“I’m tellin’ ya man, this is what you’re lookin’ for,”
Hagar squinted out of habit. Looking at a vial of blood in a dark alleyway seemed to require squinting.
“Don’t fuck around with me, hippie,” Hagar disliked dealing through Healer. He was always high, and worse, he was human. Of course he also dealt with other ‘paranormals’, which was what made him one of the only shops in town where certain items could be procured. “I’m in for a serious fight pretty soon, and I need pure shit. Don’t let me drink this only to find out that it’s meth and grenadine, or I’ll drop you wherever I find you,”
“Shit man, you Nightscabs get so intense. I’m straight alright? This is the real shit here,”
Hagar gave him a palm full of cash before walking away. It was sad for a professional to have to deal with scum like this, and under the ordinary run of things, Hagar would have had nothing to do with the greasy small-timer. Getting hired to kill the new Prince of Chicago, however, was not the normal run of things.