028: The Detached Garage

"What is the meaning of this?"

"You're doing business with me and the Black Gold Gang simultaneously—oh, wait, even more than that, with the relatives of these wealthy young heirs. You’re playing the good guy on every side."

"Damn it, you had me go in and teach them a lesson, then had Vito hold them for ransom, all while you sat in the middle, lining your pockets."

A laugh, completely unmasked, echoed from the other end of the line.

"Tie-Clip" couldn't help but applaud. Since John had already figured it out, he stopped pretending and reverted to his professional business tone.

"No wonder you’re doing so well, John. To maximize profits on a deal, you have to complicate things. That’s how a middleman makes a living. Besides, I never intended to cheat you."

Tie-Clip sounded entirely justified.

"I usually make sure every party is satisfied. You didn't come out at a loss on this job, did you?"

"That’s interesting. You tricked me, and now you want me to say thank you?"

"John, why don't you recall what the job was? Teaching a few young men a lesson. And I paid you a generous fee, a brand-new Plato-Tech rifle..."

"My apologies, could you remind me if I missed any part of your payment?"

Tie-Clip laughed helplessly. He sighed and continued.

"How I earn money from my clients is my business. Negotiating, coordinating, timing the actors' entrances—all that requires brainpower. It’s distribution based on labor; there's no reason for me to pay out more. You’re the executor, John. If I wanted to squeeze someone for profit, it wouldn't be you."

"Your tongue is slick, but I wasn't born yesterday. Lies make me lose faith in a middleman. You shouldn't take me for a fool."

"I owe you an apology for that, John. You exceeded my expectations, and I'm willing to invest in outstanding young people. Keep the motorcycle; consider it a post-job bonus. It’s quite expensive, you know..."

"I'm sure you didn't pay for it out of your own pocket."

"Don't worry about that. Regardless, we know each other now. Let’s stay in touch. There are plenty of opportunities in the West District, and we’re short on smart, capable guys like you. I'll prioritize you for the big-money jobs in the future."

"See you around."

Tie-Clip hung up.

The thugs, having received their instructions, didn't linger—they hauled Piotr away and left the motorcycle behind. A "Mission Complete" notification popped up in front of John.

[Mission: Social Education (Complete)]
[Rewards: Weapon-Tech Rifle (Chip included), Additional Bonus, Vehicle: Eisenberg-Alloy RCH]

John rode the bike back. It was fortunate that the mission prompt had told him to stay behind; otherwise, he would have fallen right into Tie-Clip's trap. The middlemen in Eden City were never simple.

Tie-Clip was clearly someone who had spent years navigating between corporations and street mercenaries. Anyone who could deal with the elite class had a dark heart; in the words of Gnaeus, they were "ghosts who eat people without spitting out the bones."

Vito’s involvement was likely a lucky coincidence. His accidental mention of the business had led John to connect the dots, and after the two exchanged information, the full scope of Tie-Clip's scheme became clear.

But the man was right about one thing: nobody lost out. Everyone got what they wanted from the deal. That was the brilliance of a middleman like Tie-Clip.

[Eden City - Danny Street]

John rode his motorcycle back to his apartment, only to find several members of the Black Gold Gang blocking the entrance to the underground garage. He unzipped his weapon bag, ready for a confrontation.

A guy with dreadlocks—clearly a low-level boss—saw John’s bike and stepped forward. He wore an oversized jacket, mimicking a popular rap star, and flashed two gold teeth as he handed over an authorization card.

"From now on, you park in A31."

John was a bit bewildered as he took it. He entered the underground garage and followed the gleaming, illuminated path toward the VIP A-Zone. The parking areas under the apartment complex were connected to the clubs and casinos, and every parking lot on Danny Street was massive.

John rode his bike through a scanning gate. The authorization card flickered, the electronic barrier turned green, and the patrolling bodyguard in a suit nodded and stepped aside.

This was VIP Zone A. Even the iconic graffiti had been replaced by electronic projections. Each pillar was edged with gold-colored material, and the garage numbers were inlaid into rectangular alloy plates, lending the space a luxurious, high-tech aesthetic. The floor coating was crisp and clean.

Cleaning bots and climate-control equipment operated twenty-four hours a day. Even the slightest turn of a tire would cause a squeak, and the engine roar of every luxury car was amplified throughout the garage. It was hard for any client to enter or leave discreetly. Once the engine growled, it was a loud, arrogant announcement to all the other idiots that they were still alive or heading out to do something big.

The flamboyant style of the Black Gold Gang.

John arrived at Garage 31, inserted his card into the authorization panel, entered his key information, and uploaded the vehicle data to the backend. The alloy door slid back, revealing a bright, spacious, independent area. It could fit at least four cars.

The partitions had all been removed, and there was an automated cleaning station available for a fee, a vending machine for ordering maintenance and supplies, and a tool wall with common repair equipment, allowing clients to tune their rides.

John was very satisfied and used the program to park the Eisenberg inside as well. What pleased him most was that the elevator here went straight to the top floor, and the apartment buildings were connected by skybridges, allowing him to return to his residence from the VIP floor without having to go through the lobby. It was a bit of a detour, but far more discreet.

John knew clearly that the Black Gold Gang wasn't a charity; there was no reason for them to take care of him for nothing. The expected event occurred: just after he finished his shower, he received a phone call from a verified contact.

[New Contact Created: Vito Russell]

The call went through. A window popped up in the top right corner of his vision.

Vito’s background was blurred. He sat behind an office desk, wearing a custom-tailored vest made of bio-fiber, his shirt of breathable cotton with optical stripes—all high-end, designer goods.

"Did you receive the gift, kid?"

"It was a bit intimidating. I almost thought I’d joined the gang."

John stood in his workshop, fiddling with two rifles. A web page was open, displaying underground trading information for Eden City, searching for the prices and functions of various Zebra-BUG accessories.

"Tie-Clip sent me an apology. It seems you’ve already demanded extra compensation from him."

"I think it should be called 'fraud compensation'." John sneered, then asked his burning question. "I should be the one owing you a favor, so why are you giving me benefits instead?"

"First, it’s hush money. Those young heirs are ignorant. The Black Gold Gang needs to make their guardians bleed a little. In the process, there’s bound to be some resistance that requires time and effort to handle. I just hope that when you brag, you choose different stories to tell. Letting this one leak out isn't great for the gang or the middleman."

The Black Gold Gang had a strong desire for self-expression. For instance, ordinary members loved to pursue flashy, trendy decorations, while managers like Vito preferred things with a bit more "flavor."

Vito Russell’s attire and style were like those of a godfather. He poured some high-proof liquor into a faceted glass, stroked his ring casually, and spoke to John through the lens.

"Secondly, it’s an investment. Every so often, a hundred or so new faces pop up in Eden City, but very few are actually capable of getting things done..."

"I have an important job on my hands right now, and I haven't been able to find the right person for it. Would you consider it?"

"If the price is right, I’m in. What kind of work is it?"

"The kind you're best at. Driving a car, delivering some cargo."