opened each file, they revealed an individual that had a certain way about them. He had seen enough mug shots to last him until retirement, but these guys came from a different stock; mercenaries known as Lobos que Desaparecen, a.k.a. The Vanishing Wolves.
According to Manuel, these mercenaries were handpicked by the higher-ups of the Colombian Cartel to handle time sensitive operations in territories from Medellín to Pereira. Assassination contracts, inner city incursions, interrogation techniques, they had all the major food groups for guns-for- hire.
Troy had seen some heinous crime scenes left behind by the Carnales. They were random and organized in equal measure, but this was different from Stilwater's Hitman contracts. Offing a bunch of wannabe and would-be killers gave the Row city-wide cred, thanks to Playa. Troy on the other hand actively avoided getting any more blood on his hands than needed.
Manuel knew this task would exact a heavy toll on the already conflicted lawman. But he was not willing to play the long game on this.
"You need to find someone else." Troy pushed the files Manuel's way. "I dropped enough bodies for one lifetime."
"You misunderstand, Manuel tried to reassure him, the Lobos are here to revitalize Los Carnales. At least, that was the rumor."
"Are you fuckin' kidding me? With Julius in the wind, the Saints are barely hanging onto this city. We... they can't afford another gang war."
"Which is why I need you on this, and you alone." He replied. "I need your investigative eye on this group. Two nights from now, a full moon will rise over the Quinbecca District, just north of the Suburbs Dock. That is when they'll arrive and track down a Haitian drug cook named Baptiste."
The plot thickened the more Troy heard about it. Johnny would have jumped at the chance to drop a drug cook or two with a twelve gauge at his side. There were not too many Haitians wandering around Stilwater... until Manuel dropped another bomb in his lap.
"With Hector, Victor, and Angelo gone, a power vacuum has been growing in the drug trade, namely this voodoo faction from Haiti." He opened a case file revealing a green and black skull. "They call themselves the Sons of Samedi. Their product, Loa Dust, has been making inroads from South America to East Asia. Not even cocaine can compete anymore."
"Fuck me, Troy said to himself, you're asking me to go after two gangs?!"
"I need you to bring them together." Manuel made clear. "According to my Intel, one of the Lobos had a... close relationship with this Baptiste. Her name is Valeria Rojas a.k.a. Daga de Sangre; Blood Dagger. I need you to find out if anything came from their union."
"Kids are involved in this?!"
"It is a possibility. My men and I are putting together a plan that will deal with the Lobos and the Samedi in a single stroke. But this requires more time on my part."
Troy's heart sank to rock bottom.
"If Baptiste and Rojas had a kid, what happens to them?"
"I will do what I can to help the children." Manuel assured him. "This is why I need someone of your caliber to handle this. You will of course be compensated for this endeavor."
Troy was sweating bullets from everything he had just heard. Colombian gang hits with children possibly caught in the crossfire? None of this sat well with him, and as far as anyone was concerned, Saints Row still saw him as one of their own.
That was one lie he was able to maintain. How long before someone shoots their mouth off about him pursuing this mission as a cop? Under normal circumstances, Julius would be the one to make the final call. Dex was out of the picture, and Gat was out of the city; reaching out to Armando and his Claflin Angels would be risky, too.
From what Manuel was putting down, a lot was riding on Troy to handle this discreetly.
"If I take this on, he looked Manuel in the eye, how much time would you need?"
"Three weeks," he said. "I leave for Colombia tonight. There are other parties itching to take a shot at the Lobos. I'll see to it that Stilwater doesn't endure another gang war."
"Fine, Troy sighed as he looked over the two Samedi profiles, I'll do what I can from my end. Now, what about this "Sons of Samedi" you mentioned?"
"I would advise caution of the highest order." He stood up from the table. "Their leader is only known as "The General." From what I know of the man he keeps calm under pressure, but isn't one to ask for things twice. His right hand is another beast altogether; a Voodoo Priest named Mr. Sunshine..."
Without thinking, Troy snickered at the name, quickly collected himself soon after. He was never a believer of the supernatural, even voodoo magic made him shake his head in disbelief. Looking over the General and his partner's file, Troy knew he was heading into uncharted waters. The days of common street thugs fighting for territory were about to change.
"... One last bit of advice, Mr. Bradshaw. This is your show. If too many bodies are thrown at this operation, both groups will escalate this conflict. And make no mistake, he leaned in at eye level, there is no end to Sunshine's creative uses of Loa Dust. You have three weeks to get this done."
"I get it." Troy said looking down. "I just want this shit to be over."
"Best of luck to you, my friend. I'll be in touch."
Manuel had one of his men bag up what was left of the food before making themselves scarce. He offered Troy a ride back to the precinct, but opted to walk instead; everywhere you look the Saints were patrolling the streets. In some twisted way, they were looking out for Stilwater more than Monroe's cops ever did. Troy took solace in the fact they still saw him as one of them. He had not slept since his investigation on the Saints closed.
About ten blocks from the apartment complex, he came across a Forgive and Forget drive-thru. It took him back to a time when he showed Playa the ropes after being canonized in Saints Row. How did everything get turned upside down? What Troy had done and what he was about to do... no amount of artificial forgiveness was going to ease his conscience.
He did not know what to think of these so-called "Carnales Sympathizers." Given the history behind the Lopez family, a part of him wanted to drop the detective threads, throw on his purple flags, and "get this shit started" as Julius used to say. The next three weeks were going to be the longest of his life.
...
Purple was seen everywhere. Not only those who bled for the Row, but average citizens too. With the Saints protecting various neighborhoods, a sense of normalcy returned to Stilwater. At least... that was what it looked like on the surface.
In the old days, the Vice Kings, Westside Rollerz, and Los Carnales gangs made their presence known in every sense of the word. You couldn't walk inside a Freckle Bitch's joint without a bunch of colored flags eating their fill.
These days, the game stewed in the shadows. In the two days since their last meeting, Troy took to the streets as a Saint tracking down rumors of Samedi activity. It started with sightings in Bavogian Plaza. Shady types in black and green threads were seen escorting a truck towards the northwest sector of Rebadeaux.
He followed the trail southward. Along the way, he witnessed a convoy of six green Stiletto and Wellington cars, all armed to the teeth. This new gang had a twist in Troy's eyes. While making themselves known little by little, the Samedi were laying down roots in obscure areas of the city; areas the Saints rarely patrolled.
As far as Loa Dust hitting the drug scene, details were scarce. Each personality file of the Lobos group did not include smuggling drugs or getting "high on their own supply." Their code names Howler, Soul Reaver, Ghost Claw, Blood Dagger, and Pack Leader suggested each of them represented a certain aspect of a wolf.
"Do they share a connection to Mount Claflin," he thought? The old mountain had wolves roaming back in the early 40s, but were chased out by something... otherworldly. Those who remembered those years spoke of a hockey masked serial killer, one that used to roam the woods within Claflin.
Troy put a pin in that along with a few other theories. The names of the Lobos themselves did little to shock him, given Stilwater's use of unique names for products and the people that used them. Their kill count however, mainly from "Pack Leader" Otto Jimenez, raised both of his eyebrows.
He knew Gat had a kill count being the "gun-toting psychopath" labeled by Dex, but Otto's ledger had an edge over the trigger happy Saint. Many of his kills were labeled as "suicides." Several targets in Colombia's hot zones were filled with an anxiety that rivaled a week long hangover.
Perusing his background, Otto was a man with practiced results. If heads rolled, they would land at some tyrant's feet. If the situation required something deeper, Otto would dig deeper. The whole thing read as a spook story, something that would be kept in the backlog of Stilwater's horrifying tales.
The cop in Troy knew going into this alone was foolish, even by Manuel's standards. The Saint in him however wanted to pursue this group with a well-thought out plan, even if was not original. Two days tracking Samedi leads and he still had no plan on how to handle the Lobos. The only lead he had was the name: Baptiste.
While unfamiliar with the name, Troy recalled a record joint called Scratch That. The person who ran the place at the time, was of Jamaican descent named Akoni Campbell. When the War of Badges made its way to Akoni's doorstep in Brighton, official reports stated he went missing.
Luckily when the feud was over, he reappeared looking worse for wear; his rib cage and left leg beaten, broken, and bruised. Baptiste fought every impulse to speak out against Monroe's boys, found peace when whispers spoke of the chief being dead. As for the cops who caused the abuse, reports say the five badges responsible were missing in action. Troy doubted any of them would be missed.
Officer Arnold Prescott was among those badges. His jacket was dirtier than the "quiet lounges" at Tee N' Ay. $78,000 was caused in property damage when he took out eight police wagons pursuing the Vice Kings. Cop pay was a joke in Stilwater, even for those in Monroe's inner circle. Desperate times led to him being on Benjamin's take when the Kings still ruled their ghetto territories... him or Warren's pocket. It was never confirmed.
In took mere hours the community emerged from the aftermath. Some did what they could to help Akoni repair the damage to his store. Whether it was knocking down a wall, a few paint brushes or volunteering to guard the place, it was in these rare times Stilwater lent a helping hand to one of its own.