==> Succeed At Everything
The tip Brawler took was far more helpful than the whole god damn night out with Deadeye. You’re still sore and limping the following evening. The boys even called and told you to take the night, but fuck that, you’re Snooping Fucking Scout and you ain’t a goddamn pussy.
You hope that Deadeye didn’t tell the others you had to be helped home yesterday.
The girl who ratted out the infamous Peccant Scofflaw pointed you to a club, of course. Scofflaw’s homeland, the Land of Coke and Strippers. This place is slummy as hell, but not one you haven’t been in before. It was a long time ago, but some memories don’t fade. Like the locations of all the shitters in every goddamn bar in a two mile radius.
After last night’s fiasco, you’ve accepted that your friends and this job have rubbed off on you far too much. You’re like a fucking upstanding citizen now. You don’t bother trying to get in the front door and mingle. Instead, you try to sneak in through the back, and as you’re circling the building you start to wish for the first time that you’d told your partners that you’re trying to track down Peccant Scofflaw. You had your reasons, but your reasons don’t compare to rotting in an unmarked grave, or maybe a vat of acid.
You’re an idiot.
