Cyberpunk 2077: V

Chapter 43: La Serpiente

El Coyote Cojo, Mama Welles's bar, sat glowing like the queen that it was on the ragged street. All around it sagged tent camps and stacked containers and old garages and crumbling apartment buildings. This was old Heywood, and El Coyote Cojo was its shining beacon, a reminder of times long past and a symbol of resilience. It was a place that ganger, corpo, and Joe Shmoe could exist in (relative) harmony over a drink.

V bumped the Orange up onto the curb, pulling it close to the concrete foundation of the building. She heard some trash bags popping under her tires and winced, pulling forward to a clear spot. Heywood was covered with trash, more so than some other areas of Night City. Slipping out of her car, V stretched her fingers up to the sky to relieve her tired muscles, and sauntered down the sidewalk.

Valentino graffiti was EVERYWHERE; religious iconography, the Santa Muerte, death's heads, and gold gold gold. V paused briefly at a huge old painting that sat on the brick wall approaching the bar doors.

The Santa Muerte, in all her glory. A gold plated skull leaned benevolently towards folded hands, a hood of sky blue flowing around her cheekbones and dripping down her shoulders. A crown of bullets and guns floated around a golden halo, the tips of them dripping red.

Was she real, this "Saint", V wondered. And if so, what did she think of V? Was she watching her?

Did she see the death that V caused? The life that she saved today?

V stared up for a couple seconds more before turning and marching the last few steps to the bar doors. The huge sign with the bar's name buzzed overhead as she strode through the doors, and she could swear the steer skull hanging just underneath was staring at her. Jackie said the thing was a real skull, but were cows even around anymore?

The instant V waltzed inside and saw the familiar dark-lit rooms with neon lights and smoky haze, she felt the tension in her shoulders release. This place was like a second home to her. She and Jackie had spent a LOT of time sitting in the booths, playing on the arcade games, shooting dice with his cousins, and trying out different tequilas. The vibe of the place reflected those cherished memories. Old newspaper covered the walls along with art, paper money, and prayer tickets to Santa Muerte from patrons come and gone. This was a place of community. The Afterlife may have been the beating heart of Night City, but El Coyoto Cujo was the heart of Heywood.

Some of Jackie's friends were sitting at the bar, talking to Pepe, the bartender. Pepe noticed V walking in and waved at her, causing the others to turn.

"They're upstairs, V," he called.

"Hey V!" Juan called out, lifting his beer to her. The others in the group echoed his greeting.

V waved to them, then turned and headed towards the stairs.

The music rattled the metal steps and railings at the top, and V heard the tell-tale buzz of a speaker with weak screws. She'd have to tell Pepe so they didn't have a speaker randomly fall on someone eventually. Through the scent of alcohol, sweat, smoke, and gold, V could pick up a whiff of spice and simmering broth. Her mouth watered.

Towards the back of the second floor bar area was a door hidden by a thick curtain painted with a snarling coyote saying "No entrar". V moved the dark red fabric to one side and punched in the code. The door beeped green, and she entered, closing off the loudness of the bar. She moseyed down the hallway into the decently-sized upstairs apartment that Mama Welles lived in, passing by her old room, the bathroom, and another bedroom before entering the kitchen area.

Mama Welles and Jackie both looked up as she came in. V gave them a lazy wave in greeting before her eyes zeroed in on the set table; and the huge pot of soup nestled front and center, along with a basket of freshly baked bolillos.