When Mr. Howard heard the words "buying and selling opium," his expression didn't betray much, but Ivan noticed the brief flicker of tension in his eyes. For a man as composed as Mr. Howard, even a slight reaction spoke volumes.
"Rocky, you are… bold," Mr. Howard said with a thin smile, leaning back in his chair. "If this were ten years ago, such a proposal would be straightforward. But surely you know California passed the Drug Law in 1912? The authorities are much less forgiving now. If you're asking me to help you set up a grand opium shop in here, I'm afraid there's little I can do."
Ivan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Of course not, Mr. Howard. I wouldn't dream of troubling you with such an ambitious request."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone dropping to something more confidential. "I understand that opium is… delicate business. Setting up a proper channel here would take significant time and effort. But surely a man of your standing knows who already handles such things in the area?"
Mr. Howard's brows lifted slightly, and he gave a faint hum of approval. "Ah, I see where you're going with this."
There was a pause, and Mr. Howard tapped his fingers on the desk thoughtfully before speaking again. "Are you familiar with the 'Mexican Gang' out of Oakland?"
Ivan kept his expression neutral, giving only a polite smile. "I've heard the name in passing."
"Ah, of course you have," Mr. Howard said, chuckling quietly. "For someone who's just arrived, you seem to have an excellent grasp of the local landscape."
"Just a bit of luck and good ears," Ivan replied modestly.
Mr. Howard gave a knowing nod. "The Mexicans controls the drug trade in this region. You've likely heard of their reputation. Their product is known for its… quality. They operate mainly out of Oakland, but their influence seeps into whole of California through smaller channels."
Ivan's ears perked at the mention of quality. "I see. I've also heard," he began cautiously, "that one of their supply chains was recently disrupted?"
Mr. Howard's smile widened slightly, clearly impressed by Ivan's awareness. "Indeed. You're well-informed for someone so new to our city."
Ivan didn't press but waited patiently for Mr. Howard to elaborate.
Sipping his tea, Mr. Howard continued, "Two months ago, one of the 'family's' supply chains was broken, leaving them scrambling to stabilize their operations. The California police have been increasing their pressure, part of a larger effort to clean up the state's image. Congress has been scrutinizing California's rapid development, especially its public security. The senators here are desperate to prove they're in control, which means they've been cracking down on crime."
"So, they're targeting gangs directly?" Ivan asked, his tone carefully neutral.
"Not quite. They've focused on more visible crimes; robberies, murders, things that make headlines. But one of Mexican's partners went too far. They started dabbling in business near schools, which caught the authorities' attention." Mr. Howard paused, his tone growing colder. "It's one thing to sell to dock workers and miners, but schools? That was a foolish move, and it cost them."
Ivan nodded, taking in the information. "I see. That explains the disruption. It sounds like an opportunity for me, though I'd need your guidance on approaching the 'family.'"
Mr. Howard let out a thoughtful hum. "Well, that's where things get tricky," he said, leaning back in his chair. "The 'family' operates out of Oakland, and their leadership rarely steps foot in Jinshan City. If you want to deal with them, you'll need to go to them directly."
"That's not a problem," Ivan said, though he noticed Mr. Howard's expression darken slightly.
"It's not as simple as just showing up," Mr. Howard warned. "Oakland is fiercely xenophobic, especially when it comes to outsiders. Finding a fishing boat to take you there is difficult enough. But even if you make it across the bay, you'd still have to convince them to let you dock and meet with their people."
Ivan noted the deliberate caution in Mr. Howard's voice but wasn't fooled by the pretense. The old man could've easily claimed complete ignorance if he didn't want to get involved. His roundabout warnings were just a way of setting up the price.
Ivan offered a sly smile. "This kind of challenge is nothing for a man of your connections, Mr. Howard."
Mr. Howard chuckled, waving his hand in mock modesty. "Ah, my acquaintance with their boss is limited. It would take some effort to arrange a meeting."
"And," Ivan said smoothly, "what would it take to compensate you for such an effort?"
Mr. Howard's smile turned sharper, his eyes gleaming with calculation. "Hmm. Let's say… three hundred dollars as an introduction fee. That would cover the cost of arranging the meeting."
Ivan tilted his head slightly. "That seems fair, but surely there's more to your proposal."
Mr. Howard's grin widened, and he tapped a finger against the table. "You're a sharp one, Rocky. Yes, there's one more condition. I'd also like twenty percent of your profits from each transaction. Consider it a… guarantee. It'll ensure you don't cut ties and run after a single deal, leaving me without any recourse."
Ivan leaned back, considering the offer. It was steep, but for a first step into Oakland's underworld, the cost was justified. "Mr. Howard," he said with a respectful nod, "you're the host, and I'm the guest. How could I refuse such generous terms?"
Both men laughed, the sound carrying a note of mutual understanding. They each knew the risks involved, but the game was set. For Ivan, the path to Oakland had just opened; albeit at a price.
After concluding the business, Ivan noticed that Mr. Howard showed no sign of ending their meeting or seeing him off. Instead of leaving immediately, Ivan decided to stay and continue chatting. Building rapport with someone like Mr. Howard could only work in his favor, especially given the precarious nature of his sudden appearance in the city.
Mr. Howard leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips. "Rocky," he began, his tone casual yet probing, "from the way you carry yourself and the way you speak, I'd say you're not an ordinary man. Have you had some schooling?"
Ivan's expression remained calm, almost modest. "I did, yes. I went to college in Moscow, though not one of the famous ones, I'm afraid."
"Really?" Mr. Howard's eyebrows lifted with genuine interest. "To attend university in Moscow, that's quite an achievement. Far more than I can say for my son. That boy has no sense of ambition." There was a glint of admiration in Mr. Howard's eyes as he spoke, a rare moment of vulnerability that hinted at some respect for Ivan's supposed background.
"Have you been keeping up with the news back home?" Mr. Howard asked, shifting the conversation toward current events. "It seems things have been… turbulent lately."
Ivan racked his brain. The last news he had read was from two copies of newspapers he'd bought from Charlie. The brief political updates on Seris had been vague, but one detail stuck out. "I believe the civil war is heating up, isn't there?" he ventured.
Mr. Howard nodded solemnly. "Yes, the government is tearing itself apart again, the country's been plunged into chaos the monarchy isn't doing so well."
Mr. Howard's expression turned thoughtful, and he quoted with a sigh, "The general trend of the world; after a long period of division, there will be unification. And after a long period of unification, there will be division."
Ivan nodded, acknowledging the poetic wisdom. "History has a way of repeating itself."
---
An hour passed in pleasant conversation, both men speaking freely about history, business, and the state of the world. By the end, Mr. Howard himself refilled Ivan's tea, a gesture that carried its own significance in this setting.
Ivan noticed the act and smiled knowingly. He set his cup down and stood, signaling it was time to leave. "Thank you for the tea and your time, Mr. Howard. I'll take my leave now."
Outside, Charlie was seated on a low bench, cheerfully munching on snacks. Several of Mr. Howard's maids stood around him, giggling and chatting. Though they didn't share a common language, the gatekeeper, Alfred, had taken it upon himself to translate, which only seemed to encourage the boy further.
Ivan's chest tightened as he watched the scene. If Charlie said the wrong thing, the entire charade could collapse. He quickly called out, "Charlie, come on, we're leaving."
Charlie looked up, crumbs on his lips, and quickly excused himself, scampering over to Ivan. The maids bowed politely to Ivan, who returned the gesture with an air of calm respect, though his mind was still racing. Once the two of them were outside the Western-style house and safely inside the rented Ford, Ivan let out a long breath.
"You didn't say anything… unusual, did you?" Ivan asked, his voice low but firm as he glanced over his shoulder at the boy.
Charlie shrugged, looking slightly confused. "No, I only said what you told me to, sir. That you're the son of a wealthy businessman from Russia after the war you came to California to do business. And that I'm your follower." He paused, thinking. "Nothing more."
Ivan nodded, relieved. The cover was intact. "Good. That's all they need to know."
He leaned back in his seat, his mind already turning to his next steps. Mr. Howard had mentioned it would take at least a day to make contact with the Mexicans, which gave Ivan some time to refine his act. The stakes were high, but so far, the pieces were falling into place.
---
Back in the second-floor office, Mr. Howard had turned the radio back on, letting the jazzy melodies of popular songs fill the room. He leaned back in his chair, swirling a cup of tea in one hand as his sharp mind worked through the details of the meeting.
To Mr. Howard, the drug crackdown by the government was nothing but theater. He had seen it all before. During the World War, even the staunchest reformers couldn't resist the allure of opium when it suited their needs. Now, the crackdown was just a political game, a way for the authorities to score points with Congress.
His involvement in Ivan's plans was, in truth, a calculated move. Helping connect Rocky Balboa to the Mexicans wasn't just about making money; it was about positioning himself as a key figure between two powerful forces. And if things went wrong, he could easily wash his hands of the whole affair.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. The gatekeeper, Alfred, stepped inside, bowing slightly.
"How was the boy?" Mr. Howard asked, his tone casual but probing.
Alfred scratched his head. "He's smart and well-mannered. A bit greedy, though. I tried to prod him, see if I could get anything useful out of him, but either he's been warned or he's sharp enough to know not to talk."
Mr. Howard's eyes narrowed slightly, his smile fading as he leaned back. "Hmm. That boy's more thoughtful than he looks."
Alfred hesitated, then asked, "Do you think they're lying about their story, sir?"
Mr. Howard chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Not necessarily. A liar wouldn't walk in so confidently. But…"
He paused, his gaze drifting to the painting on the wall behind him. "Still, have someone look into this Rocky Balboa. I want to make sure we're not being played for fools."
"Yes, sir," Alfred replied, bowing again before stepping out.
Mr. Howard closed his eyes, letting the music from the radio wash over him. The man calling himself Rocky Balboa had sparked both his curiosity and his caution, and in this business, neither could be ignored.