I made my way to the alley of the market. It may look like an area like any others but knowing where to go to get a specific type of information is crucial.
Tons of illegal things happen here. It could be human trafficking, prostitution, illicit firearms, drugs, you name it. I could be here buying guns and drugs or torturing gang members on regular days. Today, I am here to gather intel about Boss Chen, my mom's murderer.
Chen, age 58, was born in a well-off family with a tight political background. Chen joined the military academy right after high school. He was winning his school life both academically and physically. His one downfall was he was impulsive. He was known to have a temper of a 2-year-old and did not give anyone a second chance.
After serving 8 years as Lieutenant General, Chen was caught meeting with drug lords all over the country; apparently, he was offering protection and inside intel in exchange for lives extravagances.
When he got caught, Chen went AWOL. No one had seen him for about two years, and when they did, he was operating as a Mafia Lord of one of the largest drug dealers in the world.
Government agencies put tight surveillance on him. He was sloppy; his arrogance was no other. He knew he was one of the most wanted drug lords, but he also knew that killing him would only start a revolution in the mafia world.
Not only will the government responsible for his murder suffer a great deal economically- illegal and expensive drugs are exclusive to rich people in power. The fight among drug lords to take over his position can also cause more violent crimes, graphic trades, and excessive killings in the underground world, making it harder to contain.
News of his death will circle around soon, and chaos will erupt like an active volcano that had decades to go slumber.
I would have killed him in his sleep if I had been nice, but I am not. I do not care about the disorder, the politics, or the notoriety. I just wanted to know why that bastard smirked as I put a bullet in his head. What's that pig up to?
I spat at the thought of him. I'd kill him again if we ever met in hell.
I entered the dingy pub. It serves as a sit-down bar and turns into a club as the night deepens. I made a head count and spotted fewer than a dozen people- customers and escorts included.
I made my way to the bar. There stood a middle-aged barista wiping a glass with a white towel.
As I sat down, I looked in the mirror covering the whole countertop length, acting like a backsplash, and got annoyed by the two agents following me like fools since I entered the alleyway.
I gritted my teeth as the two incompetent agents sat at the corner table behind me, their reflection in full view in the mirrored backsplash.
At least I know the organization isn't here to kill me just yet, or they would have sent two capable agents. I put my elbow on the counter and rested my head in my palm. These two idiots did not even notice that I was directly looking at them.
"Hi," the barista said as he approached me.
"Hi," I replied flirtatiously to the man who would lead me to my next target. Baristas, unbeknownst to anyone, hold tons of information. They listen to drunken talks, witness fight among rival gangs, and interact with everyone that comes in for a drink.
"What can I get for you?" he said.
"1-76 vodka," I replied softly.
"Good choice. You know your drinks," the barista seemed impressed.
I gave him a warm smile. Keeping my presence somewhat mysterious. I need him to talk. In order to do that, I need him to find me interesting and amiable. I need him to think of me as harmless.
"Here you go," he passed me a drink; I could see him eyeing me.
I would have ordered a scotch, but I'm on a mission. So, I grabbed the drink and took a sip. The vodka was intense- it had a nice kick. I held the cup with one hand, lifted it mid-air, swirled it three times, and chugged it in.
I moaned soft enough to get a reaction. The barista smiled and walked my way.
"Another one, it's on the house," he said smiling.
'BINGO,' I smugged inside. Nothing gets the attention of a barista, but a person who knows and like their drink; 1-76 vodka always works.
"Thank you," I sighed as if the drink was what my life was missing.
"What brings you here? I haven't seen you before." the barista said, cleaning another set of shot glasses.
"I'm here to talk to Boss Chen," I said casually.
Mister barista stopped what he was doing and raised a brow. "You're asking for trouble, young miss; he and his crew does not play well with girls like you."
"So I heard," I fake sighed again, "but I'm calling my shots anyway."
"Why?" he asked. 'Gotcha,' I murmured; I just got his interest.
"I'd have to kill you if I tell you," I teased and drank the last bit of my vodka. "I need them to kill the one who murdered my mom," I said as if telling this was my biggest secret.
"My dad was an asshole, a druggie. But my mom? She took care of my siblings and me,
but my dad sold her out for an ounce of drugs." I looked at the barista, acting distraught.
He looked at me. He stood silent as if thinking of the right words to say, "tell you what," he finally said, "that man right there is under Boss Chen. He is a son-of-bitch, but he is in charge in this area. Once he loosens up with alcohol, he runs his mouth like a faucet; you might be able to get what you want. But be warned, he is rough."
I looked at the man the barista was talking about; he was an old geezer, his belly protruding, and his hair had seen better days. He was sitting across a younger guy, probably his sidekick. Next to him was a beautiful young woman in a very tight provocative dress and one older -I would say more experienced- woman, sitting directly on his lap.
His fat fingers were covered with gold rings, the fold on his neck holding a heavy thick gold necklace.
'He sure does look and act like a pig.' I watched intensely.
I looked at the barista. "Thank you. And can you give me another glass of 1-76? And do you have French fries?"
"I'll get that for you; give me a minute." He smiled.
After a while, I sat next to the table next to the man. He is loud, alright; he acts like he owns the place. I saw the two poor women look disgusted as he groped them. 'What a pig,' I smirked as I patiently waited for my turn.