Jackie, watching from the side with wide-eyed surprise, finally spoke, curiosity plain on his face.
“I thought a place like Afterlife wouldn’t welco soone like you.”
Unlike most bars, Afterlife wasn’t noisy or dim. Bright lights filled the space, and a relaxed green glow washed over every corner.
Arthur gave the place a quick scan before trailing the two up front.
Hearing Jackie’s remark, V smirked.
“Soone like ? You an a corpo dog?”
“Ha ha.”
Jackie laughed awkwardly, waving his hands and looking away.
“Co on, we’re brothers!”
V lowered her voice.
“Afterlife isn’t as pure as you think. Where do you suppose all that corporate intel cos from?”
They picked a quieter stretch of the bar and sat down.
A stout woman with long brown curls approached, her thick lips curving into a smile.
“What can I get you folks? Here’s the nu.”
The nu appeared instantly on their neural links.
“Damn, look at these drinks—premium stuff. No wonder Afterlife’s so famous!”
Jackie, always chasing the big leagues, could barely contain his excitent.
While the others chatted about what to order, V smiled at the bartender, who carried herself with a certain tough charm.
“How about you? Want a drink? My treat.”
The mood was light—splitting the payout had that effect.
David’s mouth hung open in awe, his head tilted back as if he could swallow the lights overhead.
When the talk turned to money, he cut in firmly.
“Forget it! I only ca to get ds for my mom. No cut for !”
Without a word, Arthur smacked him on the back of the head.
“Six people, a hundred thousand each. V gets her share too. Tonight’s drinks co out of that.
As for the rest—I’m not doing the math, and I don’t care to understand it.”
He let the words drop like a hamr, downed his drink in one go, and slamd the glass on the counter. The sharp clang made his decision final.
Beside him, V lifted her glass with a wry smile and finished it.
“The job-giver getting a share? First ti for everything in Night City.”
One glass led to another, and soon their talk drifted far from the Gig.
Jackie, especially, downed his and rapped the counter with enthusiasm.
“Another round—old-school tequila, beer with chili. Woohoo!”
The bartender bent slightly, pulling ingredients from beneath the counter.
“Johnny Silverhand? Looks like you’ve done your howork.”
She pointed at Jackie with a grin.
Arthur, hunched over and warming his glass with a lit cigar, glanced up in confusion.
“Johnny who? What kind of slang is that?”
“House tradition. Drinks are nad after regulars.”
Drinks nad after people?
Back in the day, Arthur never cared—if it slled like booze, it went down his throat.
“How do you get your own drink on the nu?”
V, her fine tailored suit now stained with liquor, asked with interest.
“You die first… but you have to go out big, morable. Like the ones you see on that list.”
“That’s so respect right there.”
Jackie elbowed Arthur, jerking his head.
“Everyone gets their day. Better to go out in glory than fade without leaving a mark.”
Arthur said nothing, his gaze drifting far away. His past life pressed at the edges of his mind…
“Glory? That’s bullshit. Better to go with no regrets.
Doesn’t matter how many people are watching when I die. Who gives a damn?”
“Don’t be such a buzzkill, Arthur.”
Jackie chuckled, giving him a slap before turning to the bartender.
“Hey… na’s Jackie Welles. How about a drink in my honor?”
“Alright… tell the recipe. I’ll rember.”
She wiped a glass clean, smiling.
“One vodka on the rocks, li juice, ginger beer. Oh, and most important… a little love.”
His recipe had everyone laughing out loud.
“Ha! Jackie, you’ll need a pink dress to go with that.”
Arthur leaned half-slumped on the counter, grinning.
“Yeah, losers like you should just go ho and play in the mud.”
A shrill, grating voice cut in from Arthur’s right—mocking, pitched sowhere between male and female.
The sound wiped the grin off Arthur’s face. He straightened slowly, tilting his head.
A man stood there with a mohawk, thin denim shirt hanging open to reveal tattoos across his chest.
“Buddy, I’m talking to my friends. How about you walk away?”
Arthur’s voice was calm, like a quiet breeze.
Jackie and the others fell silent.
“Buddy~ I’m talking~ to my friends~ How about you walk away~?”
The man wagged his head mockingly, repeating Arthur’s words in a sing-song.
Arthur let out a breath, then slamd his glass on the counter. The whole bar froze.
The liquor inside trembled, ripples spreading across its surface.
In a flash, Arthur grabbed the man by the head and slamd it into the bar.
“Listen… listen…”
His rasp was so low it barely carried above a whisper.
“Where there are people, there are fools. Always.
And I hear this bar’s got rules of its own.
So tell , pal—guess what?”
His eyes bore into the man struggling beneath his grip.
“Do those rules save your life… or not?”
“I’ll go! Easy, man, don’t lose it!”
Tears sared the man’s face as his bravado drained away.
The second Arthur let go, he bolted, vanishing from sight.
Arthur just shrugged under the silent stares around him, lifting his glass again.
“Idiots. Seems I keep running into them.”
“If he hadn’t backed down, would you really have fired here?”
The bartender resud polishing a glass, her voice low.
“Guns are ant to be fired.”
Arthur took a sip before answering.
“Still, isn’t this supposed to be a classy place? Why’s trash like that even here?”
“Plenty of fixers bring in rookies. But most of them only get in once.”
She shrugged, lowering her voice.
“What’s your na?”
V asked, intrigued. The woman had the air of soone who’d seen it all.
“Claire. Bartender here at Afterlife. It’s a tough job to hold onto.”
She smiled.
After the interruption, the group’s mood quickly recovered, talk turning back to drinks.
Jackie launched into another speech about his tastes.
“Booze without love is tasteless—just dead liquor. That’s why it’s the most important thing.”
He raised the drink nad after himself, like a kid showing off a new toy.
“My na’s David Martinez.”
The kid still wore that goofy grin Arthur was always tempted to slap off.
“Vodka on the rocks, in a bullet glass.”
He snuck a glance at Lucy, then muttered,
“With a splash of Coke.”
The move was so obvious everyone noticed.
Lucy blushed, looking away as laughter rippled around the group.
“What about you? Leave a na too. Just for fun.”
Arthur paused, mories of Dutch flashing unbidden. The old man’s “recipe” sprang to mind instantly—
spitfire temper, gunpowder brain, and a pile of shitty plans.
He shook his head to banish it and focused on the drink before him, a cigar smoldering gently on its rim.
“A na? Call it Cowboy.”
Claire’s gaze lingered on Arthur’s gambler hat, then she nodded.
“Fits you perfectly.”
“As for the recipe… I love all strong liquor. Toss in a cigar to roast alongside, and that’s it.”
At the long bar counter of Afterlife, the crew knocked back six shots in a row, each bearing a na still unknown to the world.
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