As soon as Saul stepped out of the villa, frustration bubbled to the surface. "Those guys are all liars and cheapskates!" he muttered, kicking the fountain with anger.
"Ten thousand dollars—only ten thousand dollars! Ha! This is Rockefeller we're talking about. It's ridiculous!" Saul fumed.
Sean, glancing back with a smile, replied, "No, they don't deserve it!"
Saul gritted his teeth. "How can you call them a symbol of wealth when they're so stingy?"
"Look at this manor—classic and luxurious!" Sean said, gesturing around.
Saul scoffed. "In terms of classicism and luxury, it doesn't even compare to Buckingham Palace, which has a history of two hundred years!"
Sean pointed out, "Look at these sculptures; they're full of artistic atmosphere."
"Please! Compared to true art, this manor isn't even worthy of being a shoemaker for the Louvre!" Saul shot back.
"And the architectural designs have a strong sense of history," Sean added, trying to defend the manor.
"History? Don't make me laugh!" Saul spat. "I may not have been to the East, but I've seen enough on TV. The palace of the emperor in that mysterious country is still standing. It has thousands of years of history and countless rooms—people get lost in there for days!"
Saul turned to Sean, irritation etched on his face. "What's your deal? Just a moment ago, you thought this manor was ordinary. Why are you defending them now? You forgot how they treated you!"
"Remember, this is Rockefeller Manor," Sean replied, pointing to the ground beneath them and then at himself. "And my name is Rockefeller."
"Teach you an old Chinese saying: 'that can be replaced'!"
Saul looked puzzled. "When did you secretly learn Chinese? What does that even mean?"
Sean didn't elaborate, knowing the explanation would be lengthy. They climbed back into the dilapidated yellow Suzuki, and as they drove through the wooded area to the parking lot, Saul's mood remained sour.
As they hit the road toward New York, Saul asked, "Want me to drop you off in Newark?"
"Take me to Brooklyn," Sean answered, determination in his voice. He had a plan in mind, especially after hearing about the $10,000.
"What are you planning to do there?" Saul inquired.
"I'm introducing you to a friend—an essential part of my future plans," Sean said cryptically.
Saul shot Sean a sideways glance. Over the past year, he had seen a lot of changes in his friend; if it weren't for Sean's charming demeanor, he might have thought he was a different person.
New York, Brooklyn, 78th Street
By the time they left Rockefeller Manor, it was already dark, and they arrived in Brooklyn close to 10 PM. The Big Apple was alive with lights and noise, a city that never slept.
Leaning against the gate of a bar was a tall man in a brown T-shirt, cigarette in hand. With a thin face, tall nose, and deep blue eyes, he exuded a certain melancholy charm that caught the attention of women entering the bar.
"That's him!" Sean exclaimed, and Saul slammed on the brakes, bringing the Suzuki to a halt beside the man.
"Yuri!" Sean called out, jumping out of the car.
"Sean!" Yuri replied with a broad smile, rushing over to give Sean a hearty hug.
"Let me introduce you. This is Saul Goodman, a lawyer," Sean said, gesturing to Saul as he climbed out of the car. "And this is Yuri Olov, a brother I trust with my life."
"Hello," Yuri said, shaking Saul's hand. "Sean always spoke highly of you, 'Slick Jimmy.'"
"Nice to meet you, Sean mentioned you were his best comrade-in-arms," Saul replied, trying to keep his composure.
"Come on, let's head inside. I've made arrangements," Yuri said, leading the way.
As they entered the bar, the booming music hit them instantly. The place was packed, the dance floor alive with bodies, and a DJ energetically spinning records.
Yuri guided them to the second floor, where regulars greeted him warmly along the way. Once they found a spot, Sean waved off the idea of a private room. "No need for that; let's sit out here."
"Sure thing," Yuri agreed, accustomed to following Sean's lead from their time in the army.
Once seated, Sean leaned on the railing, smiling at the bustling first floor. "You run this place well."
"I'm not in charge; I just keep an eye on things and handle troublemakers," Yuri replied with a grin. "What would you like to drink?"
"Get all the best wine in your store," Sean said, snapping his fingers.
"We've ordered so much; we can't drink it all," Saul remarked, concerned. "There's a limit to using alcohol to relieve sorrow. Don't end up in the hospital."
"Is that wine?" Sean replied mysteriously. "That's the wealth code."
Yuri smiled, nodded to Sean, and signaled to a waitress. Then he turned back to Sean. "Why did you come to Brooklyn all of a sudden?"
"To deal with a will issue," Sean replied openly, explaining the situation.
As they spoke, three waitresses in tube-top short skirts with slender waists and fluid movements brought drinks on trays. Yuri took the lead in introducing each one:
"Stolichnaya Soviet Red Label Vodka," he began, placing the bottle on the table. "Captain Morgan, white rum from Puerto Rico. Gin from England—Beefeater and Lariors. Whiskey from Canada, Seagram V.O., and Four Roses Bourbon Whiskey from the United States. French brandy—Golden Flower V.S.O.P. Camus, and Bisquit V.S.O.P., also from France."
After the introductions, one of the waitresses gave Sean a flirtatious wink and brushed against him as she turned away. Sean grinned, playfully reaching out, and the three men laughed heartily.
Yuri opened a bottle of brandy and poured a glass for each of them. "Cheers! There's nothing that a bottle of wine can't solve!"
"And if there is, then add another big ass girl!" Sean added, raising his glass.
The three clinked their glasses and took a deep drink. The conversation flowed easily as they enjoyed their drinks, each man lost in his thoughts yet unified by their camaraderie.