The Dink froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer. His voice dropped to a whisper, as if he feared even the air might betray him. "Sir… which side are you from?"
Ivan gave a calm smile, his demeanor effortlessly composed. "Just a businessman passing through."
The Dink him carefully, his gaze lingering as if searching for cracks in Ivan's calm exterior. When he found none, he finally leaned even closer, his breath carrying the faint scent of cheap tobacco. "Sir, the Kangaroo Bandit … she's well-known in St. Francis, but here in Oakland? Not many know her story."
Ivan raised an eyebrow, feigning polite curiosity. "Go on."
The man shifted uncomfortably, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention. "I heard about her from a friend; a little girl, bought by the Mexican Family. They do that sort of thing, buying half-grown kids. It's not uncommon."
Ivan's jaw tightened imperceptibly, his mind connecting the dots. This must have been Marda. He had suspected she was under the control of one of the families, and now it seemed confirmed. Just as his thoughts sharpened, the man hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Ivan's polished Feiyuan shoes.
A sly grin spread across his face. "Of course," the man chuckled, "such stories cost something extra."
Ivan sighed inwardly but didn't let his composure waver. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out another dollar and handed it over. "Keep going. I'm listening."
The man pocketed the coin with an exaggerated flourish, his grin widening. "Much appreciated, sir. Well, this girl, the Kangaroo Thief… I heard she's not just any servant. She's been chosen to marry the youngest son of the family."
Ivan blinked, momentarily stunned. His thoughts raced. *Marry?* The idea was absurd, almost grotesque. What kind of family buys children and turns them into brides? This wasn't just criminal; it felt like something pulled from the pages of a bad light novel.
"When and where?" Ivan pressed, his tone sharp as he handed over two more coins without hesitation.
The man leaned in again, lowering his voice even further. "Next Sunday, at the family mansion on 21 Maritime Street."
Ivan nodded, his mind already running through scenarios. If Marda was set to appear at the mansion, it was the perfect opportunity to find her. But it wouldn't be easy. With the entire Mexican Family present, it would take more than cunning and Snowden's modest stash of firearms to pull off a rescue.
Before he could probe further, the sound of footsteps approached from behind. Ivan immediately cut the conversation short, his expression shifting seamlessly into one of idle interest as he turned his gaze toward the street fight.
The man quickly caught on, retreating into the crowd and pretending he had never spoken to Ivan.
---
By this time, the brawl had been brought under control. Harry had worked quickly, enlisting the help of a local street boss to send over a squad of twenty axe-wielding thugs. The two rival leaders, upon realizing that a more powerful force had arrived, exchanged a few lingering threats before calling their men back. The crowd began to disperse, murmuring about the spectacle as they moved on.
Just as the situation quieted down, the heavy footsteps behind Ivan came to a halt.
"Boss Ji… Boss Ji," a deep, stammering voice called out.
Ivan turned to see an enormous man towering over him, broad as a barn door and dressed in a slightly ill-fitting suit. The man's hulking frame was intimidating, but his stuttering tone made him seem almost gentle.
"Our family… invites you to… the manor," the man said, his words halting and awkward.
Ivan nodded, his expression pleasant but unreadable. "Of course, no problem."
By now, Harry and Dink had made their way back to Ivan. Harry, who had just finished settling the street fight, glanced at the large man and smiled. "Ah, this is Barney. He's a friend of the family."
Barney gave a slow, awkward nod. "The boss… is already at the manor. He said… to bring you."
Ivan's eyes narrowed slightly, but his smile didn't falter. "Then let's not keep him waiting."
---
The group climbed into a car and drove toward 21 Maritime Street. As they approached, Ivan took note of the high walls surrounding the Mexican Family's estate. The iron gates stood open, revealing a well-manicured garden inside. Several cars were parked near the entrance, their polished exteriors glinting under the sun.
Ivan's sharp eyes picked up on the details as they passed through the gates. The workers tending the garden were all people of mixed-race or ethnic minority backgrounds; no whites in sight. It was a telling sign of the hierarchy within the family's operations.
Beyond the garden, the family's mansion came into view. The three-story villa loomed large, its windows obscured by heavy curtains. It gave off an air of secrecy, as if the building itself were determined to guard the family's secrets.
When they reached the front door, a man in a crisp suit stepped forward to block Ivan's path. "Excuse me, sir. I'll need to search you before you enter."
Ivan raised his hands slightly in mock surrender, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "By all means."
The search was thorough but uneventful. Ivan had already stashed anything potentially dangerous in his personal dimensional space, leaving nothing for the man to find. Once cleared, he was led through the lavish living room and into a smaller room beyond.
There, seated around a grand table, were the core members of the Mexican Family. Their faces were sharp, their eyes calculating, each one radiating an aura of authority. Ivan stepped forward, his smile unwavering but his mind alert. He had walked into the lion's den and now, it was time to see who held the cards.
Barney stood like a silent sentinel by the door, his massive frame casting an imposing shadow across the room. Inside, six other men were scattered throughout, their postures and expressions ranging from casual indifference to quiet calculation. But it was clear who commanded the room. Seated comfortably in a leather office chair, the tallest figure among them radiated authority.
The man, appearing to be in his early fifties, wore a perfectly tailored suit that spoke of both wealth and control. His hair was meticulously combed back, streaked with gray, and his sharp eyes took in Ivan with a clinical interest. He tilted his head slightly before breaking the silence.
"I am Gallardo Joaquin Uralsu," he said, his voice gravelly yet measured, as though every word was weighed before it left his lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Ivan, ever the picture of confidence, stepped forward with a polished smile. He bowed slightly, exuding just enough respect without appearing servile. "The pleasure is mine, sir," he replied. "I am Rocky Balboa, from Russia."
Gallardo's sharp gaze lingered on Ivan for a moment before he nodded slowly. "I know. Harry has spoken of you. He tells me you're his friend."
Ivan kept his smile steady. "Indeed, I am. And I'm honored to count him among mine as well."
Gallardo's lips curled into a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good. If you're his friend, then I trust you can be ours as well." He gestured to the others in the room. "Allow me to introduce my family."
He pointed to three men first. "These are my sons: Khaled, Guzman, and Freni."
Ivan's eyes moved to each in turn. Khaled, whom Ivan already knew as Hared, inclined his head slightly, his easy-going demeanor unchanged. Guzman, tall and bald with a face carved from granite, stared at Ivan with quiet intensity. Freni, in contrast, was short and wiry, his sharp features reminding Ivan of a knife blade, small but dangerous.
"It's an honor to meet you all," Ivan said, his smile unwavering as he dipped his head in acknowledgment.
Gallardo continued, gesturing next to a man with a thick beard and sharp eyes. "This is my son-in-law, Ochoa." The man gave Ivan a curt nod.
"And finally," Gallardo said, pointing to a man lounging in the corner with his legs crossed, "this is Mr. Pablo." Pablo, clad in an immaculate black silk evening suit, smiled faintly but said nothing, his air of quiet arrogance speaking volumes.
When the introductions were done, Gallardo turned back to Ivan, his tone suddenly all business. "Well, my friend, I believe you have something we're interested in."
Ivan nodded and, with a practiced motion, placed the suitcase he'd been carrying onto the table in front of him. He opened it with deliberate care, revealing the contents inside.
"Here's a sample, as per your request," Ivan said, stepping back to give Freni, who was already approaching, space to inspect it.
Freni leaned in, his sharp eyes scanning the contents. Nestled within the cotton lining of the suitcase was a package wrapped neatly in oil paper. He carefully unwrapped it, revealing a small quantity of grayish-white powder. He pinched a tiny amount between his fingers, rubbing it thoughtfully before looking up at Ivan.
"Cocain?" he asked, his tone neutral but probing.
Ivan nodded smoothly. "Exactly. This substance has taken off since the World War. It's far more convenient than opium and far more potent than morphine."
Freni studied the powder again before asking, "Where's it from?"
Ivan smiled faintly, his response prepared. "Hampton," he said confidently. "There's no strict legislation there banning its production. I acquired it legally through certain channels. While the cost of long-distance sea transport is high, as long as customs can be bypassed, it ensures a safe and steady supply chain."
Freni didn't respond immediately, his sharp eyes flicking to Hared, who nodded thoughtfully. "He's right, as far as I know," Hared said.
Ivan suppressed the relief that threatened to show on his face. The previous night's research in the library, poring over old drug laws and Hampton's 1919 Pharmacopoeia, had been worth every second. His claim about Cocain's legality and origin had been carefully constructed to hold up under scrutiny.
Freni took another pinch of the powder and sniffed it, his expression thoughtful. After a long pause, he said, "The moisture content's a bit high. But if it really came by sea, that's to be expected."
That seemed to settle the matter. The tension in the room eased, and Gallardo's smile returned. He waved a hand, signaling Freni to repack the sample and close the suitcase.
Turning to Harry, Gallardo said with a tone of approval, "The man your father recommended is excellent. Be sure to thank him for me."
Harry nodded with a smile. "I'll be sure to pass along your words."
Gallardo's attention shifted back to Ivan, his gaze sharpening slightly. "I don't expect you to tell me everything," he said slowly. "But I do expect you not to lie to me. I trust you understand the difference."
Ivan met his gaze steadily. "Perfectly, sir."
Gallardo's smile widened slightly, but it carried a hint of menace. "Good. Now, let's discuss the next steps. How much of this Cocaine do you have?"
"The first batch is 800 kilograms," Ivan replied, his tone confident. In reality, the Central Police Station had seized twice that amount, but Ivan couldn't risk selling it all.
Gallardo raised an eyebrow, impressed. "How soon can it be delivered?"
"Two days," Ivan said without hesitation.
Gallardo nodded, spreading his hands. "I'm prepared to pay 5,000 dollars as a deposit. It would have been more, but, as Freni noted, the quality isn't the best."
Ivan inclined his head graciously. "I accept. For this first transaction, the trust and friendship we build are far more valuable than money."
Gallardo chuckled, clearly pleased. "Then I look forward to a fruitful partnership."
He extended a hand, and Ivan shook it firmly. Despite the ease of the interaction, Ivan couldn't shake the feeling that every move he made here was being carefully evaluated. One misstep could turn this cooperation into something far more dangerous.