Quirky Row Chapter 50: Wheeling and Dealing

Chapter 50: Wheeling and Dealing

(Tuesday, March 20th, 2124)

“Now, before we begin, I just want you to know that even if we don’t agree to anything, I won’t be trying to arrest you. Today, at least,” Star and Stripe informed Playa.

“Very generous of you,” Playa said, feeling a bit of relief at hearing that.

“Of course. Least I could. Not every day I get fan mail from a supervillain. Your letter was surprising. As were the contents,” the Top Heroine in the country admitted, fishing out the very message he’d mailed to her while he’d been waiting for Kazuo to make a move.

“I meant every word I said,” Playa replied.

“Your request is patently ridiculous,” Star and Stripe retorted. “You want a Presidential Pardon for your entire gang. Everyone from the lowest gangbanger to people like your right-hand man. Clean slate, everything you did forgiven and forgotten.”

“We pacified and saved an entire city. Twice,” Johnny pointed out. “If that sorta thing ain’t worth forgiveness, I don’t know what is.”

“If you were just vigilantes, I could possibly swing it,” the heroine scoffed. “But the Third Street Saints are a gang, run by a supervillain with a cool, million-dollar bounty on his head.”

“Huh, it went up,” Playa muttered.

“It sure did,” Star and Stripe chuckled darkly. “A million bucks for a single person is quite the sum. Not sure you’re worth it, though.”

“And what about what I offered in exchange for said pardon?” Playa asked. “Surely that would be worth some consideration.”

“You really think we would have a use for you?” Star and Stripe demanded.

“There are plenty of people who do dirty work where the heroes can’t – or won’t – be used,” Playa retorted. “And don’t try and sell me the lie that the U.S. government doesn’t do the same when the situation calls for it.”

“I find the existence of such groups distasteful, to say the least,” the Top Heroine scowled.

“You don’t have to like it in order to see the use of it,” Johnny stated.

“Give the Saints a Presidential Pardon, and we will cease to be a criminal organization, and instead rebrand as a Private Military Company with preferential contracts for the United States,” Playa told the heroine. “We never wanted to be villains. We just wanted our home to be safe. To be more than the shit-hole corruption and negligence turned it into.”

“It’s a mad plan,” Star and Stripe said shortly. “Why should we agree to this?”

“Because it’s in your best interest,” Johnny claimed. “We’d lose if the heroes try to bring down the hammer on us for real, but we’d make sure we’d drag down everyone with us.”

“Besides, if you’d wanted to save Stilwater, you could have done so whenever you wanted long before now,” Playa added darkly. “But you and your fellow heroes were content to let it be the hellhole it was. Yet now that it has a chance at not being a total piece of shit, ‘good Samaritans’ suddenly come pouring out of the woodwork to take advantage of our hard work and refuse to acknowledge us.”

Playa slapped the table harshly. “We bled in the streets to do what you and the other ‘heroes’ should have done long ago! It was the Saints that fought the corruption and the criminals! We were the ones who gave a damn about the whores and the druggies and the average person trying to make a living in that shitty city! Nobody else tried to help us, and the moment we finally achieve victory, you try to punish us for doing YOUR JOB!”

He shouted at her, glaring at the heroine, fully aware that if she wanted to, she could squash him like a bug. Her Quirk, New Order, was pure bullshit. Reality alteration Quirks always were, and hers was one that was, quite frankly, one of the most ridiculous Quirks in existence.

But he did not care, nor did he fear her. If she had truly wanted him dead or captured, she would have already acted. Instead, she had agreed to meet in secret. Something that, if it got out, would likely damage her reputation.

Why? Playa didn’t know, but he had a gut feeling that she had some sort of plan, and it involved him and his Saints.

After a long, tense pause, Star and Stripe nodded. “You are not wrong. Stilwater has long been left alone to languish and decay. To be preyed on by villains and others. We could have done more. But it does not excuse your actions.”

“Anything can be forgiven if there is enough reason to do so,” Playa retorted.

“You have yet to convince me that there is a reason to forgive you,” the heroine claimed, but Playa shook his head.

“I don’t believe that. I think you want this as much as I do.” Playa began to count off reasons for this on his fingers. “For one, having the Saints peacefully cease all criminal activities is in everyone’s best interests. For another, changing tracks would give the government more taxes. And thirdly… well, you’d have a weapon to wield against the really nasty things that lurk in the dark.”

At that, Playa extracted a piece of paper and slid it across the table towards the heroine. On it, were three words. A name. One that had cost Playa quite a bit in favors from Mr. Wong to learn.

‘All For One.’ The identity of a man who, at the dawn of Quirks, had styled himself a King in the Shadows, a Demon Lord, who had ruled and controlled the world in secret, only defeated a scant few years ago by All Might himself.

The so-called ‘peace’ toted by the governments of the modern era, one propped up by Superheroes, was a lie. It always had been, until just recently.

And yet it was all at risk, because All For One was not as dead as so many had assumed and hoped. The mutated ‘Nomu’ Playa had fought on the Brotherhood ship, along with the villains sporting multiple Quirks, were all signs of All For One’s hand. He lived. And the government needed a disposable blade to wield against this threat. One that had no problem getting their hands bloody if need be.

In Playa’s opinion, it was a win-win for the President to accept. The country stopped a villain, got a mercenary army loyal to them, and best of all, there was no chance of the Saints throwing their lot in with All For One, like other potential assets might. After all, the Demon Lord was directly responsible for the state of their beloved Stilwater by aiding the Big Three who had run rampant for five long years.

‘And if I investigated further, I bet I’d find evidence of the bastard meddling in Stilwater when I facing the Rollerz, Vice Kings, and Los Carnalos,’ Playa grimly thought to himself.

Star and Stripe looked at the piece of paper, taking note of the name upon it, eyes flashing with understanding.

“I don’t like you,” she eventually said, looking up in disgust. “Evil and injustice should never be rewarded.”

Star and Stripe then sighed. “However, I also know that sometimes, you have to fight fire with fire.”

“To hunt and kill a monster, sometimes a monster is necessary,” Playa agreed, repeating the motto of the Saints.

“When people go hunting, dogs and other hounds were often used as well to spook the game and drive it into the open,” Johnny added. “We are willing to be your hunting dogs.”

“I will bring your words, as well as your offer, to President Hilton,” Star and Stripe declared, picking up the slip of paper, and burning it with a quick application of her Quirk.

“Thank you,” Playa said.

“Now that we’ve finished this unpleasant politicking, how about you join me for lunch?” Star and Stripe said, a wide grin splitting her face. “This place has some great food. I used to come here all the time as a kid.”

“As long as you’re paying,” Playa said with a snort.

“Oh? I thought the man was supposed to pay for the meals?” Star and Stripe asked with a teasing grin.

“It’s the 22nd century, and I believe in gender equality, especially when the lady makes way more than I ever could,” Playa retorted. They stared at each other for a bit before bursting into laughter.

“Hmm, very well,” Star and Stripe nodded, before snapping her fingers, causing a sound-proofing barrier to disappear. “Hey, old man! Order up!”

Playa nodded at Johnny, who quietly sat down at the table. There was to be no battle today between good and evil.

111 &&&&& 111

All good things had to come to an end. This was something Playa knew intimately. But even so, the boss of the Third Street Saints had hoped the good mood he’d had after the lunch meeting with the Number 1 heroine in the entire country would last a little bit longer. At least long enough to tide him over as he did the bane of his wrists: paperwork.

But when he and Johnny returned to the Mission from San Francisco, his peace of mind evaporated like dewdrops being hit by a flamethrower.

“How long has he been here?” Playa demanded, glaring at the Saints who’d been on door guard duty that day.

“Uh… a while. He stopped by after you left thisss morning,” a Saint whose skin resembled that of a snake replied, scratching the back of his head.

“I see. And nobody did anything? Try to get him to leave, have him make an appointment or, I dunno, tell him to fuck off?” Playa asked, folding his arms and glaring at his minions.

“We tried,” another Saint, this woman a young woman who had elf-like ears claimed. “He just ignored us and just sat down on the couch.”

“You are a bunch of guys – and gals – with guns,” Johnny drawled, unimpressed. “Why couldn’t you just force him out?”

“Well, uh, Bobby tried. He’s in the infirmary,” Snakeskin stated. “Bitch with the sword stabbed him.”

“And why didn’t you retaliate?” Playa inquired sharply.

“Well, uh, Bobby’s the one with the Swiss cheese Quirk. He’s got a bunch of harmless holes in his body. But when the sword lady stabbed him in one of them, he panicked and tripped, hitting his head. So she didn’t technically do anything,” Elf Ears said.

“Ah,” Playa said, nodding slowly. “Idiot Injury. I see.”

He glanced over at the couch where the all-too familiar smug face of Dane Vogel currently was, one of his mercenary bodyguards standing beside him. She was an Asian woman with red furred fox-like Heteromorphic features, and she carried a sword. If not for the colors of her uniform he’d have assumed she was part of the Ronin.

Of less importance was some overweight guy sweating nervously next to Vogel on the couch. Some bean counter from Ultor, no doubt. Dismissing his presence, Playa turned his attention back to the guards.

“Fine. But if this happens again, you’re getting remedial training with Johnny.”

Both of the guards blanched in terror at that, and Johnny grinned viciously at them.

Ignoring their fear, Playa walked over to Vogel, pulling up a chair and plopping down across from him.

“Afternoon,” Mr. Playa,” Vogel said, still wearing a smirk.

“Vogel,” Playa replied curtly. “What do you want?”

“I have matters to discuss in private,” the businessman claimed. “Regarding a former lieutenant of yours.”

There were only two people Vogel could be referring to. Julius Little, founder and former leader of the Saints before Playa took over, and Dex Jackson, one of the lieutenants from that era.

‘The former is still missing, and nobody knows where he is. While the latter works for Ultor,’ Playa thought to himself with a frown. ‘Odds are, this is about Dex, given who is currently in front of me.’

“Fine, let’s take this somewhere else,” Playa said, standing up. “My office should be fine, right?”

“Yes,” Dane Vogel nodded, and Playa led the three guests up to his room. Vogel looked around, expression neutral, but there was a glint of surprise as he took in how orderly and functional the office was.

“Not expecting a gang to have such a nice place, eh?” Playa guessed as he sat down behind his desk, and Vogel chuckled.

“It’s not everyday I meet a man who has a similar sense of décor as I do,” he replied as he sat down in a chair across from Playa.

“Hmm. I’m flattered. So, what do you want to tell me about Dex?” Playa wondered.

“Already guessed it was him I wanted to discuss?” Vogel inquired, quirking an eyebrow. “Good, makes things easier.”

He leaned forward. “I want you to take care of Mr. Jackson. I don’t care how it happens, but the man has to die.”

“You want me to murder one of my old friends?” Playa demanded angrily. “Why? I thought he was working for you?”

Vogel snapped his fingers and the man with him put a file down on Playa’s desk. Taking it, the supervillain began to read through it, his face rapidly going through several emotions.

“That stupid fucker!” Playa shouted, slamming his hands onto the desk.

“I know right?” Vogel nodded. “I’m paying that man hundreds of thousands of dollars to basically stand around all day and guard my stuff, and here he is, stealing nuclear waste and selling it to terrorists.”

“If this gets out… Ultor and the Saints will suffer,” Playa grimaced.

“Exactly. You see why this needs to be taken care of discreetly,” Dane Vogel said. “I can’t act, as there are too many eyes on me right now. But you? You can do something about the issue.”

“And the fact you can just blame us if something goes wrong doesn’t hurt, I bet,” Playa huffed.

“This is your mess caused by one of your old associates, Mr. Playa, you get to clean it up,” Vogel retorted. “But I’m a generous man. Do this for me, and I’ll give you some of my shares in Ultor. One whole percent, to be exact. That’s one percent of all the company’s shares, mind you. Not just one percent of what I control.”

“That is a lot of money and power for a single hit,” Playa hummed, mind flashing through the possibilities such a thing could bring the Saints.

“True, but this could end up very badly for Ultor and Stilwater, so honestly? It’s a small price to pay in my mind,” Vogel replied. “So? Do we have a deal?”

“You’ve twisted my arm, but fine. I’m in,” Playa declared.

“Wonderful. I’ll send you all the intel my agents have been able to acquire on Mr. Jackson’s activities so far. Try to eliminate the bastard soon, though. Ultor has some big things in the works, and it would be bad for everyone if they were delayed, or worse, canceled.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to worry about cocaine lounge parties being ruined,” Playa said with a snort. “Now, if you’d kindly get the fuck out of my building?”

“Come along, Eric, Sakura,” Vogel said as he stood up, and his guard nodded.

“Oh, by the way, Miss Masako Mercenary,” Playa called out before they could leave his office. “Tell your boss I want to talk to him. Maybe make a deal.”

“Sure, I can pass on the message,” she replied with a shrug. “Don’t expect him to get back to you soon, though.”

“As long as he knows,” Playa replied.

When they left, he slumped back into his chair. “Fucking hell, Dex! What were you smoking to think smuggling radioactive waste was a good career choice for you?”

After a moment he sighed and pulled out his phone, sending a quick text message to his lieutenants. They needed to know about this so they could start planning what was hopefully the last mission of the gang known as the Third Street Saints.

An hour later, the Inner Circle of the Saints, along with the other high-ranked lieutenants that Playa felt he could trust with this, had gathered in his office. It was getting crowded.

‘I may need to invest in a conference room,’ he mused thoughtfully to himself as he looked over the different people. ‘Could probably rebuild one of the different rooms not being used in the Mission for it.’

When everyone had gathered, he cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Playa then pressed a button hidden under his desk, activating EMP scramblers and white-noise generators in the wall. Nobody would be able to spy or eavesdrop on them, save perhaps with some sort of esoteric Quirk.

“Glad you’re all here,” Playa said, looking at everyone. “But we have a problem. A big one.”

“Is this related to Ultor?” Jean-Paul asked. Rumors had quickly spread through the Saints about the presence of Dane Vogel, and Playa nodded his head with a grim look on his face.

“First off, does anyone here know anything about Dex? His location, his habits, his known associates?” Playa asked.

“Um, no. We haven’t really thought about him at all. I mean, he hasn’t been a Saint for five years, and well… he hasn’t bothered to stop by since he got his fancy new job,” Johnny replied.

“Did he get in trouble? Does Ultor need us to save him or something?” Carlos wondered.

“Not quite,” Playa said, wincing. “Not entirely sure how to say this, but… we gotta kill him. And soon.”

“Huh?!” everyone exclaimed.

“Why are we going after a former Saint?” Laura wondered.

“Yo, that’s not cool at all, boss!” Carlos exclaimed. “We can’t go around hunting people just because they’re no longer part of the Saints!”

“I agree, Carlos, we can’t and shouldn’t do that at all,” Playa said. “But we’re going after him because he’s gone and done something very, very stupid and could be damaging to the Saints as well as Stilwater and Ultor.”

“What the hell has he done that’s so bad Ultor and you want to assassinate him?!” Shaundi demanded incredulously.

“Dex has been stealing nuclear waste from the power plant and selling it on the black market,” Playa drawled, and everyone stared at him.

“That’s… not a funny joke, boss,” Pierce said slowly. “Um… seriously, though, what’s he done?”

“I’m serious,” Playa said, pulling out the files Dane Vogel had dropped off.

Still photos taken from security cameras, along with a host of other documents containing damning evidence of his actions, were laid onto his desk for all to see.

Numb and in disbelief, they took them and examined it all closely, and soon it was impossible to deny. Dex had gone off the deep end and was now a terrorist. Or supplying them, at least. Which was bad either way.

“Holy shitting ducks, this is… I don’t even know!” Shaundi exclaimed in disbelief. “Who would be stupid enough to… UGH! I can’t even finish that sentence!”

“What would possess a man to do this? He’s not poor, and he doesn’t have any major debts. None that I know of, at least,” Pierce huffed. “I don’t get it…”

“Who the fuck are these ‘Syndicate’ bastards Dex was selling the shit too?” Johnny demanded, glaring at a photo that showed Dex trading a barrel of nuclear waste for a briefcase of money. “Feels like I’ve heard that name before…”

“Me too. Think I’ve seen mention of them on the Darkweb. They might be a big-name criminal organization,” Twenty-One said, rubbing her chin.

“Find out what you can, but keep it discreet. And tell some people to start keeping tabs on him,” Playa instructed. “He will notice if you get to close to him, so keep them in plain clothes and at a distance at all times. He didn’t just control the Saints’ information network back in the day for nothing.”

“What is his Quirk, anyways?” Mink wondered.

“It’s called Five Seconds,” Playa informed the lieutenants. “He can see up to five seconds into the future whenever he wants. It has a cool down of five seconds after he uses it, however. Dex’s Quirk lets him gain intel or avoid attacks that way.”

“Ah. Pre-cogs. Damn tricky bastards to deal with,” Laura hummed. “I know a guy who can hear the future. Really fucks with his head and makes it hard to throw him a surprise party.”

“Tell me about it. Dex, that bastard, always cheated whenever we played games together,” Johnny huffed angrily. “He swindled over ten grand from me before I realized what he was doing.”

“And that’s why you have to be careful, because if he finds out he’s being watched, he’ll use his future sight to hide from our observers, or worse, figure out who they’re working for,” Playa said firmly. “We cannot allow him to bug out and vanish on us!”

“I can gather a few guys who can be discreet,” Jean-Paul promised.

“Same, I can get a few snipers who can help watch over Dex,” Johnny nodded.

“And I’ll start tracking down his digital footprint,” Twenty-One added.

“On a lighter note, we will be doing a little restructuring in the Saints again,” Playa informed everyone, plastering a fake smile onto his face. “Everyone here is getting promoted. Your new job title is ‘Executive.’ This will separate you from the lower-ranked lieutenants who’ll be acting more as middle managers for the gang. Oh, and speaking of the gang, we’re also going to be doing some rebranding in the future.”

“Oh? Are you finally gonna tell us what your super-secret plan for the gang is?” Shaundi asked.

“While things are still up in the air currently, I am confident in these changes working out,” Playa said. “And the plan is for us to go from a gang to a mercenary company.”

“Ooooh!” everyone exclaimed in understanding.

“That makes sense,” Jean-Paul hummed thoughtfully.

“We’ll have legitimacy, and we’ve got the numbers and equipment to pull it off… yeah, it might work,” Shaundi muttered.

“What about our drugs? Or the protection rackets? The other businesses we own?” Pierce asked. “Can mercenaries even own any of that stuff?”

“Also taken care of,” Playa declared. “The drugs we sell are already legal, and Loa Dust can easily pass the FDA’s tests. Protection rackets are basically just insurance, so if we move some stuff around and reclassify certain assets as independent businesses, as well as starting up an LLC to handle a few other legal and bureaucratic matters, then we're golden."

Playa smirked. “After all, while there are laws that say a PMC cannot have holdings or own land or businesses, courtesy of international legislation passed in the wake of the Quirk Wars, but there are no rules that state the CEO of a company cannot also be the head of a PMC. So long as the two are separate legal entities for the sake of taxes and shit.”

“Whoa…” Pierce muttered, thinking it over. “That’s… I mean, it will take a lot of work to pull off, but yeah, if we start up an insurance and real estate company, one to make the protection rackets legal, and the other to manage the other businesses and buildings we own, then split up the gang’s members between the PMC and the companies, while also making sure the Executives own a controlling stake in both… yes, yes I think I can finagle something!”

The head of accounting for the Saints looked positively giddy at the thought of all the paperwork and legal and bureaucratic hoops he’d have to jump through to get everything sorted, and Playa snorted fondly.

‘Better him than me,’ Playa thought to himself.

“Uh, there is one other problem I can see with your plan,” Mink said meekly. “But aren’t you and Johnny… and a few other Saints… all criminals? Can criminals do any of what you want? Besides the fact heroes will be going after us even harder, you two were tried and sentenced in absentia. That’s kinda a big thing, right?”

“Oh, yeah, that was a thing, wasn’t it?” Playa muttered.

Mayor Monica Hughes had pushed that through the Stilwater courts recently. In the chaos of the destruction of the Big Three, the mayor had done everything in her power to get the leader of the Saints and his second-in-command sentenced properly.

“Well, yes, there’s no rule against it, not really,” Johnny said. “I mean, certain assets will be frozen and inaccessible, but it’s not like we really used anything like that. Secret accounts for the win, baby!”

“Still, it seems like a… reckless thing, to say the least,” Mink pointed out.

“True. But don’t worry, I have a plan for that as well,” Playa said with a grin. “Guess where Johnny and I were?”

“Uh… somewhere fun?” Shaundi hedged.

“We met with Star and Stripe to discuss getting a presidential pardon for the whole gang, in exchange for a few concessions,” Playa revealed. Everyone stared at him, and he and Johnny laughed at their shocked expressions.

“Yeah. I have a good feeling we will be just fine,” Johnny snickered.

“Oh, wow, okay, didn’t expect that,” Shaundi gasped.

“Right? And this is exactly why we need to dispose of Dex quickly and quietly. Because his stupidity could jeopardize everything I’ve been working towards. We can say goodbye to a pardon if we end up falsely associated with fucking terrorists,” Playa spat out. “Understood?”

“Yeah, boss! We understand!” everyone said in unison. They were excited at the prospects the future held, and they refused to allow a former Saint to screw them all over!

Playa smiled widely. ‘Look out Dex! Your days are numbered!’