Cyberpunk: Night City Shop - Chapter 7: A Fixer for Fine Cars (Patreon)

“Hey.”

Falco looked a little withdrawn after being dragged out of the garage, but he still raised a hand to greet John.

El Capitan didn't seem bothered. With a smile, he introduced the newcomer. “And this is John Lee, the former owner of that BMW 733i.”

“Huh?” Falco immediately perked up. “That was your car?”

“Used to be. It belongs to El Capitan now.”

John offered him a cigarette. Falco accepted it, tucked it casually behind his ear instead of lighting it, and pulled John into the garage.

“Where did you get this thing? You've kept it in amazing shape! It's nearly a hundred years old, but it looks like it's only been on the road for forty or fifty.”

John looked inside and realized the car Falco had been working on was his old BMW.

“My dad left it to me. He drove it for more than twenty years, then passed it on. I've had it for a few years myself.”

“That's incredible. A hundred-year-old car with almost all its original parts, and it still runs? It ought to be a miracle just getting the engine started. If I didn't know they stopped making this model in 1984, I'd swear it was built in the 2030s.”

Falco couldn't stop marveling at it. He stroked the bodywork with his metal hand as tenderly as if he were touching a lover.

“It's had quite a few major repairs, though. You can tell. It still drives, but there are plenty of little problems.”

John couldn't argue with that. His father used to drive him to school in it, back when John was in middle school. It had broken down more than once, earning him late arrivals and scoldings from his teachers. After he inherited it, serious failures were rare, but the smaller faults never stopped. Shortly before being transported to this world, he'd even considered replacing it with a modern electric car.

“Look here. It's got an L-Jet analog fuel-injection system. As the parts age, you get air leaks and unstable fuel delivery.”

Falco pointed to an injector. “As far as I know, only 733i models built before 1979 used this system. The later models switched to Motronic digital injection, which is both more accurate and more durable.

“I wanted to leave the engine itself intact and replace the L-Jet setup with the injection system used by the AV-4 engines that were everywhere last generation. Doesn't look like they're compatible, though...”

“All right, all right, Falco. We can talk cars later.” El Capitan came into the garage and patted his shoulder. “Lee's here to talk about becoming a Fixer.”

He turned toward John.

“Here's the situation. The biggest Fixer around here right now is Faraday, a bastard who'd happily lick a corporation's boots. Santo Domingo has suffered enough already. We don't need another asshole who kisses up to the powerful and kicks the poor around while helping the corps squeeze everyone dry.

“I don't have a high opinion of Fixers, but somebody has to act as a bridge between the people at the bottom and the people at the top. I was going to do it myself. But you said you wanted the job and swore you've got a special intelligence network, so I figured I could give you a chance.”

He continued, “You can't just declare yourself a Fixer and expect it to work. You're not going to stroll up to the bosses of 6th Street or the Animals and start negotiating. You're not going to hop into an Arasaka or Militech AV and make deals with executives. You have to start small.”

Smoke veiled his face, the glowing tip of his cigarette brightening and dimming as he spoke.

“And what better way to start than helping me deal in used cars? I'll find the cars and the buyers. I'll introduce you to those buyers too, so you can start building your own connections.”

“If you're finding the cars and the customers, what do you need me for?” John asked, leaning against the wall. “You didn't call me all the way here just to hand me a present, did you?”

“Of course not. I can find cars that need new homes, but you're going to research their previous owners.”

El Capitan stepped outside, drew the last of his cigarette into his lungs, and crushed the butt under his shoe.

“That's often the most important part. We might be doing these poor cars a favor by finding them the owners they deserve, but the people who used to own them don't always see it that way. They act like abandoned lovers, hunting desperately for their lost treasures. You'll need to figure out how much trouble they can cause us. We're usually dealing with rich people, and not your ordinary rich people either. Corporate executives and big names in the gangs.”

“Take this Quadra Type-66. It belonged to a high-ranking Animal. Those steroid-stuffed weightlifting maniacs love muscle cars. I located it, and Falco brought it back.

“But the owner wasn't just another musclehead who spent all day shooting himself full of drugs. Turned out he had a lot of connections here in Santo Domingo. I had to spend a small fortune making the whole problem go away.”

He approached the purple Quadra and slapped the roof.

“So we went through hell to bring her home, and we haven't even found a buyer. We're practically losing our pants already.”

“Then my job is to dig up everything about an owner once you've found a suitable car,” John said, understanding at last. “If he's somebody we can afford to cross, we take the car. If he isn't, we leave it alone. Right?”

“Don't make it sound so ugly. It's called risk assessment. Risk assessment!”

El Capitan seemed offended by the phrasing.

“This city is full of beautiful cars trapped in the hands of people who don't deserve them. I can practically hear the poor things crying. All we're doing is freeing them and placing them with people who'll appreciate them.

“You know, people who actually need a car. A crew of rookie edgerunners getting started, a Solo who wants better equipment, or some girl who wants to drive out of Night City and keep going until she reaches the edge of the world. We're doing a good thing!”

“Sure. It's not like we'll be stealing poor people's cars.”

John had been born around the turn of the millennium and raised to be a law-abiding citizen, so the idea of committing crimes still bothered him. Then again, as El Capitan had pointed out, they'd be targeting corpo dogs and gang thugs, which eased his conscience considerably. And since he'd be providing the intelligence, he'd effectively have the final say over whose cars were taken.

He was still considering whether to accept the arrangement when the sound of a siren shattered his thoughts. He knew that noise all too well. An NCPD patrol car was approaching!

Before he could react, the police cruiser rolled in through the entrance and stopped directly in front of the stolen Quadra.