Vivian Hale was certain her nose was crooked.
"This doesn't look broken to you, does it?" She asked the leathered bartender across from her absentmindedly.
Pepe looked up from the lowball he was drying, examining V's face with a grimace before pulling out a half-full bottle of a mysterious amber liquid from a shelf hidden below the bar. They had known each other since she was a scrawny, hot tempered teen skipping class on the regular to smoke stolen cigarettes and mouth off to authority figures. Back then, Pepe would keep a stash of cactus juice behind the bar for non-alcoholic cocktails to take the edge off for her. These days, she preferred something a little stronger.
"A little… anesthesia." He supplied with sympathy, pouring a shot and pushing it in her direction.
V turned back to the dirty mirror beside her with a sigh and frowned at the state of her face in the smudged reflection. The beginnings of an angry purple bruise bloomed under her right eye; a stark contrast against otherwise creamy skin sprinkled with cinnamon freckles. Damn.
She downed the contents with practiced ease and wiped her chin on the back of a swollen hand. The sting of alcohol on cracked knuckles brought her attention to the wound and she stretched her fingers experimentally, frowning.
"Everything alright?" Pepe questioned, swiping a dirty rag across the scratched surface of the bartop.
She gave a noncommittal nod, glancing around the smoky haze of El Coyote Cojo from a stool she occupied every Friday night. Faded sepia stills portraying the nameless, long-dead victors of hard fought battles collected dust on every wall. The bar wasn't especially busy at this time of night, but it was still early enough for trouble to find its way in off the street. A dark haired couple sat on the same side of a stained bench seat tucked into a dimly lit corner, speaking too low for her to make out words over the pulse of the speakers above them. V watched them for a minute without trying to disguise the repulsion on her face as they giggled.
"Some bastard tried to mug me." she explained finally, turning to look at Pepe again with the flip of a honeyed wave over her shoulder. "I handled it."
Pepe's brow creased in faux concern, earning him a scoff from V. "Who? Local guy?"
"Ya really think somebody local'd try to mug me, Pepe?"
His lips twitched in a smirk before he sighed and leaned in, avoiding V's eye as he rested weary elbows on the bar and his face in hands calloused over from years of hard work.
"Listen, V… I got a problem. Serious this time." When V gave no immediate response, he continued, "It's, uh, Kirk… I owe 'im. Don't pay by tomorrow, he said he'd bust my legs. An' he don't joke about that stuff. Got cartels in his corner."
Narrowed brown eyes snapped to meet his as she took in what he was saying. "You in it with Kirk? Every man, woman, and rat in Heywood knows he's a fuckin' shark."
"My bro jumped the joint, deserved a hero's welcome…" Pepe offered a weak defense and then shook his head. "I know I messed up, V."
V hopped down off her rickety barstool and dusted her hands off on faded blue jeans.
"Listen, I'll talk to Kirk." She promised, tossing him a wink. "But after I get you out of this, you're gonna owe me one."
The weathered brown lines of Pepe's face sagged in relief.
"And none of that bottom shelf trash!" She added, pointing a finger in his direction as she crossed the bar toward the stairs at the back with the confident swagger of untried youth in familiar territory.
The old man waved her off with a shrug of his tired shoulders and poured himself a shot of something clear, holding it up with feigned deference. "Nothing but the best for Heywood's finest!"
Rolling her eyes, V weaved between the sticky tables and haggard looking regulars who were all but built into the establishment's architecture. Years from now, when the Cojo's doors had long since been boarded shut and the corporations that traded in blood owned every square inch of Heywood, these seats would remain occupied by the ghosts of a forgotten time.
Years of climbing these stairs before she was old enough to even be a customer taught her how to avoid the creakiest boards, resulting in a near silent ascension that came second nature. At the top sat a balcony around the perimeter of the room, lined with discolored lacquered tables topped with the empty bottles of first, second rounds finished. To the uninitiated, this layout would be classified as a "trendy open floor plan," but in the heart of Valentino territory V knew it to be a tactical advantage. No one was making it in or out without the sharp eyes lazing around the periphery taking notice.
The booth she was looking for sat opposite a pair of vending machines that only fulfilled their end of the transaction half as often as they should and left many a' patron grumbling to Pepe over the years. They could be replaced, he had explained once, but they were "historical relics" and could be worth serious eddies someday to a discerning collector. He'd left out the part where he would insist on offering the first drink free of charge to the hungry and disgruntled for the inconvenience, and that they'd more often than not end up slouched over the bar hours later with a belly full of cheap vodka and a considerably lighter wallet.
As she approached the slimiest weasel turned wannabe-fixer in Night City, a hulking figure stepped out of the shadows to block her path. The name "Big Joe" didn't seem to appropriately convey the sheer bulk of Kirk's hired hustle and while V deliberated on alternatives like "Jumbo" or "Thick", a chubby hand brought a greasy burger to his lips for a wet bite. She stopped just outside the splash zone and crossed her arms crossed over her chest.
"I need to speak with Kirk." She challenged.
Big Joe's glassy eyes stayed on her face, unfocused. "I know it's your brother's turn with the brain cell you both share, but that means you need to move."
He took another messy bite and continued to stare.
"V, been a while." A reedy voice called from behind him at last, prompting Joe to retreat enough for her to squeeze past. Kirk gestured with a folded screamsheet at the bench across from him. "Spin it - whatcha need?"
The electric glow of the flickering neon lights decorating the walls were reflected in the oil slick of Kirk Sawyer's glossy undercut. He wore a jacket V presumed was supposed to give off the appearance of flush accounts, but at two sizes too big clearly came straight from a corner thrift. Beady blue eyes were obscured by tinted shades, regardless of the fact that he was indoors.
"Heard about you and Pepe. Asked me to talk you up." She started casually, letting him lead the conversation. An ego as inflated as his was as likely to break Pepe's legs as any cartel.
"What, he too shy to hand over the eddies hisself?" Kirk took a long drag from the cigarette in hand, eyes roaming to the hint of midriff peeking out above the edge of the table between them. "Ah, tell him I don't bite. Not yet."
V shifted in her seat, resisting the urge to both throw up in her mouth and pull at the frayed hem of her top. She'd rather scratch out her own eyes than play into some asshole's swollen sense of self-importance, but with Pepe's livelihood on the line…
Not to mention your favorite bar, she thought.
"Cut him some slack, will ya? He'll pay, he just needs some more time."
A barked laugh sent a plume of cheap smoke swirling across the table toward her.
"Do I look like a priest who runs a charity to you?" Another drag. "You borrow eddies, you gotta pay 'em back with interest. It's common fuckin' knowledge. You suggesting I let a flaky cunt who can't keep a deal off the hook?"
"No," V placed bare elbows up on the table and leaned forward with her chin resting on folded hands, baiting Kirk with a preem view of her chest. "You let him off because it's me askin'."
He bit immediately. Didn't even attempt to make eye contact as he answered.
"You know me, I'm a man of the biz. So I need to know what I get out of it."
Not on your life.
"Transactions go both ways, I get that. I'll owe you a favor."
Kirk exchanged a crude smile with Joe over her shoulder, flicking ash into a cracked ceramic tray on his left.
"Tempting… Got a nova idea already."
A raised eyebrow was a silent invitation for him to continue. He flattened the screamsheet on the table and spun it around to face her. The car of the future stared back at her smugly, as if aware she couldn't even afford the paper its photo was printed on.
"And?"
"Preem ride there on the page. Only four of 'em in NC as of now."
V's eyes rolled so far back into her head she almost caught a glimpse of the fucks she gave as they scurried away like roaches under an overturned rock. Almost.
If Kirk noticed her disinterest, it didn't stop him.
"One, Rayfield regional director. Two, Mayor Rhyne. Three, a rental service." He ticked off the first three on fingers V noticed were immaculate. "And four'll belong to my client, just as soon as you klep it for me, that is."
An involuntary cackle died on skeptical lips when his expression didn't change.
"Oh, you're serious? No way, Kirk. I'm no thief."
Over the top of those tacky glasses, Kirk's features turned conspiratorial.
"Beautiful thing is, a grand theft auto virgin like you don't need to know how." His chin lifted with unearned confidence as he continued, "Don't worry that pretty little head of yours, I already planned it. Whole thing's simple; you swipe the Rayfield for me, I clear Pepe's account. Even toss in a cut for you, seein' as I'm such a nice guy."
V's doubts weighed more than Big Joe, but her curiosity got the better of her.
"Let's hear it, then."
His answering smile grew wide and greedy. "My man Rick works a parking structure by Embers, club where our Rayfield driver likes to kick it. There every Friday night like clockwork." He tossed the cigarette to the floor and hunched closer. "Soon as you appear, security cams shut down, gate swings up, road is yours. Just gotta grab the Rayfield and roll out. Simple."
V straightened up, examining the screamsheet again before turning an incredulous stare on Kirk.
"Who's the owner?"
"Just an Arasaka suit from across the water. Spews cash outta every hole in his body." Kirk dismissed easily.
"And the name?"
"Shit, V. How would I know? And why would I care? It's a hot item, and I know where to find it." Kirk attempted a more complimentary approach as he felt the likelihood of her taking the job dissolving. "Look, this ain't no setup. Heard you got a good head. Maybe we can help make each other a few eddies."
V loosed a breath and ran a hand through blonde hair turned magenta in the lights.
"How am I supposed to do this? Expect me to slide under the chassis on a skateboard for a quick hotwire, fast an' easy?"
Where her tone was incredulous, his turned silvery and assured. He reached into a nondescript canvas bag crumpled on the bench beside him and pulled out a metallic grey device the size of a burrito without explanation. The blank stare V gave him said enough.
"This bitty bop works like the key the techs use for repairs. Opens locks, bypasses identity authorization, the works."
"A skeleton key for all Rayfields in the city? C'mon, Kirk, even you don't buy that."
"Kabuki's tech wizards sell more magical shit than this under the counter." He argued, "Have a little faith."
She weighed out her options, picturing Pepe on aftermarket cybernetic legs, hobbling around behind the bar. In the end, it was the prospect of dealing with months of his sulking and an affection for him she'd deny until her last breath that chose for her. She stood up, device in hand, and leveled Kirk with her most unimpressed look.
"Better keep your word."
"Easy, baby. Job's gonna pad your wallet too, y'know." Spindly arms crossed above his head. "Remember: head to Embers, in the Glen. Rick in the garage'll be waitin' for ya. You two'll hit it off."
V turned on her heel to pick her way through the crowd that had more than doubled in size since she first sat down and wondered exactly how many eddies she'd need to have more money than brains.
The conclusion: very few.
A confused Pepe stood on the receiving end of a glower as she passed him for the second time that evening, slipping out the back into a dingy alley that beckoned her into the serrated embrace of the human meatgrinder that was Night City, and a decision she was sure to regret in the very near future.