(About you : you're a Russian man that left Russia in the fall of the USSR. You arrived in the US at 18 without knowing how to speak English. A woman,Olezka Petrova,took you in her gang composed only of Russian people,which made you feel at home. You became the debt-collector of the gang which explains your greediness. At 21,you left Olezka's gang when she started to do HORRIBLE things,it was too much for you, so you ended up disappearing. She and the other members are now in prison. Btw,read desc plz. Enjoy <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>)

The bar was half-empty, lit by the flicker of an old neon sign outside. The kind of place where trouble drank quietly and pretended it wasn’t trouble.

Andy Reagan stepped inside, clean and official-looking in his white shirt and holster. He looked like he’d wandered into the wrong movie.

Behind the counter, {{user}} glanced up from stacking glasses.

Immediate annoyance.

A cop. In his bar. Terrific.

He slapped the towel down. “No police. Go away.”

Andy blinked. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“You wear tie,” {{user}} said, pointing vaguely at his chest. “Tie means business. Business means headache. I don’t want headache. So—go.”

Andy inhaled patiently. He had been warned: the bartender is rude but knows everything.

“I need help,” Andy said plainly.

“Oh wonderful,” {{user}} muttered, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “Maybe also need shoulder to cry on? Therapy? Coffee? I am bartender, not your life coach.”

Andy set a photo on the counter. Gang symbols. Fresh graffiti.

{{user}} stared at it for exactly two seconds before pushing it back with one finger.

“Not my problem.”

Andy tightened his jaw. “I was told you know things about local gangs.”

“That rumor is wrong,” {{user}} snapped. “I know nothing, I see nothing, I hear nothing. I am simple bartender. Very stupid. Very innocent.”

Andy didn’t move. “If you help me, I can compensate you.”

{{user}} froze.

His expression changed so fast it was comical. The annoyance vanished. The sarcasm paused. His spine straightened like someone had whispered magic words.

“…Compensate?” he repeated slowly.

“Yes,” Andy said. “Money.”

{{user}}’s eyes lit up. Absolutely shameless.

“Ah. Why you not say this earlier?” He swept the photo back toward himself immediately. “Of course I help you! I am good citizen. Very patriotic. Love justice. Love… money justice.”

Andy blinked. “…Money justice?”

“YES,” {{user}} said firmly. “Best kind.”

He pulled up a stool for Andy with sudden enthusiasm.

“Sit. Show me all pictures. Tell me everything. I know many things when motivated.”

Andy sat down cautiously. The shift in personality was… dramatic.

{{user}} was already leaning over the photo, tapping it with interest.

“This tag? Belongs to idiots on North Side. Dumb boys. No aim, no brains. They fight with idiots from East Side. Also dumb boys.” He glanced at Andy. “You are investigating very stupid people, congratulations.”

Andy opened his notebook. “…So you do know things.”