"So this is kind of exciting, huh?" Wolf asked Dallas as the air gently blew inside the gorgeous Lincoln Continental. The two heisters were on their way across town to plot out an important heist. They did this because the laundromat above their safe house was being sprayed for bugs. Houston hated bugs. He stayed behind to (as he claimed) make sure the exterminators did not find anything suspicious in the safe house, but the others believed it was to make sure every last bug had been vanquished.

"First time seeing Jacket's place," Wolf grinned.

"How did we even set this meeting up?" Dallas wondered aloud. "Jacket never says a word."

"I dunno, Bain just told him we're going over, so we're going over."

Jacket was a pretty orderly guy when it came to Bain. He respected Bain- or at least everyone assumed such. He had never caused any trouble for the Payday Gang apart from making a few enemies, but it was nothing they could not handle, especially side by side.

Dallas and Wolf were decked out in immaculate suits- cufflinks and all. They could afford the good life, so they lived it well. Beautiful cars and suits were among their many indulgences with their fortunes. But as Dallas made his way across Washington DC toward the address Bain had provided, he noticed a decline in spectacular view. Well-groomed medians had become weeded, and wooden privacy fences had become chain-linked. "Are we getting close?" Wolf asked, wondering how far into the ghettos they would travel.

"Almost there," Dallas replied.

A few minutes later, the Continental parked on the street beside an apartment complex. "Is this it?" Wolf frowned. The two men got out of the vehicle and stood on the curb, which had cracked away from hubcaps bumping into it over the years. The grass beneath their leather shoes was dead. They looked up in awe at the complex. It was a two-story, bright blue building. Most of the guard rails on the second floor's landing had corroded away, and were replaced with aging plywood to make sure children did not fall to the cracked concrete below.

Jacket was inside his second-floor apartment, lounging on his couch which had a broken leg and a duct-taped arm. When he heard the doorbell, he stood from his very slouched sitting position. He walked to the door. Beside it was a wooden baseball bat. He grabbed this then unlocked 7 bolts on his door. Leaving the chain lock on, he glanced outside. He recognized his fellow heisters and closed the door, then set down the bat, removed the chain, and opened the door wide for Dallas and Wolf to enter.

The two men peered into the apartment. It smelled foul. They entered cautiously. It did not take long for Dallas to locate the source of the smell- a box of takeout tipped over on the countertop in the tiny kitchen beside the entrance. Apart from the rancid food, there was a strong smell of nicotine caked into everything. This was not unfamiliar however, given Dallas's chain-smoking habit in the safehouse and essentially everywhere else. All the lights were off inside. The few rooms were illuminated by light coming through broken blinds and from the blue glow of the box television.

The guests noticed Jacket was wearing a T-shirt and ragged jeans, and of course his signature letterman jacket. Dallas removed his blazer, half because he felt out of place beside Jacket, and half because the apartment was hot and stuffy. Wolf did the same. The men draped them on a coatrack, then rolled up the sleeves of their shirts.

Dallas could not help but question why Jacket lived in such a place and dressed like he did. Jacket probably had more money than the rest of the Payday Gang, based on his past of wiping out the entire Russian mafia in Miami among many other ventures. He could be living in a penthouse with lush carpet and marble interior, but he chose this instead. It was almost as if Jacket was not in it for the money.

Jacket led them to a small breakfast nook. He flipped on a light, then sat in a chair at the wobbly table. Dallas had brought with him some bank blueprints. He rolled them across the table, using an ashtray and a dirty cup as paperweights on two corners. Wolf set a briefcase on the table. He opened it, revealing documents concerning the bank.

Dallas and Wolf began laying out the basics of the plan to Jacket. They discussed ideal entrance and exit procedure, but were sure to set up a plan B. During previous planning sessions, Jacket sat and he listened- only using his microcassette player to signal compliance. "Understood," "Got it," "No problem," the female voice on the recording would call out. This time was no different- Jacket only 'spoke' using his recorder.

After a few hours of detailing, Wolf complained that he was hungry. "Got anything to eat, Jacket?" he asked. The blonde man shook his head. "I guess we're going out," said Dallas, pulling his car keys from his pocket. Jacket held up a hand, then stood and walked to a keyring holder beside the door. He took his keys from it, which were hanging on a palm tree keyring. He nodded towards the door. He would drive.

About a mile from Jacket's apartment, Dallas and Wolf were seated at a plastic table outside a hotdog stand, in a gravel lot beside a liquor store. Jacket was at the kiosk window, ordering food for his companions. He had driven the group there via a 1979 Camaro. The car was well-kept, despite the condition of Jacket's apartment. There was a DeLorean parked beside the Camaro at the apartment, but the men would not fit in the two-seated vehicle. It seemed these cars were the only things Jacket had to his name- whatever his name was.

At the table, Dallas was smoking and looking around curiously at the ugly scenery. He had to admit, it had character. He appreciated the change of venue, while at the same time hoping to never return here. It reminded him a bit of life in Chicago, but not because they were in a tough neighborhood- just because of how rundown this shining city could be on the outskirts.

Jacket returned to the table with a tray of three hotdogs, each covered in diced onions and relish.

"Like this! Da**it, Jacket, how did you even order these?" Dallas looked from the food to his partner. Jacket, of course, said nothing. He took his own hotdog from the tray and walked to the kiosk counter to add some mustard.

"Here's the plan, Wolf," Dallas said quietly, eyes still on his questionable lunch. "We're going to get Jacket to talk."

Wolf smiled wide and deviously at the idea of making Jacket speak. His mind filled with dozens of ideas- most of which involved gently harming the man so he would cry out.

Jacket sat back down and began eating his hotdog.

"So, Jacket," Dallas began. "Bain tells us you have a background in the military. Tell us about that."

Jacket looked up at the silver fox, straight into his eyes, chewing his food and saying nothing with a blank stare.

Wolf found this hilarious and burst into roaring laughter. Dallas rolled his eyes. This was not going to be that easy.

After lunch (which consisted of Wolf and Dallas making small talk), the three men headed back to Jacket's apartment to continue the planning. They stepped inside and sat back at the dingy table in the breakfast nook. They discussed the layout and different tactics for a while, then Wolf glanced around the room in a moment of silence. He noticed a few bottles of alcohol on the kitchen counter across the doorway. While Jacket was glancing down, Wolf nudged Dallas with his elbow, as if to say, "Watch this."

"Mind if I grab a drink?" Wolf asked. Jacket nodded towards the kitchen. "Grab me something," Dallas called as Wolf walked into the kitchen.

Wolf poured three glasses of cheap vodka, then quietly peeked in a cabinet. He found a bottle of vinegar. He secretly poured this into one of the glasses, swirled the drink, then placed the vinegar back. He returned to the dining area and placed the three glasses down. As Dallas reached for his glass, Wolf whispered, "Sh*t." He had placed the vinegar in the glass Dallas had taken. He could do nothing to warn him. He could only watch as Dallas downed the drink in one swig.

Immediately, Dallas convulsed and spit out the liquid, all over the blueprints on the table, and partially onto Jacket who sat across from him. He cursed, then turned to Wolf with an angry expression. "What was that?!"

Wolf yet again burst into roaring laughter. He had hoped to make Jacket at least cough, revealing part of his voice. They had never even heard this- or if they had, they paid no attention to it. The closest they had come to receiving Jacket's voice was when he would whistle to get their attention.

Jacket seemed hardly phased after being spit upon. He grabbed a paper napkin from the table and dabbed at his jacket. It had seen many worse bodily fluids than spit. Dallas rubbed his throat after the atrocious drink. He looked up at Wolf in scorn, and knew this endeavor would need to be taken to the next level. He was determined to hear Jacket speak.