The next morning, Freddy greeted Ivan with a steaming plate of pasta, neatly arranged and fragrant. Ivan took a bite, immediately noticing something was… off.
After severing him the food Freddy turned his attention to a couple of customers who'd just walked in, flashing them a broad, welcoming smile. "Morning, folks! Meatballs pasta special today; three flavors! We've got beef meatballs, Pork, and chicken," he called out, making it sound like a gourmet feast.
Ivan sighed, eyeing the options on the chalkboard menu. Compared to pork or chicken, beef the least adventurous choice. He watched the steam rise from his plate as Freddy hustled around, serving customers. The foreigners, clearly regulars, piled on a generous helping of tomato meat sauce before biting into their dumplings. Ivan could only shake his head; the combination was beyond his understanding.
As he ate, Ivan spotted a few familiar faces among the customers; old co-workers from his factory days. They looked him up and down, surprised to see him looking sharper than usual, cleaner, and with a sense of purpose.
"Ivan!" one of them called out, "Where've you been hiding? And what's with the new look?"
Ivan grinned, leaning back slightly. "Well, believe it or not, I found myself a rich relative. I'm heading out soon to meet him and maybe see if he can set me up."
The men exchanged glances, impressed, while the foreman gave a slow nod of approval, though not without a hint of jealousy. "You're lucky, Ivan. Some of us wouldn't mind a relative like that showing up. Make the most of it."
Ivan chuckled, a pang of nostalgia hitting him as he ate the pasta. Ivan looked over at Freddy, who was wiping down a table nearby. With a smile, he said, "You know, you're a good man, Freddy. If I were a woman and maybe a bit older: I'd marry you."
Freddy rolled his eyes, pretending not to hear. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "I just thought I'd shake things up at the shop. A change of menu, that's all."
Ivan smirked, knowing better but letting it slide.
When he'd finished eating, Ivan set the usual 5 cents on the table and looked up at Freddy. "Well, I guess this is it," he said quietly. "I'm heading out."
Freddy didn't reply, busying himself with the stove, though Ivan noticed him pause for a moment, as if he had more to say. But instead, he just nodded, not looking back.
With a sigh, Ivan shrugged into his dark brown coat, pulled his hat low, and pushed open the door of Freddy's shop, stepping out into the crisp morning air.
…
He hadn't gotten far when he spotted Jacky making his way over, grinning with that familiar sly expression.
Ivan knew exactly what that grin meant. A few hours earlier, he'd handed Jacky the car he'd taken from the gang, asking him to sell it off discreetly. He'd called it a "loan" to the gang, but he'd never intended to return it.
"Brother Ivan!" Jacky greeted him with a nod, his tone overly cheerful. "About that car you asked me to sell… I got a buyer, but, uh, there's a bit of a… situation."
Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What's the issue? Car didn't pass inspection?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Jacky said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. "The car's great: a brand-new Ford T3, after all. It's just… the buyer found out it belongs to the Bridgewick Gang." He gave an apologetic shrug. "Not everyone's like you, Ivan. Not all of us are up for crossing the gang. So… he offered less than market price."
Ivan rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Just tell me the number, Haozi."
"180 dollars," Jacky replied, holding up eight fingers with one hand and one with the other. "He originally offered 150, but I talked him up as best I could."
Ivan considered the price. A brand-new Ford T3 would typically go for around 260 dollars. Even secondhand, it was worth well over 200. But with its gang ties, the lower offer made sense.
"Alright, we agreed on a 30-70 split, yeah?" Jacky asked cautiously, studying Ivan's face for any sign of disagreement.
Ivan nodded, his expression calm. "That's right. 30-70."
Relieved, Jacky broke into a smile. "Great! Thanks, Brother Ivan. I'll get the cash ready for you."
They shook hands, a silent understanding passing between them. Ivan pocketed his share, feeling the weight of the coins; small, perhaps, but one step closer to his new life.
With one last nod to Jacky, Ivan turned, ready to face whatever lay on the road ahead.
Jacky pulled out his wallet and meticulously counted out 126 dollars before handing them over to Ivan with a nod. "I'll take care of the rest, Brother Ivan. Don't worry about a thing," he assured, his tone brimming with loyalty.
Ivan tucked the money away, giving Jacky a steady look. "Just one more thing; keep your ear to the ground. The Bridgewick Gang's balance might tip soon. If anything big goes down, check in with Freddy. He'll know more."
Jacky's eyes widened, realizing Ivan's warning was a gift, a quiet way of saying, "Stay safe." He nodded quickly, understanding. "Got it, Brother Ivan. I'll keep an eye out."
Ivan then reached back into his wallet, extracting two crisp 50--dollar bills. He slapped them into Jacky's hand, who blinked, surprised by the unexpected generosity.
"Take it," Ivan said. "I'm leaving the city, probably won't be back anytime soon. Help me keep an eye on Freddy and the others from back home. And… try not to cause too much trouble, alright?"
Jacky looked down at the money in his hand, stunned for a moment. Then he glanced up, his face softening with respect. "Brother Ivan, I… I don't cause trouble anymore," he muttered, somewhat defensively.
Ivan smirked, clapping him on the shoulder. "Sure, Haozi, I believe you."
He adjusted his coat, gave a final nod, and turned to leave. Jacky called after him, "Bon voyage, Brother Ivan!" He quickly waved down a nearby rickshaw driver, a young man who looked ready for anything.
As Ivan settled into the rickshaw, the driver asked his destination and then set off with a brisk pace, creating a refreshing morning breeze as they moved through the bustling streets of the city.
...
Meanwhile, in his sunlit office, the "Brahmin" sat back in his plush leather chair, fingers steepled as he listened to a detailed report from one of his subordinates. His lieutenant, a level 1D enforcer known simply as the "Bodyguard," stood nearby, watching the "Brahmin's" expression as the report continued.
"According to Owens, Ivan opened fire the moment he spotted them," the subordinate recounted. "Owens was closest and managed to injure Ivan with some sorcery, but Ivan shot him down, taking him out of the fight."
The "Brahmin" listened, expression unreadable as the subordinate continued.
"After that, Ivan used some kind of magic to control Henshaw and Owens. Bruno managed to shake it off, but then he grappled with Ivan and… was killed with a shot to the neck. Henshaw rushed in to help but got shot in the chest first, then in the forehead, died on the spot."
The subordinate paused, letting the heavy details sink in. "From what we gathered, there was only one type of bullet found at the scene, suggesting Ivan used only one weapon, a Webley VI revolver."
The "Brahmin" barely reacted, his gaze drifting to the side. The Webley revolver, while not common in the U.S., was hardly noteworthy enough to dwell on. By now, Ivan had likely left Bridgewick altogether, slipping onto a ship bound for some distant shore. His fate was no longer the "Brahmin's" concern.
Bruno and Henshaw's situations had been handled. Bruno, a traitor, was disposed of, his body thrown unceremoniously into the Dewamish River. Henshaw, on the other hand, received a proper burial, with his family granted a modest 100 dollars in compensation. Another 200 dollars were set aside for those who had been loyal to the gang, especially those once close to Bruno but who had proven their allegiance.
The "Brahmin" rubbed his temples, thoughts drifting to the next order of business. Bruno's position as a deputy was vacant, and he needed to fill it swiftly, before any power struggles could destabilize the gang.
His gaze settled on Owens, who was seated on a sofa across the room, looking both attentive and a bit anxious. The "Brahmin" leaned forward, calling him over. "Owens, I remember you're already at level 2D, yes?"
Owens nodded, standing a little straighter. "Yes, sir," he replied, his voice steady but respectful.
The "Brahmin" allowed a rare smile of satisfaction. Owens had proven his loyalty, and he had the strength and cunning to keep the gang in line. More importantly, he wouldn't likely betray the hand that fed him.
Turning to the Bodyguard, the "Brahmin" issued his order. "Find a suitable target for Owens to hunt down; a D-level wizard. Assist him in securing his kill. Once he succeeds, he'll be ready for his promotion."
Then, facing Owens, the "Brahmin" spoke with finality. "Complete this hunt, and you'll take Bruno's place as my deputy."
Owens's eyes gleamed with both excitement and determination. "Understood, sir. I won't let you down."
The "Brahmin" gave a curt nod, satisfied. As Owens left the room, the "Brahmin" sat back in his chair, casting one last glance at the sun streaming through his office window. With Bruno gone and Owens on the rise, the gang would continue to flourish, its hierarchy intact. And as for Ivan, wherever he'd gone, he was no longer the "Brahmin's" problem; at least, for now.