[Riley Drive | 1150 hours Central Time, Day 1]
Turns out Becks' car was parked near the warehouse where Mendez and Wedelton were supposed to meet. Bearing that in mind, both Mendez and Becks had plenty of conversation as they walked towards the latter's car.
"You said you know these guys. What d'you mean by that?" asked Becks.
Well, this is it. The moment of truth, thought Mendez. Ideally this is something that he shouldn't give away so easily, especially considering Becks pulled a gun against his head and dropkicked him against a car not an hour ago. Who knows if Becks will use the information Mendez is about to give him against Mendez himself someday?
But then again, Becks is now working for Mendez, and as the saying goes, trust goes both ways. If Becks asked Mendez about his knowledge on the situation, it means that it does matter to Becks in some way, and he deserves to know the answer. Rather than risking Becks turning against Mendez when he found out that Mendez has been 'hiding things' from him, it's better to come clean now.
"I know these guys 'cause I used to be one of them."
There it is.
"Ey, hold up," exclaimed Becks. "So you're saying you betrayed them or somethin'? 'Cuz that's what usually happens, y'know? You turn against your friends, your gang, your affiliation organization or whatever, they're gonna come after your ass."
"That what you believe?"
"Me personally? Nah," said Becks. "Loyalty's good an' all, but end of the day, money talks. That's just how it is in this world. People say money can't buy you happiness and shit, but they don't wanna admit that with money you can buy things that give you happiness."
"So what happens when we find nothing in that Hopkins office? You're just gonna walk away, simple as?"
"Yo, don't say 'when', say 'if'," replied Becks. "But to be honest though, I'm not sure. There's gotta be something there. I mean, that Weedelton--"
"--Wedelton."
"--weedman's got a thousand bucks just sittin' around in his wallet, there's gotta be more where that came from," said Becks. "Also, you haven't answered my question, man."
"Betrayal?" replied Mendez, referring to Becks' earlier question about his history with Wedelton's group. "I know for sure there's an element of betrayal involved somewhere. You ask me, I'd say they betrayed me. You ask them, they'll say I turned by back against them. You know, two sides of a story."
"And you're gonna tell me more about your side someday?"
"Assuming you'll stick around," answered Mendez. "What, I thought that cash money's more than enough to keep you around, no questions asked?"
"Yo, I just wanna be sure I won't be offed at the end of a hard day's work."
Speaking of which...
"That Wedelton guy's a piece of work, huh?" asked Mendez.
"Weedman's so fucking high-strung man, like a time bomb's been planted into his stomach or somethin'," said Becks. "Won't let me ask no questions, drive here, drive there, get yo' ass over here, hurry the fuck up, what's wrong with the damn traffic light, all that stuff I gotta put up with."
"Like $500's $500, but if I knew I gotta go through all that? On top of that little scuffle with a certain someone wearing a black jacket--yo, speaking of, how the hell did you survive getting shot like that?"
In response, Mendez pulled up part of his jacket where Wedelton's bullets hit him for Becks to see, precisely around the left hip part. And there they were, the two bullets shot from Wedelton's P227 pistol, caught inside the jacket's material like fish to a net.
"Holy shit," exclaimed Becks. "Bulletproof?"
"Kevlar", said Mendez in response, "Still hurts like hell though, so not like I'm gonna walk towards a full-on machine gun fire. The rainjacket can only stop so many bullets."
"Rainjacket? That even a word?"
"'Cause you know, I bring this out for a rainy day. Days like this. And pretty sure it doesn't look like a coat, so rainjacket."
"Yo, it's not even raini--oh."
"You get it now?"
"Days like this, huh? Yeah, I get it," said Becks. "That word deadass doesn't exist in the dictionary though."
"Hmmm, touche."
And they have arrived at Trey Becks' ride. It's a white 2-seater sports car with a sleek, almost oval-shaped body that clearly indicated a sense of speed, style, all without being too flashy. Then again, Mendez wasn't much of a car person himself, so he's going to have to ask Becks for this one.
"So, are you gonna make the introductions?" he asked.
"My pride and joy," Becks started. "Toyota 86. What happens when Toyota and Subaru had a super-slick lovechild. Front engine with a rear-wheel drive. 6-speed manual transmission. Low center of gravity's good for racing, speeding, and most importantly, drifting."
"Ah," responded Mendez in admiration. "This probably didn't come cheap. Where'd you get this?"
"Surprisingly, it's a lot cheaper than you think," said Becks. "Won this baby in a street race half a year back. Other guy's got this, I got me a Toyota AE86. Moron didn't even know how to corner properly, his loss anyway. Didn't feel too weird moving from my old car since they're basically the same car from different generations, like I've just been in this car before, y'get what I'm saying?"
"A deja vu," concluded Mendez.
"Ha, good one," remarked Becks as he stepped into the sports car. "We bounce?"
"Yeah, let's get this show on the road," stated Mendez as he sat and put on his seat belt.
[Duke & Hopkins, 332 Poly Street | 1215 hours Central Time, Day 1]
For a sports car, Mendez felt the drive to the office wasn't too rough. Becks' driving was hasty, but he didn't pull off any near-miss swerves or breakneck-speed sprints. Then again, they were in no rush, and there was no notable chase sequence to talk about. Also, Becks told Mendez that if he was listening to 80s Italian dance music, the ride to Duke & Hopkins would've been an entirely different story.
And at last, they have arrived. The office is located not far from Riley Drive, but since the city of San Laureola traffic can be hectic during a high afternoon, it did take some time for Mendez and Becks to get to the office building.
"Right, so we know where the office is, exactly?" asked Becks as he closed his car's door.
"You still have that card on you?" counter-asked Mendez.
"Ah..." trailed Becks as he patted down his hoodie pockets looking for the card. He then realized where the card actually is. "Hold up, didn't you have it with you?"
"Oh shit," realized Mendez as he pulled the card from his jacket pocket and read its content once more. "Level 3."
"Damn, they better have a fucking lift."
Mendez looked back to Becks, puzzled. "Didn't I see you jumping rooftops half an hour ago? And now you got a problem climbing stairs?"
Becks shot Mendez a glare, lightly irked. "Yo, I just don't wanna put out more work than I have to, y'get what I'm sayin'?"
"Eh well," responded Mendez in acknowledgement. "Just remember to stay sharp."
"What's up with that?" asked Becks. "I thought we're following up a lead, not creeping up on a gang hideout."
"In all honesty, we might as well," answered Mendez. "If I remember correctly, these guys have 'shell companies' that serves as their hideouts where they coordinate operations and deals. They might look normal on the outside, but they're actually well-protected--with guns. Kinda like, shall we say, a forward base."
That explanation astonished Becks. "Yo, for real?"
"Then again, it could be a real office with real employees and real cubicles like you said earlier. All we had to do is ask about our guy and see where it goes."
"Weedman?" clarified Becks.
"Yeah, let's say we're his business associates and we have an appointment with the guy."
"And what if they knew we're not dealing with him and shit?"
"Then like I said," reminded Mendez as he entered the building. "Stay sharp."
Fortunately, the lift wasn't out.
Once the lift blinds open, Mendez and Becks were greeted with the office's reception desk. It was wide in size, spanning the entire width of the oaken horizontal wall behind it, which has the gigantic letters 'Duke & Hopkins' grafted on it. Just in front of the reception table by the lift was what seemed to be a guest waiting space: a couch and an armchair arranged around a coffee table. Two glass doors are placed on two far ends of the wall, which Mendez presumed lead into the office space behind the receptionist desk. They're obviously in the right place.
Spotting the smart-dressed reception lady at the desk, Mendez approached her and made an inquiry.
"Yeah, so we are business partners of Mr. Wedelton, and he told me that I can meet him... here?"
"Have you made an appointment, Mr...?"
"Thompson, and this is my associate Mr. Braddock," introduced Mendez as he motioned towards Becks. After seeing Becks' slight nodding gesture, he turned to the receptionist again. "We're not sure if Mr. Wedelton has told you guys since we met over coffee fifteen minutes ago and he told us to talk about it further at his office, so..."
"Alright sir," responded the receptionist as she reached for the phone on her table. "Can you please wait while I double-check with the office?"
"No problem, thanks."
The two guests sat at the waiting space. There's a bowl of sweets at the coffee table. Mendez took one while Becks shoved at least half a dozen to his hoodie pocket save for one, which he ate for himself.
"What?" asked Becks after noticing Mendez giving him a quizzical look. "Man's gotta eat."
"Yeah, but man's also gotta avoid diabetes."
While Mendez and Becks were chewing down on their sweets, a man walked out of the door at the far side of the receptionist wall. The man was of East Asian heritage, an average build, and looked to be in his mid to late 20s not unlike a loyal, three-year employee of a startup company. He sported a medium-length middle part black hair, although it was quite loose in nature and not as well-maintained as the hairstyle of male models and K-Pop idols. He was dressed in a smart casual attire: pair of thin frame glasses, checkered shirt, dark blue jeans, hi-top sneakers, and a smart watch on his left wrist. Mendez also noticed him clutching a phone book's amount of file folders on his left hand and a smartphone on his right, which he got his full attention on. That's quite a bit of paperwork, thought Mendez.
As Mendez was eyeing and assessing the young adult, the latter took his view off his phone at looked at Mendez and Becks. That's when it happened.
It was subtle, but Mendez saw it. He hastily went back to his phone as if he didn't want Mendez to see his face, or at least see that he saw Mendez. However, Mendez can see that even if his face was at the phone, his eye kept on rolling between his phone and Mendez, as if he's seen Mendez as a police fugitive on television.
Mendez was relaxed. The man, once he saw Mendez, was not.
Not only his facial expression, but his gesture also awkwardly shifted as well. His slow, phone-tapping walk turned into a fast, almost jog-like stride to the lift. When he got to the lift, he spammed the call button at least ten times--five as he called the lift and five more as he waited for the lift. As he waited, he looked up to the LED display of the lift's current floor and down to his phone numerous times in what seemed to be visible anxiety. After the lift arrived with a ding, he almost jumped into the lift, spammed the floor button, and stared at Mendez as the lift doors close.
Mendez turned to Becks. Turns out, he noticed the young man's odd behavior as well.
"Yo, what's that?" asked Becks. "Seems like he knew you."
"Even better," replied Mendez. "I knew him."
Becks scoffed. "Man, this just keeps getting better and better. So you wanna tell me who that guy is, or are you gonna save it for some other day too?"
"Well I don't know him personally," replied Mendez. "But I know he is in the same company as I was, so I guess we're in the right place."
"... maybe he cut his ties with whatever crew you got going on back then and decided to work a legit office job in a legit company?" pondered Becks.
"Which just so happened to hire another guy from the same crew, the guy who tried to erase me half an hour ago?" countered Mendez. "Isn't that convenient."
"Come on, there's probably more than one group of people that want you dead," replied Becks. "You ever thought of that?"
"More than one 'group' of people, but ultimately, one puppetmaster pulling the strings," answered Mendez. "There has been five attempts at my life so far today--you included--and all of them different people with different approaches. Pretty sure none of them knew each other, and yet they have a very clear-cut common goal to kill me. How did they all collectively come up with a common goal without being affiliated with one another, without knowing what the others want? The answer is one faction, from the shadows, uniting and giving them an incentive to assassinate me."
"Alright, if you say so," said Becks in acknowledgement. "By the way, don't you think--"
And then suddenly the receptionist lady got up and walked towards the pair, her right hand concealing something behind her back.
"See Becks, I told you we're in the right place," he whispered to a puzzled Becks before springing into action.
Mendez reached for his revolver.
The receptionist raised her right hand from her back, revealing the item she's been carrying.
A black Beretta 92FS pistol.
But by the time the receptionist had trained her gun against Mendez, he'd already done the same to her with his engraved Taurus Raging Bull.
A standoff.