[Between Tack Street and Riley Drive | 1145 Central Time, Day 1]
Becks was still there, just lying on the ground, still at shock from what happened over the past 10 minutes. Mendez thought it was weird that Becks didn't bolt the second his would-be killer got shot on the hand, but what's done is done.
Besides, Mendez figured he can use that fact to convince Becks into joining his side.
It was that on top of a stack of painful truths surrounding Becks' employment by that one gunman: he was only paid $500 for his trouble, he was deemed 'incompetent' after all the unfortunate series of events that befell him, and he was about to be killed to prevent loose ends. So at this point, it was clear that Becks wouldn't mind a better employer, or at least an employer that treats him differently.
"So Becks," said Mendez as he approached Becks, "you want a job?"
No answer. At least for a moment, before Becks opened his mouth.
"You chased me across three rooftops, dropped me off a building, decked me in the face, slammed it against a car, and now you want me to work for you?" Becks scoffed. "Fuck off."
An abrasive, but unsurprising response.
"Then why are you still here?" replied Mendez.
"What?"
"You heard me," said Mendez. "When that guy got shot on the hand, you had your opening. He's taken out, I'm totally fixated on him, you can run away. When I was having a nice conversation with the gentleman, you had a wide opening to get the hell away from here and pretend this day never happened in your life, but you didn't. Why, I ask, is that?"
"Because I was waiting for him to pay up," answered Becks. "Everyone's a tough guy when they got a gun. Not so tough after it got shot off his hand, was he?"
Mendez chuckled. "Guy's skin is thicker than I thought."
"But nah, you had to kill him before he can pay me," said Becks. "And now I'm back to nothin'. No cash, no payment for bustin' my ass off, nothin'."
"There's the obvious reason, but I know there's another reason why you stuck around," said Mendez.
"See, Becks," explained Mendez. "I believe that it is in human nature to seek 'balance' at all times. You work, you get paid. You get punched in the face, you hit them right back. Eye for an eye. Fire with fire. Even when something is 'freely' given to you and you are in no way obligated to give something in return, you'll always have that drive to give something back somehow. That's because when you were given something 'freely', it created an 'imbalance', and in order to restore that 'balance', you are subconsciously inclined to give something back. And you'll make sure that it's something of equal value to what has been given to you, otherwise it'll tip over and create another 'imbalance'."
"Now let's take a look at your case," continued Mendez. "You were tasked to scout that roof. Imbalance. You are to be paid $500. Counter-balance. Turns out that roof had someone that threw you through a glass, chased you across three rooftops, tackled you from a two-story building, and beat you to a pulp. Big imbalance. That someone got shot. Counter-balance. You ask for a raise. Another counter-balance, and now it's even. The raise got denied. Imbalance. You are to be shot and left for dead. More imbalance.
"And now, I offed the guy who'd just denied your payment, your raise, and potentially, your life. If my scales are correct, I'd say it's an imbalance in your favor. You may not realize it yet, but deep in your psyche you know you're indebted to me for tipping the scales to your favor, and you intend to restore that balance in any way you can. That's why you didn't run.
"So, I ask you again, Becks: you want a job?"
Becks shifted, seemingly taking in Mendez's speech for a moment.
"Y'know what?" Becks finally replied. "I kinda see your point. This whole 'balance' and 'imbalance' thing... I get it.
"But in actuality, I don't owe you. It was more like you owe me.
"See, by killing that chump, you've removed his ability to pay me back what he owed me. So yeah, you made a counter-balance by killing him, but at the end of the day I haven't been compensated for all the imbalances I've been through. That guy you just capped can, but like I said, you killed him.
"So now it falls on you. You owe me.
Good argument, Mendez thought. It was an argument that he'd go for if it was him on Becks' position, thought Mendez.
"Fair enough," said Mendez as he pulled out the gunman's wallet. "Man's gotta get paid."
Rummaging through the wallet, Mendez found the total amount of money stashed inside the wallet: $1000. Such a peculiar man, Mendez thought to himself. Who brings a large wad of cash in these days anyway?
"I owed you," remarked Mendez as he handed all of the $1000 to Becks, "And now you owe me."
Now it was Becks' turn to chuckle. "I owe you? What if I decided to just say 'thanks' as a counter-balance and walk off here and now, huh? How about that?"
"You can, but it looks like where I'm heading, there's more where that came from," replied Mendez. By this point, Mendez figured that Becks is a mercenary, true and pure. He speaks in the language of monetary gain, and his argument proved just that. If that's the currency he's dealing, that's the currency that Mendez is going to use.
It also means that Mendez' whole monologue and breakdown of 'balance' meant virtually nothing to Becks. At least it didn't hurt to try.
"If there's money where we're going next, you can have some. Not ALL, but a good portion of it. If we find nothing, then you got nothing to lose anyway: I already paid you in full."
Becks looked at the wad of cash Mendez just handed to him. He then looked up at Mendez.
"Besides, chances are there's also more where that guy came from," said Mendez as he motioned to the now-dead gunman. "And they're gonna be after you. Believe me, I KNOW these guys. Two heads are better than one, that's for sure."
"You knew 'em?" asked Becks once more.
"Yeah," said Mendez, reaching out his right hand to the still-lying Becks. "So, you want a job, man?"
Becks grabbed Mendez's hand. Mendez helped him up.
"Roque Mendez," he said introducing himself. Remember, they haven't been formally introduced to each other.
"Trey Becks," he said in return. "What now, Rock?"
"Now," replied Mendez as he opened the gunman's wallet once more, "let's see what answers the dead man can give us."
There was nothing of interest in the wallet except for one thing.
"A business card," mused Mendez. "Of all the things he could've kept out of prying hands, he had a business card... with his name and office address on it. That's very smart of you, Mr. Jack Wedelton."
"Maybe dude's a legit businessman, and this whole fixing-killing thing is a side hustle or somethin'?" asked Becks.
"That's looking at it from the bright side," said Mendez as he handed Becks the business card. "Either way, that's where we're going next."
Becks read the card. "Duke & Hopkins ltd, 332 Poly Street?"
"Yeah, it's quite a distance from here," Mendez said. "You got a ride?"
Handing the card back to Mendez, Becks walked towards the nearest alley exit. "Sure got one. Follow me."