Ironically, Austin was probably one of the safest places in the United States for Galeforce to make an appearance. Everyone knew Austin was still rebuilding its SPEAR Teams, and it was singularly unlikely to call for federal aid. The city would be forced to rely on what remained of its local assets to deal with any unwanted visitors; the strongest of which was Gregoir, who, for all his many talents, could not fly.

Dan idly wondered if the chopper he stole would make an appearance sooner than anticipated.

Nobody knew when, exactly, Galeforce would arrive. Even he wasn't so stupid as to post a travel schedule. The county Sheriff's department had been notified, and they'd promised to keep an eye on the skies, for what little good that would accomplish. Even on a clear day, it would be difficult to spot the vigilante if he flew high enough.

Even if they could spot Galeforce ahead of time, and somehow intercept him before he entered the city, there were few options afterwards. The APD couldn't—wouldn't—attack without provocation. It was an optics thing. Nobody wanted to look like the National Guard. Their actions had cast a vast shadow. There couldn't be a hint of that behavior; not in Austin, not anywhere.

In normal times, open vigilantism was dealt with harshly, but these were far from normal times. In fact, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it was the best possible time to be a vigilante, at least within the past decade or two. Galeforce had picked his moment well, though Dan personally doubted the young man had done it on purpose. Better to be lucky than good, he supposed. Whatever the case, the APD was limited in what they could do to the vigilante.

Gregoir wanted to talk to him, but that probably wouldn't happen. The higher-ups had nixed his plan to shout from a rooftop, before even needing to hear it outlined. If they could flag down Galeforce, if the vigilante was willing to talk, if they were far from prying eyes and ears and cameras, then Gregoir could have his say. Otherwise, he was to be avoided unless absolutely necessary. It was one thing for Gregoir to associate with teenagers playing at being a hero. Galeforce was a legitimate vigilante, one who'd openly fought against at least one villain, and who had documented his own illegal actions.

Nobody wanted a confrontation, but the APD could only turn a blind eye for so long. If Galeforce interrupted an actual crime, recorded himself doing so, and posted it online, they would be forced to take action. Given the... reduced nature of the APD, said action would likely result in public embarrassment at best. God help them if they managed to actually bring down the elusive vigilante. Though controversial, he was enormously popular.

The worst-case scenario would be Gregoir somehow accidently killing the man. It would be a fantastic way to destroy the big blonde's burgeoning stardom, at least in the eye of the public. The headlines practically wrote themselves. Gregoir had managed to bring in Coldeyes, after all, and that was a villain who had terrorized the entire city. Surely, he could put down an arrogant boy playing crimefighter. It was a no-win game that the APD did not want to play.

"You need to be ready to act at a moment's notice," Dunkirk said to Dan. They were at the same diner as before. Dan was following the plan, and had given his assent to stealing the Genius-built weapon.

"Once you've got the location of the job, transport will follow in a timely manner," Dan said with a shrug. He was keeping his language vague, just in case Dunkirk had a way of recording the conversation.

Dunkirk scowled at him. "I'll have it soon, but you won't be getting it until you need it."

"I thought you wanted this done fast?" Dan probed.

"Circumstances need to align," Dunkirk answered without answering.

He was being cagey, so Dan didn't push. The plan at the moment was for Dan to genuinely 'steal' the pain gun, and turn it over to the fed. If everything went perfectly, Dunkirk would be arrested at the drop-off point, wherever that might be. Dan doubted things would go so smoothly. Dunkirk had risen astonishingly high in the ranks of the FBI, given his staggering incompetence. Dan assumed the man to be very experienced in shady dealings. He had to be good at something, and that something certainly wasn't his job.

Dan was less seasoned, so he didn't bother with subterfuge. Instead, he went with the knuckleball.

"You'll be compensating me for my time, of course," Dan said.

Dunkirk looked at him like he was an idiot. "Your compensation comes in a different form."

"I prefer money," Dan said flatly. "That other stuff only bought my attention. It's insufficient for what you're asking."

Dunkirk leaned back and narrowed his eyes. "So you're looking to get paid, too?"

"It's only fair," Dan acknowledged. "Fair work for fair pay."

Dunkirk snorted. "I don't think so. I think you'll do this for free. You've got too many friends at risk."

"My friends are all grown-ups," Dan replied. "They can handle themselves."

Then, he smiled. Like a sociopath. Dan had gotten really good at staring people down in the past few months. He'd had a lot of practice keeping his composure. All he had to do was pretend to be Anastasia.

"But by all means, fuck around and find out. I'm sure it won't backfire terribly. It's not like you need my help or anything."

Make him think he understands you, Abby had advised. Make him assume that you're alike. It was a dangerous game, messing with Dunkirk like this, but Abby seemed confident. The man had to know that Dan had some kind of powerful background or backing. There could be no other explanation for how classified his files were. And if he'd done even the slightest amount of digging, then he had to know about Abby. This was why the blackmail against Dan had been so weak, so half-hearted. His friends were the real targets.

Dan could see the logic, or at least the broad shape of it. Abby's relationship with Anastasia Summers was no secret, but on the surface she seemed estranged from her family. There was no way to know how close they really were, and how protective Anastasia was of her young granddaughter. Dunkirk could only make assumptions: Anastasia Summers would probably intervene if her granddaughter's boyfriend was targeted for blackmail—if it were serious, at least—out of sheer principle. She wouldn't, however, give a single, solitary shit about a few police officers who happened to know said boyfriend.

He wasn't wrong, Dan mused, but that didn't make him right. Dunkirk couldn't know for sure, either way. He would have to assume the worst. Dan's goal was to present himself as greedy, callous, and completely willing to abuse whatever protection Dunkirk imagined he had. Much like the man in question. Birds of a feather, flocking together. Dan would normally call bullshit, but it was a proven psychological tactic. It was a little like projection. Dunkirk would see his own motives, in Dan. Dunkirk would buy the act, because it was what he would do.

An understanding passed between the two of them.

"Name your price," Dunkirk grumbled.

Dan picked something low enough to be reasonable, but high enough to be inconvenient.

"Too much," Dunkirk hissed. "I'm under a lot of scrutiny after that mess with Coldeyes. My accounts are being monitored."

"That sounds like a personal problem, to me."

"Careful, Newman," Dunkirk warned. "Don't think you can overplay your hand. I've got just as much leverage as you do."

It was a little late for that. Good thing Dunkirk didn't have Freya's lie-detecting upgrade, because Dan was so very full of shit. He obviously wasn't about to sell out his friends, but he needed Dunkirk to believe that he would. This scheme wouldn't work if Dunkirk got paranoid. The fed needed to believe that Dan had a stake in this endeavor beyond blackmail. He needed to let his guard down, to think that Dan was just as shady as he was, and just as ambitious. Two peas in a pod, and all that nonsense. Nobody trusted greed quite like the greedy.

Dan grinned, channeling his inner used car salesman. "Fair enough. What's a number you can live with?"