"You are...?"
Oliver was puzzled, but Maine immediately stood up. "Dorio, what are you doing here?"
"You know her?"
Jack, seeing Maine reaction, started to catch on.
"She's Dorio, a member of my crew."
Maine introduced her, then turned to Dorio and gestured toward Carl and the others. "Carl, Jack, Oliver—these are the friends I told you about. We met during the last job."
"I figured as much. Nice to meet you all."
Dorio greeted them with a smile, but her expression quickly turned serious as she looked at Maine. "Maine, there's something that needs your attention."
"Something happen, Dorio? I was just about to have some drinks with Carl and the guys."
Maine could tell from her expression that it wasn't a minor issue. Dorio wouldn't have come looking for him unless it was something he needed to deal with personally. Still, he didn't mind discussing it in front of Carl and the others.
Dorio glanced at them, about to speak, but Carl waved his hand to stop her. "Maine, if your crew needs you, go ahead. We can always meet up another time."
Maine and Dorio treated them as friends, openly discussing their team's affairs in front of them. But there were things that, as friends, they shouldn't hear. Carl appreciated Mann's trust, but at the same time, he knew that there were things better left private.
"No rush on the drinks. Next time, they're on me, Maine."
Jack raised his half-empty glass in Mann's direction, and Oliver nodded, doing the same.
Mann looked at the three of them, then nodded with a small smile. "Next time, make sure it's the good stuff."
"You got it."
With Jack's promise, Maine and Dorio left Afterlife together. As they walked out the door, Maine raised his half-finished beer in their direction.
A proper drink next time.
That was probably what he meant.
After Mann left, Carl and the others lost interest in staying at Afterlife any longer. The main reason? Carl.
The drinks at Afterlife were great, but there were no good fries here. And the more Carl drank, the more he felt like leaving.
"How about we stop by Mama Welles' for some fries, grab some drinks and snacks on the way, and head back to Oliver's place?"
"Don't make it sound like my place is your second home, Carl. Also, why is it always my apartment? Yours is just as good."
Oliver, now once again the designated driver, voiced his mild complaint as he got behind the wheel.
"My place, huh..."
Carl thought about it for a moment. "I mean, I guess it's fine, but I still think we should go to yours."
"And why's that?"
"My place doesn't have a private phone line or TV subscription. Which means if we hang out there and want to watch something, we'd have to pay extra."
Hearing Carl's reasoning, Oliver almost found it convincing—but then something clicked.
"Wait a minute. I'm pretty sure the TV deposit is just fifty eddies, and it's only one eddie per hour to watch. Aren't you loaded now?"
"It's different. Gotta save where I can and spend where I should."
Carl actually had a method to his madness. Every time they had a get-together, he was usually the one bringing most of the food and drinks. If he actually did the math, those expenses far outweighed any TV subscription fees.
But in Carl's mind, spending on things you eat and drink wasn't the same as paying to watch something.
Before 2075, Carl would think twice before dropping ten bucks on a music subscription. But when it came to grilled meat? No hesitation—he'd order everything on the menu. It was just a habit he carried from before.
Sitting in the car as Oliver drove toward El Coyote, Carl glanced at his account balance—1.12 million eddies.
He had no idea what to do with all that money.
"You two got your eyes on any high-end cyberware? Maybe a gun or a car? I don't mind sponsoring a little shopping spree."
Oliver turned his head slightly from the driver's seat. "You're not thinking of upgrading yourself first?"
"I'll swing by old Vic's and upgrade my neural link to a better model, maybe get a monowire installed again. Shouldn't cost too much. Haven't decided if I wanna go any further than that. Gotta keep some flesh on me, y'know? No way I'm ending up like Adam Smasher."
"That so?"
Oliver considered his own loadout. No reason to hold back with Carl—getting better cyberware could boost the whole team's combat power.
If they'd had better gear back then, Carl wouldn't have had to tank all that exoskeleton and ACPA fire alone.
But even after thinking it through, Oliver couldn't come up with anything worth upgrading.
He had enough money now—spending 100,000 on a high-end sniper rifle wasn't a problem. In fact, he had cash to spare. Didn't seem necessary to take Carl's offer.
"Jack, you need anything? I got some extra eddies too."
Since Oliver didn't have anything specific in mind, he turned to Jack and made a suggestion. "How about some Gorilla Arms? That'd stabilize your shooting a lot."
"No way I'm getting those."
Jack chuckled. "You all know I met Vic in the boxing ring. Back in the day, he used to be a boxer himself. The moment he saw fighters getting cybernetic arms, he knew times were changing and retired. I wanna keep some of that spirit alive—help him win some fights. Wouldn't be fair if I rolled in with Gorilla Arms."
"What about a bike? I remember you had your eye on one before. That thing was pricey, wasn't it? Might be a good time to grab it. Imagine taking Misty for a ride—she'd love it."
"You mean the Nazare? That beauty?"
Jack grinned. "Already saved up for it—140,000. Gonna pick it up as soon as we get back. Don't need any help with that. Plus, I don't even know if Misty would wanna ride with me. Maybe a car would be better?"
"Misty's the type to go along with whatever you like, man."
Carl leaned back and patted the car seat. "Speaking of rides, ever since I got my own car, we barely drive Oliver's Quartz Bandit anymore. Sitting in this thing now feels like we're in a Hera. Maybe I should swap mine for something better—something armored. I'd rather not deal with another ambush like last time."
"Forget it. A ride that can tank a rocket? You're not getting that for a measly million. Don't waste your money. This car's fine. I like driving it, so don't change it."
Oddly enough, Oliver seemed more attached to the Quartz Hera than Carl, who actually owned it. But that made sense.
Compared to Carl—who never touched the wheel, lounged in the back like a spoiled corpo, or just straight-up napped—Oliver, the designated driver, had spent way more time in the driver's seat.
"Well, guess I'll keep looking."
How should I spend all this money?