Devil May Cry - Volume 1 - Chapter 1.3

Phase 1.3

Being a mercenary made it tough to get respect. Outsiders saw them as little better than criminals, while the underworld considered them untrustworthy. Most jobs were those even career thugs passed up. But things were changing ever since Tony had come on the scene. The mercenaries' influence was growing. The better ones could afford to be choosy, employing agents to find the capers that suited their style. 
Tony stood out even among the hardest characters. He didn't build himself up or curry favor with the local bosses. He simply spent two years taking precisely the jobs he wanted and making sure that they got done. His attitude rubbed some people the wrong way, but Tony was quick to deal with those who got out of line. Since coming to the city, he had single-handedly disposed of two venerable mafia families and created a cottage industry in sending assassins to the hospital.

Tony's success had spurred a number of competing mercenaries to form a loose guild based out of Bobby's Cellar. They met there each night to look for work and line their wallets. 
 
“Here, here! I got a job worth two hundred dollars. 
Anyone who's interested, get your ass over here.” 
“Anyone lookin' for a fight, over here!” 
The only thing you need is to be able to shoot a gun! This way!” 
“Dangerous job – two thousand dollars! Daredevils, gather here!” 
The usual chorus weltered up from Bobby's Cellar moments after the open sign buzzed to life. Agents and middlemen jockeyed for contractors, relying on words or fists to land a mercenary for the night. The higher the reward, the fewer words and the more fists. 
Sometimes the middlemen would pursue a specific mercenary instead of advertising the job. The nature of the industry meant that only those contractors with real power climbed the ladder, and notorious mercenaries rarely had to look for work. 
Bobby swung a rag across the bar; whether this made the counter cleaner or dirtier was anyone's guess. 
“Business is booming tonight. There's never a slump.” 
Bobby's stomach had long ago hoisted a white flag in the war against gravity. He wore it like an apron. “I work and work and yet stay penniless. Makes me jealous.” 
Tony was perched at the bar, still wearing drab black. “You eat everything you earn,” he quipped. “Save the daydreams for nap-time.” He was shoveling mouthfuls of ice cream into his craw, hoping the chill would balance out the tang of out-of-season strawberries. He had no need to join the throng vying for gigs. 
“How about you tell me that after you outgrow kiddy deserts?” 
“Shut up. Sundaes are good.” Tony spooned another glob into his mouth. Ice cream and sauce stained his face like clown makeup. He would have stood out against the mercenaries in the background even without the shock of silver hair. 
“Always the same.” A short man sidled up to the bar beside Tony. “You're the first and last person I'll ever know who eats that crap in a filthy hole like this.” 
Enzo Ferino was the best informant in the neigh¬borhood. His stature was an asset in this business–most bullets whizzed over his head. 
Enzo smirked. “I've got something for you. Get me a drink.” 
“Bobby, make something for shortstop here.” 
Bobby sat a strawberry sundae on the counter. Enzo was incensed. “You idiot! What kind of person gets this when you ask for a drink?” 
“Sorry about that. But Bobby's no idiot. Nothing beats these sundaes.” Tony slid the dish in front of himself. 
Enzo fished some papers from his bag, disgusted. “If you eat those your whole life, you're gonna turn into a pig.” 
“Already with the sweet talk?” Tony grumbled. “I need some time to rest my belly before I can satisfy you!” 
“You're gonna become like Bobby if you don't walk that thing off. Now, read this.” Enzo handed the file to Tony, whose eyes widened. 
“You're kidding me! Two hundred thousand dollars? In one night?” 
“Idiot!” Enzo hissed. “Keep it down! The others will notice!” But it was unlikely – a personal brawl at the other end of the bar had evolved into a rumble. He'd probably need a bullhorn for anyone but Enzo to hear him. “You're not an amateur. Respect my rules or find yourself a new middleman.” 
Tony shrugged. 
Enzo shook his head and continued. “This is what I came to offer you. The pay is amazing and it'll be a testimony to your skill.” 
“You might be overestimating me. What's the job?” 
Enzo pulled out another sheaf of papers. “The client is a South African mafia leader who's being targeted by the law and is facing ruin. He wants someone to smuggle him out of the country before he's 
caught.” 
“I'm guessing it won't be a simple escape.” 
“What do you expect? This guy is a black-hearted bastard. Is organization traffics drugs. He's made a boatload of money, and a lot of people want a slice.” 
Tony considered this. “So not only do I have to get him out, I've gotta hold off the hyenas flocking around him.” He tossed the papers back to Enzo. “Bobby—gin and tony. Make it strong.” 
Enzo bunched his hands into exasperated fists. “Hey, what gives? You're not interested?” Enzo had never been able to predict Tony's moods. The mercenary seemed to take jobs on a whim, and once he passed on a caper there was no going back. The money didn't ever make a difference. “Think about it. Come on, it's two hundred thousand dollars! This isn't chump change we're talking about here.” 
“Thanks, but no thanks.” 
Tony sipped his drink, and then narrowed his eyes. He tapped at one of the documents. A blurry photo held a familiar face. “Is this the guy? I think I beat this guy up a while back.” 

“You think it's a trap? Fine. Two hundred thousand dollars, my friend. You can't not be interested.” 
Tony rolled his eyes. Someone had obviously paid Enzo a fat deposit. The little man had probably already promised Tony's services. 
The mercenary wasn't put off by thoughts of a trap. 
But he'd always selected his capers based on three simple criteria: 
First, that he was interested in the content. 
Second, that there was no unnecessary bloodshed. 
Finally, and most importantly, that he felt an intuitive... something about it. 
Whether or not it was a trap was irrelevant. But this job probably couldn't be done without killing someone. “I'm not really keen on it,” he said at last. 
Enzo leaned in conspiratorially. “What kind of pro says crap like that? Do it, Tony. Come on!” Enzo might be an unappealing pig of a man, but when he set his mind to it, he transformed into an unstoppable juggernaut. Tony knew he'd see Enzo's pleading face in his dreams for weeks if he turned this gig down. 
He started at the sound of another voice. 
“It's okay, Enzo. I'll persuade Tony for you.” 
Tony glanced up. Grue's crossed arms looked like cradled hams. 
Enzo recoiled. “Please don't hurt me! I've got a weak heart. Honest!” 
“That's a new line. I'll remember that one.” Grue's arrival had attracted a small crowd. “Nobody doubts your skill as a middleman. You can lay off already. Tony'll do it.” 
Tony watched as Enzo's frown hiked into a triumphant smile. 
“I'm only middleman on the side. First and foremost, I'm an informant. Get your facts straight.” 
Enzo beamed at Tony. He knew Grue would convince him to accept the job, but decided to play along. 
“Whether Tony takes it or not, it's not my style to give up before I've had my say.” 
Grue sighed. “I said he'll do it. But...” 
“I get you.” Enzo winked. “You want in on the job. Well, I'll leave it to the pair of you. I've got some things to share with other people. Give me a shout if you need anything.” 
“Okay, okay. Get out of here.” Grue brushed Enzo away. 
“Tony leveled his gaze at Grue. “Impeccable timing. Did you arrange this with Enzo?” 
“Don't be stupid. If I'd taken the trouble to do that, I'd never have included an upstart like you.” 
“True enough. I take it back.” 
“It doesn't matter. I'm only here to scrounge.” Tony knew Grue was only half-serious. Many of the other mercenaries looked down on Grue for allying with Tony on big jobs. The bolder fighters called him Scrounger, after a dog picking up table scraps. 
Tony didn't see the problem in working together, but Grue had a sensitive streak. “Come on, you didn't come here just looking for pity, did you? Anyway, have my drink.” 
Grue waved aside the glass and ordered his usual swill. 
”You should lighten up. Someone could take advantage of that attitude of yours.” 
“When you get to my age, it's hard to change old habits.” Grue tilted his mug and washed away his insecurities. “Anyway, enough about me. What about the job?” 
“Something smells fishy. It's pretty obvious I'm being targeted.” Tony studied his glass, but didn't drink. 
The two mercenaries usually kept a distance between alcohol and work. Tony and Grue had built up a mutual respect over a series of joint capers, but they weren't exactly drinking buddies. 
He looked over at Grue. “The guy's name was Brown, if I recall correctly. I can take care of him myself.” 
“Fondo Brown. Someone grassed him up. The feds are breaking up his operation. Brown's high up in the Collosseo family. It's pretty weak as far as mafia goes, but they have inroads to the hallucinogenic drug trade. A lot of people will be gunning for him.” 
“Now that you mention it, I'm sure I've tangled with some of his crew.” Tony shook his head. Petty conflicts cropped up all the time in this line of work. Annoyances, like Denvers. Tony usually forgot about them pretty quickly after taking care of business. But they didn't forget Tony. They always had a habit of popping up to pester him later. 
“So we guard Brown. But where to we take him? These documents don't say.” 
“The jackpot makes up for not knowing the details. The fewer people who know what's happening, the better it'll be for us, man.” 
Tony grimaced. “That explains the two hundred grand. You're not making this caper sound any more appealing.” 
“Don't say that. Enzo won't offer us any more work if we cause him to lose face. Besides,” Grue lowered his voice to a whisper, “there are cars outside. I don't think we have the option of saying no.” 
Tony sighed theatrically. “They're desperate. Are they that in love with me? If they've got their hearts set on me, it would be cruel to disappoint them, right? We'll have to accept their date.”