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Chapter 275 c
🕑 Added 2025-06-08 15:01:01 +0000 UTCChapter 275 c
"Who sent you here? Who told you to poke your nose into everything?"
"You really want to know?"
The shop owner tried his best to appear threatening. "Don’t play games with me. I’ve got a gun."
"Alright, let me think," Leo’s mouth curled into a slow grin. "Igor sends his regards."
"What?"
In the instant the owner froze in shock, Leo’s hand moved like lightning. He snatched the Satara shotgun away, spun it in his grip, and pointed the muzzle directly at the owner's face. In a heartbeat, the situation flipped.
"You... you’re working with that NCPD cop? Don’t give me that, man. I’m not helping you with shit."
The owner had imagined many possibilities—none of which involved this young man being connected to River. That NCPD detective had promised protection, only for the guy he sold out to find out about it. If he hadn’t paid out a hefty sum to hire two merc squads through a fixer, that guy would’ve killed him. And now, River had the nerve to send someone else to dig for intel?
Even though Leo had told River earlier that he couldn’t guarantee any intel, Leo was the kind of person who always pursued his goal—he wouldn’t give up so easily.
Leo raised the muzzle of the Satara slightly. What had originally been aimed at the owner's chest was now pointed straight at his forehead. He had already scanned the guy. Just a plain civilian—didn’t even have a single combat-grade cyberware installed.
"Really? Even if this gun blasts a hole through your skull, you still wouldn’t talk?"
Under Leo’s gaze, sweat began to bead on the owner’s forehead, and the panic on his face was instantly visible.
"You can’t do this. You’re NCPD! You can’t—"
Before he could finish, Leo pressed the muzzle hard against the owner’s cheek. The man went stiff. He didn’t dare move, didn’t even dare breathe.
"Almost forgot to mention, I’m not NCPD. I’m a merc who’s killed so many people, I’ve lost count. Hundreds, at the very least. You really think I care about adding one more?"
The owner’s voice came out warped and trembling. "Even so, Detective River Ward wouldn’t approve of what you’re doing."
"Oh yeah? Then is he here right now?"
The man’s expression grew even uglier. "What do you want from me?!"
"I already told you. I want to know where the Red Queen’s Race is held."
"I told River last time what he wanted to know, and the guy I ratted out nearly killed me. I had to fork over a fortune to stay alive."
"That was an accident. I guarantee no one’s coming after you this time. Besides..." Leo pulled back the shotgun and popped open the breech, removing the two shells inside. He carefully placed them side by side on the counter. "Besides, you’re not the only one who knows where that club is. If you tell me, no one will ever trace it back to you. What exactly are you afraid of?"
The owner remained silent, tangled in hesitation. Leo didn’t rush him.
Eventually, after a long pause, the owner seemed to muster all the courage he had and finally relented. "Fine. I’ll tell you. But if you break your word, I swear—this is the last time. Even if you kill me, you won’t get another word from me."
"Fair enough."
Leo didn’t know exactly what this guy’s connection to the Red Queen’s Race was, but like he said—dozens of people had been there. Who’d assume it was this guy who snitched?
Besides, Leo hadn’t just sat idle during the ride from Capitán Caliente. In contrast, in other parts of the city, if someone tried to rob a jewelry store, they would be arrested very quickly because there were surveillance cameras everywhere, and there was nowhere to run.
But in this part of town, the number of surveillance cameras was surprisingly low. Compared to places like Watson or Westbrook, there were far fewer cameras on the streets. Using them to track someone was extremely difficult.
Finally, the owner spilled the location. "It’s in the city, near the river—close to Bonita Street."
Bonita Street lay between Rancho Coronado in Santo Domingo and Charter Hill in Westbrook. Heading east from there, you'd leave Night City and enter the Badlands.
Just then, Leo suddenly noticed a contradiction. For a city that could house seven million people, Night City wasn’t small. The city had several districts, and many people lived and died without ever stepping foot outside their own zone. Northside Industrial in Watson, Arroyo in Santo Domingo, and Pacifica—these were all former economic powerhouses that had since collapsed. After the local industries shut down, these areas declined rapidly, and the resident's quality of life plummeted.
But few people left. Most stayed behind, doing whatever they could to survive.
Leo's point was this: Night City was massive. Even people born and raised here didn’t know every street, store, or club. And yet this shop owner, who supposedly just "heard about the club," could name the exact street and even its proximity to the river?
There was only one possible explanation.
Leo narrowed his eyes, staring at the man like a predator eyeing prey. "You didn’t just hear about it. You’ve been there, haven’t you?"
The shop owner felt like he was being stared down by a viper. He shivered, and before he could form a defensive thought, he blurted everything out like beans spilling from a broken jar.
"I’ve done a few runs for them—sometimes it’s packages, sometimes girls. But I don’t get what you’re doing sniffing around there."
Hearing that, Leo’s face darkened. In an instant, he drew a tactical knife and vaulted the counter. The next moment, he was behind the owner, pressing the blade under his chin, forcing his head back.
"Wait, girls? You bastard, are you trafficking people?!"
The owner turned pale. If he hadn’t recently installed a new synthetic prostate, he probably would’ve pissed himself on the spot.
"No! No! Just listen, please! It’s not what you think. That place—it’s a club, right? They need a lot of techs. I just drive them over, and then take them home when their shift ends. I’m not running a slave ring, I swear!"
Seeing the man tremble like a quail, Leo began to believe him. Back in the car, River had already warned that this guy was a coward.
Even in a city as corrupt as Night City, human trafficking was straight-up illegal. Sure, it happened—in the sewers and shadows—but only ruthless gangs or those with serious backing dared touch that trade. The man ran a sex toy shop and had almost been killed for leaking information. He did not match the type of person who would be involved in human trafficking.
Besides, with River’s sense of justice, if this man had been in that kind of business, River would’ve locked him up long ago.
Thinking that through, Leo pulled the knife back. The owner immediately clutched his neck and gasped for air. The look in his eyes had shifted to one of sheer terror. Leo didn’t care how the man saw him—they weren’t likely to meet again anyway.
"Anything else you know? Spit it all out. Don’t hold back now."
"The club’s shut down. Completely."
"Shut down? How do you know?"
"They told me to stop coming. Said they were closing up."
"A club that popular suddenly closes? Why?"
There were no “raids” in Night City. NCPD was bought off from the commissioner down. Even places like Clouds, run by the Tyger Claws, were left untouched. In fact, cops deliberately avoided walking past its mega-tower. The Tyger Claws, of course, returned the favor—with generous gifts.
So a thriving members-only club suddenly shutting its doors? That could only mean something had happened.
Leo’s mind suddenly lit up.
"What I want to know is, did they shut down before Mayor Rhyne’s death—or after?"
The owner paused, confused by the question. He couldn’t immediately see the connection. But after some thought, he gave a hesitant answer. "I think it was a little after."
Leo barked at him. "Don’t give me that vague crap! Was it before or after?!"
The man flinched, nearly collapsing to the floor. "After! It was definitely after, I’m sure!"
Perfect.
That confirmed it. The club’s closure was tied to Rhyne’s death. The only thing left was to visit the club itself—maybe then the truth would finally come out.
Leo vaulted the counter again and headed for the door.
The owner looked at Leo’s retreating back, then at the Satara still in his hand. He opened his mouth but didn’t dare say anything.
What finally made him relax was Leo’s next move. As he reached the door, Leo didn’t take the Satara with him. Instead, he placed the twin-barrel tech shotgun on the rack beside the entrance.
The shotgun, manufactured by Rostović, was a solid self-defense option for civilians. But Leo could build his own weapons—he had no interest in stealing someone else’s. The only reason he waited until the door to return it was to avoid the owner doing something stupid.
