The man was wearing a coat, the corners of which were fluttering in the air.
He noticed the eyes on him and looked over. He smiled apologetically, then raised a white plastic bucket in his hand, waved it, and threw it aside.
The little boss looked at the guy in confusion, not knowing what he was doing.
Until he saw the man take out a lighter from his pocket.
…
The wind is blowing.
The wind blows from the ocean, across San Francisco Bay, across the lonely BA Bay Bridge, and across King Street.
The wind suddenly looked over there and saw thick black smoke billowing up with a strange fragrance lingering in the air, like a heavily made-up grim reaper or a rotten rose.
The wind touched it curiously, diluting the black smoke in the atmosphere, washing it away to the point where it was invisible, but every wisp and every wisp of air was tinged with that strange and exotic fragrance.
The strange fragrance intoxicated even the wind, so the air that passed through Oakland and filled the streets and alleys became like an intoxicated spirit, swaying with a decadent scent, blowing gently in from the seaside, dancing an inevitable dance.
The first people to feel this wind were the workers on the seashore. They were all immersed in this strange fragrance. They seemed to see the sky falling. They looked up and saw the embrace of a fairy. The fairy had 9,900 faces, which included everyone they had ever seen or imagined. It was as if the whole world was embracing them...
The wind continued to move forward, and then blew over the drunkards. They were already on the verge of realizing the edge of the ocean. On the mirror-like sea surface, the most beautiful dancers in the red-light district stretched out their hands. They said, come on, you and I have already destined everything, everything is allowed, so there is no need to be shy. The last line of defense in the drunkards' hearts was like a wall blocking them, telling them all the rules in their hearts, but the most beautiful dancers passed through the barrier like ripples of goat milk, holding the drunkards' hands and telling them that this was a free gift, so the drunkards were willing to fall...
The wind blew into the beautiful building of the Immigrant Mutual Aid Association. The servant standing nearby fell to the ground with tears and laughter. Howard covered his face, laughed and shed tears and asked where this was. Where on earth was this...
The wind continued to move forward with unstoppable steps. The tide of wind and strange fragrance had already flooded the entire city. It came to the suburbs, where Harvey of the gold mine saw the spring water of the gold mine flowing out with golden sand, and the Immigrant workers were dully washing the sieves in the water again and again. He angrily swung the whip at one of them, and a moment later he found that he was holding a spine in his hand. The bone spur scratched his palm and blood gushed out, drowning the golden sand in the spring water...
Howard and Alfred cried and hugged each other. They saw themselves on a large ship heading to Port. The ship was tied with long ropes and was firmly held one centimeter away from the port. It could not move forward for twenty years. His mother was standing on the port and gradually grew old in the past twenty years. So they filled the ship with coal like crazy until the furnace was blocked by the overflowing coal...
The wind filled the entire city, and Ivan walked slowly through the streets.
He saw people rolling on the ground everywhere. When they saw Ivan, they smiled with fear, their mouths stretched all the way to their ears, like a frightened monkey. There was no joy in this smile, only relaxation, extreme relaxation, as if a taut bowstring broke in an instant, every fiber and every molecule was enjoying extreme relaxation.
It was like a huge celebration or party, which it was, and people were already singing.
"Is this the right thing to do?"
I don't know who is asking, but it's definitely not an illusion because Ivan has already drunk some cooling water. But who is asking?
He plunged the entire city into a carnival. The city should have been like a bearing on a high-load machine, spinning madly during precise transportation and maintaining a fragile balance by relying on centripetal and centrifugal forces. However, Ivan dropped a drop of ultra-high viscosity 502 glue on the machine, and the entire machine exploded at this moment. The bearers and beneficiaries of order would degenerate into beasts at this moment.
Is this a good thing or a bad thing?
Maybe the Immigrant workers who were supposed to have stable jobs would become addicted to drugs, maybe the shrewd leaders would be killed, maybe there would be a car accident, after all, there were unconscious people everywhere, maybe... Marda would not be able to escape at all, or the Toltec family had the ability to defend against drugs.
I hurt many people in order to save Martha. Is this what I chose?
Isn't this also to save some people and harm others???
What is all this for…for??????
have no idea.
Ivan thought, follow the will of your heart.
The speedboat roared across the choppy waves, slicing through the water with reckless urgency as it raced toward Oakland. The hull slammed against the sea, sending sprays of saltwater into the air. The wind howled around them, threatening to drown out any conversation, but Ivan's voice cut through it with sharp precision.
"Charlie! You're drifting off course; left, left! No, your other left!" Ivan barked, squinting through the salt spray as he gripped the edge of the seat. He lowered the telescope he'd been using to survey the horizon and leaned back casually, resting his head on the seat, his hands tucked behind it as if he were reclining on a beach.
Behind the wheel, Charlie was doing his best to keep the boat steady, but the vibrations from the relentless impact of the waves made his hands shake uncontrollably. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and he looked more like a terrified novice than the seasoned speedboat pilot Ivan clearly expected him to be.
"Y-yeah, yeah, I'm trying, sir!" Charlie shouted over the engine's roar. "But seriously, why couldn't we do this at night? You know, like… normal criminals?"
Ivan chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ah, Charlie, that's where knowledge comes into play."
He pointed toward the horizon, the sunlight gleaming off the water as the waves sparkled like shards of broken glass. "You see, the wind shifts depending on the time of day. At night, it blows from the land to the sea. But during the day, it reverses, from the sea to the land."
Charlie frowned, struggling to process the information while still keeping the boat from flipping over. "And why does that matter? We're not flying a kite!"
"It matters because," Ivan explained, gesturing dramatically, "at noon, when the sea breeze is at its strongest, we'll have just the right conditions to ensure that the 'carnival' we're about to create spreads across the entire Oakland waterfront. Timing, my dear Charlie, is everything."
Charlie muttered something under his breath, but Ivan ignored him, his grin widening as the distant shoreline of Oakland came into view.
---
King Street Dock - Oakland
King Street was one of Oakland's busiest piers, a hive of activity where the Immigrant Mutual Aid Association maintained a strong presence. Workers moved with purpose, hauling crates and shouting orders over the rhythmic creaking of ropes and the clatter of cargo. Ivan's speedboat approached the dock with little fanfare. Most of the workers recognized him immediately and spared him only a passing glance before returning to their tasks. Ivan had been here before, and his presence wasn't unusual enough to raise suspicion.
The boat slowed to a crawl as Ivan jumped off, his boots landing solidly on the wooden planks of the dock. He checked his watch: 11:45. Perfect.
Taking a deep breath, Ivan turned and began walking purposefully toward the Toltec family's drug warehouse. His steps were steady, his expression calm, but his mind was racing.
The warehouse was exactly as Mr. Cruise had described it; a massive steel structure made of corrugated W-shaped iron sheets. It loomed over the dock like a giant, industrial beast. Inside were more than ten tons of opium and halal drugs, a stash so vast it could flood the streets of multiple cities.
Ivan's plan was simple in theory but audacious in execution: burn the entire stash and let the resulting fumes plunge the city into chaos. If everything went as planned, the resulting "high" would destabilize the Toltec family's grip on Oakland and create the perfect opportunity to save Martha. But there was one critical obstacle, the steel shed itself. Without removing the roof, the toxic fumes would stay trapped inside, useless for Ivan's purposes.
Fortunately, Ivan had come prepared.
He adjusted the holster on his hip, his trusty Webley revolver sitting snugly against his side. The pockets of his navy coat bulged with bullets, and two muttering bone awls hung crossed behind his waist. His shoulder bag clinked faintly with the sound of glass bottles and jars; each filled with a concoction designed to clear the path ahead. Today, Ivan wasn't just a man on a mission. He was a walking arsenal.
The warehouse loomed closer, its shadow swallowing him as he approached. The noise of the dockworkers and the activity outside would mask his movements, for now.
---
Ivan spotted a chair propped against the side of the warehouse and dragged it into position. Climbing onto the chair, he grabbed the edge of the roof and hoisted himself up with practiced ease. The steel structure groaned under his weight, but Ivan moved quickly, testing each step before advancing further.
The corrugated iron sheets that made up the roof were lighter than they looked, each weighing less than 200 kilograms. Perfect for what Ivan had in mind. He grinned to himself as he pried off the first nail and slid his hand against the smooth edge of one panel.
The first sheet came loose with a metallic screech, and Ivan set it aside carefully. From below, none of the guards seemed to notice. The warehouse was minimally guarded, with only a handful of minions scattered around. Most of them were engrossed in a game of blackjack, their laughter echoing faintly over the sound of dice rolling on the floor.
---
One of the minions, a wiry man with a patchy beard, looked up absentmindedly after finishing his drink. He blinked in confusion. A sliver of sunlight had appeared on the warehouse floor, cutting through the shadows. That was strange, this was an indoor space.
He craned his neck upward and froze. A section of the roof was missing, and sunlight poured through the gap like a golden spotlight. His unease grew as he noticed more patches of missing roof panels, leaving only the steel skeleton of the frame behind.
"What the hell…" he muttered. His mind raced. Who would steal the 'roof' of a drug warehouse? There were tens of thousands of dollars worth of drugs here. Why waste time with sheet metal?
His growing discomfort snapped into full-blown panic as a shadow flickered near the pile of sacks filled with drugs. A man had appeared out of nowhere, standing in front of the stash with the calm confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was about to do.
The little leader's hand darted toward his radio, but it was too late. Ivan's smile was already curling into something far more dangerous.