They give him directions. One of them suggests Basja's coffee cart as the latest actually decent cup of Joe around.

"I'm a sucker for homemade, but thanks for the tip."

Off he strolls.

(Now, see, that's a quiet mark against him. Not supporting the community. Not that anyone says anything.)

These blocks are much like the rest of the city he's seen, with a bit more visible now that he's close. One of the buildings is some kind of catfish farm. Another is an impromptu workshop. There's pawn shops, a laundromat, a bar, a barber shop, a tattoo place, clothing stores. Street stalls selling stuff, cyborgs being watched by everyone as they walk around with obvious metal, drug dealers working out of alleys, and a lot of people just kind of hanging out. A courier on a scooter races past, making use of the recently cleaned streets to zip by.

And a big Disco Palace, still with the brightly colored marquee, though the neon's not on.

Disco Palace! In he goes.

There's a bored looking woman standing just inside, punk type clothes and holding a metal baseball bat.

"Hey, head. This place is a neighborhood association of sorts. What'cha up to?"

"I was directed here by the folks who were cleaning up a couple blocks from here! I'm hoping to hire some security and I like the guiding ethos of picking up where there's no formal services and getting it done anyway so I hoped y'all would know some people interested in looking intimidating at people, driving cargo around, that kind of thing."

"...And we're supposed to just trust you on that?"

"I was informed that this is a tall order, yeah, so I'm supposed to like, see and be seen, become a familiar face and whatnot."

"Uh huh. I'm Wendy. You? Where are you staying, anywhere nearby?"

"I'm Cam and I've been doing some volunteering at the hospital and they were kind enough to issue me a berth about it."

"We'd all be worse off without Saint Joe's, yeah. Everyone's got their own shit to worry about though."

"No doubt. What's the most worrying thing around?"

"Tower."

"What've they been pulling locally?"

"One of the bulls has a grudge against old Kev, keeps arresting him for nothing shit, out to the slammer for a week, and who's going to watch Kev's daughter and take care of his old man, huh? Also, they shot my neighbor when pursuing some fucking idiot who robbed a Green Dragon."

"Wow, fuck that."

"With some rusty rebar."

"Amen. Kev's folks want a bag of groceries or anything?"

"Probably wouldn't say no? This place is more a gathering spot, clinic, and repair place. Lots of repair. And swap meet. Go on if you like. Just don't go upstairs, that's private."

"Oh, it's a clinic? I did med school and just don't have the certs the hospital wants for most things."

"Yeah. We have a crash team too. Heads on bikes with medchem kits in the saddlebag. Our own personal slum ambulance." Sardonic smirk. "'Course, folk have to actually call for help. It was head by name of Roland's idea. He came in a few weeks ago, big plans like you. He has a crew kind of parallel to ours now. Not really a local, and not totally sure what he's up to besides dealing spikes and keeping the Modes off our backs mostly, but maybe the kind of guy you wanna meet."

"Maybe! Where would I find him?"

"Ask around at the noodle bar down the street. And medical assistance wouldn't go amiss if you prove to Emmy you're not a total hack."

"Where's she?"

Wendy points at a whiteboard on a stand where a plus sign has been drawn in red Sharpie, next to a door down the Disco Palace hall.