If the Cabal exists, and I’m not saying it does, but if it did, its Consigliere would be none other than the tackily dressed Chazz Fitzwalla.
In between bounties, Voss has been carrying out a vendetta against the Cabal for years, taking out their agents, destroying their various operations.
In short, Voss is a real pain in the ass for the Cabal’s leader, the Klapnar Di Grondi Rebus.
Fitzwalla, having suffered disfiguring burns at Voss’ hand, isn’t a fan either.
Will Jones come through or did he go back for the sandwich?
Alien Jones to the rescue.
I ran out onto the roof top. Casinos. Hotels. Strip clubs. They all lit up the night sky with illuminated billboards, each more tacky than the next. The only lights I wanted to see were attached to my ride.
They were nowhere to be seen.
“You’re fired,” I said.
“Oh good,” Jones said into my ear. “Now I can sue you for all that backpay you owe me.”
“I ask you to do one thing!”
“Relax,” Jones said.
A dozen shai warriors poured out of the door. Serious players, decked out in battle suits, packing some serious heat.
“So boys,” I said as I threw up my hands, “Don’t suppose there’s anyway we could talk about this?”
“Yes, Mr. Voss,” a voice called up from the stairwell. “Let us talk about this.”
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Bookshelf Battle 