While Detective Lukar was busy tracking down the identities of the victims in the Imperial District, and Lance’s labor agency was attracting a steady stream of clients, Mr. Jobav found himself facing a different kind of trouble.
Mr. Jobav’s office was situated in the most vibrant part of the Imperial District. Though not officially the city center, this area was the heart of activity for the Empire’s citizens in Jingang City.
Tourists from the Empire often remarked to their families upon returning home that, even in an unfamiliar Federation city, one could thrive in certain neighborhoods that felt just like home.
Inside his opulent office, Mr. Jobav sat across from a young man on the genuine leather sofa.
The visitor’s green-dyed hair, orange jacket, blue pants, and white leather shoes painted a loud, obnoxious picture. Adding insult to injury, his shoes rested on Jobav’s $3,000 coffee table, scattering dust across its surface.
When his secretary had informed him that Jimmy was here to see him, Jobav’s first instinct was to tell her he wasn’t available. He even contemplated hiding, but it was too late.
Jimmy had kicked open the $1,500 solid wood door before the secretary could stop him. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he swaggered in and slumped onto the sofa.
Jimmy was no ordinary visitor—he was a high-ranking member of the Brotherhood, one of the three major gangs in the Port District.
“Jobav, I hear you’ve been avoiding me?” Jimmy sneered, casually flicking ash onto the plush carpet, a sight that made Jobav wince.
He managed a tight smile and shook his head. “Why would I? We’re friends; I have no reason to avoid you.”
Jimmy smirked and pointed at him. “You’d better mean that.” He glanced around the luxurious office. “Still the same old setup—opulent enough to make anyone jealous, old Jobav.”
Reaching into his pocket, Jimmy pulled out a crumpled $2 bill and tossed it at Jobav.
The bill hit Jobav and landed on the carpet, coming to rest almost immediately due to the thick pile.
Jobav’s assistant, who had just arrived, witnessed the scene and quickly stepped forward with a forced smile. Picking up the money, he smoothed it out and handed it back to Jimmy. “Mr. Jimmy, you dropped this.”
Jimmy snorted, giving the assistant a once-over before laughing. “I like you. Why don’t you work for me instead? There’s no future sticking with old Jobav.”
The assistant bowed politely. “I’m not considering a career change for now.”
Jimmy shrugged dismissively. “I hear you’ve been calling me a deadbeat, so I came here today to pay back what I owe.”
“You know, business hasn’t been great lately. Those protests have turned the Port District into a mess. I can’t pay you back all at once.”
He waved the $2 bill. “Here, take this. Don’t say I don’t pay my debts.”
Jobav and his assistant exchanged glances, silently communicating. The assistant accepted the money with a sycophantic smile. “Of course not, Mr. Jimmy. Two dollars is still money. We’d never accuse you of being a deadbeat.” ⱤÅＮòᛒĚs
Jimmy’s smug expression grew. He loved how easy it was to intimidate these Imperial types.
Recently, he’d lost a significant amount of money gambling at the Kodak Family’s casino. He suspected the dealers were cheating but had no proof.
This time, the losses were even more troubling because $20,000 of it belonged to the gang’s accounts. If he didn’t repay it by October 7, his boss—known for being genuinely unhinged—would come after him.
Jimmy might have been considered crazy, but he knew his limits. His boss was in another league.
With no other options, Jimmy had remembered Jobav, whom he’d extorted for $30,000 once before. If he could squeeze him for more, it might buy him some time.
The assistant, sensing the tension, tried to lighten the mood. “Mr. Jimmy, can I get you something to drink?”
“Whiskey. Neat. A big glass.”
The request made the assistant’s scalp tingle, but he quickly complied. Jobav sat on the opposite side of the sofa and ordered his own drink, with ice. The ice wasn’t just for taste—it was a subtle way to dilute the alcohol’s intensity.
Jimmy, however, didn’t want his drink softened. His preference was a deliberate signal of dominance.
As the assistant left to prepare the drinks, Jobav tried to maintain a calm demeanor but couldn’t resist a small jab. “You didn’t have to come all this way for $2. A call would have sufficed, and I’d have sent someone to pick it up.”
Jimmy’s face contorted in mock rage. “Are you mocking me?”
Jobav hastily denied it. “Not at all. It’s just that in this heat, there’s no need to trouble yourself. Whether it’s $2 or $20,000, I could have arranged to collect it.”
Jimmy’s eyes gleamed with a menacing glint. “You’d better not be mocking me, old Jobav. You know me—I scare even myself when I get angry.”
Jobav forced a laugh and didn’t respond.
The assistant returned with a tray of drinks and some sliced fruit—bananas, apples, and cherries. Jimmy swung his legs off the table, grabbed a cherry, and popped it into his mouth.
“Let me cut to the chase,” he said, spitting the cherry pit onto the carpet. The bright red pit resembled a drop of blood against the plush fabric.
“I’m short on cash. Lend me $50,000, and I’ll repay you by the end of the year.”
Jobav’s eyes fixated on the cherry pit. The assistant jumped in to defuse the situation. “Mr. Jimmy, we’re a bit tight on funds ourselves…”
Jimmy’s expression darkened. “And how is that my problem?”
Jobav knew it was time to step in. “I don’t have that kind of money. Besides, you still owe me $29,998 from the last loan. Until that’s repaid, I won’t extend another.”
Jimmy scoffed, picking up his glass of whiskey but not drinking it. Instead, he asked mockingly, “No ice? Are you looking down on me?”
Both Jobav and the assistant were stunned by the audacity of the question.
The assistant scrambled to apologize. “That’s my fault. I’ll fix it immediately—”
Before he could finish, Jimmy hurled the glass at Jobav’s bookshelf. The glass shattered, spilling whiskey onto the antique books and leaving scratches on the cabinet.
Some of the liquor splashed onto Jobav, who calmly wiped himself with a handkerchief before glaring at Jimmy.
Jimmy pulled a pistol from his waistband, chambered a round, and slammed it onto the coffee table, sliding it toward Jobav.
“I know you hate me, maybe even want me dead. So here’s your chance,” Jimmy sneered.
“Pick it up and shoot me. Or give me the money, and I’ll leave you alone for good. Your call, old Jobav.”
The assistant rushed to Jobav’s side, whispering urgently to calm him down.
After a tense moment, Jobav unclenched his fists and exhaled. “I don’t have that much.”
Jimmy smirked triumphantly. “Fine. $30,000. Last time.”
After Jimmy left, Jobav—known for his composed demeanor—vented his fury by smashing a few cheap objects.
The assistant shooed away curious employees, closed the door, and returned silently to the office.
“He’ll come back. Again and again. We can’t keep living like this!”
“We need to fight back!”
Jobav paced the room, his face grim. “Find a hitman. I want him dead. Everyone needs to know—I’m not someone to be messed with!”