Dante was drinking lightly; he didn't like getting intoxicated with alcohol, especially considering the situations he frequently found himself in.
"Drink up, cowboys," said a beautiful waitress attending to Dante's friends while they tried to find a woman who might join them as they drank.
"Still nothing, Lloyd?" Dante asked, looking at the older man, who seemed more asleep than awake.
"At my age, I'm lucky if I get any attention from the cows. If I don't pay, I won't have any fun tonight," Lloyd grumbled, feeling bitter about being rejected more times than he cared to admit.
Everyone fell silent because, at times, they weren't much better than old Lloyd. They all had paid for company at some point, and it wasn't exactly frowned upon.
Dante found Lloyd's delivery a bit amusing, but at that moment, a man in a suit approached him and whispered, "Boss, Crocodile is looking for you."
"Is it important?" Dante didn't want to leave his friends to tend to business.
"I'm afraid it is."
Dante forced a smile, stood up, looked at Rip beside him, and said, "I'll be right back. I think Beth might join us later."
"All right," Rip replied while paying attention to the man singing on stage.
As Dante walked away, he asked, "What's going on with my sister?"
"Um, she's fine. Except for a little spat with Mrs. Glass and some women earlier."
If it had been serious, Dante would have been notified. But now, it seemed the matter was worse than he had imagined, which is why he was being called.
When they reached an elevator, the bodyguard pressed the basement button, and they descended to the vault below the pub.
"What's the situation?"
"A man hit one of the waitresses. Crocodile dealt with him, but we accidentally discovered the man has a bigger background than we thought. They're waiting for your decision."
Dante frowned as the elevator doors opened.
"Let me go! I told you everything!"
Crocodile, spotting Dante, walked over and said, "Boss, we're lucky you're here."
"What's going on now?" Dante knew some things were unavoidable, but today seemed like terrible timing.
In the center of the vault stood a heavily tattooed man who had been beaten.
"This idiot tried to force himself on the waitresses. When they refused and asked him to leave, he hit them with a glass bottle."
"Are they okay?"
"Injured but recovering. They're strong women."
Dante approached the tattooed man, removed his jacket, took off his watch, and put on a pair of gloves. "All right, then. Tell me, what decision needs my involvement to deal with this pathetic scum?"
"He claims to be one of the eyes of a cartel called the Twelve Monkeys…"
"And that's supposed to concern us?" Dante asked, his tone colder than usual due to his anger.
If the man before him was someone they needed to be cautious of, Dante couldn't imagine the cartel's power.
This man had sealed his fate by troubling the Sons of Anarchy. But for caution's sake, Crocodile wanted to discuss it further with Dante, who thought little of it.
"In New York, several gangs have been attacked by the Twelve Monkeys. Many were wiped out in the worst ways. They could easily be considered a terrorist group."
Any ordinary person understood what terrorists meant—something Dante never wanted to get involved with.
"Damn bastard…" If this was a terrorist and the feds were onto him, it would bring Dante more trouble than he cared to handle.
Not only would his pub be investigated, but so would all his employees—many of whom were former soldiers dishonorably discharged due to unavoidable issues.
If they were thoroughly investigated, the consequences could cripple his business operations.
"Do you know his name?"
"He hasn't said a word, other than that he belongs to the Twelve Monkeys." Crocodile hadn't been able to gather much about the tattooed man.
"All right, sir, share your name." Dante grabbed the man's chin, forcing his face upward, and looked him in the eye. "I'm a very impatient man, so you'd better tell me why you came all the way from New York to Montana to cause me trouble."
"My name is Raúl, and you seem to be the boss of these people, whom I know very well… The Sons of Anarchy. You refused to sell us weapons."
Dante, who had been calm, clenched his fists and asked, "Who sent you?"
"I only have a message for the Sons of Anarchy: you'd better sell the weapons the Twelve Monkeys are requesting by the end of the month, or we'll attack your organization."
Bang!
Before Raúl could spout more nonsense, Dante punched him in the mouth. Moments later, a knife pierced Raúl's leg.
"AAAAHHH!"
"Sorry, I won't do that again," Dante muttered, receiving a gun from Crocodile and watching Raúl from afar.
"You'll regret this…"
"Regret what? As far as I know, you're just a messenger who came here to threaten me. Someone sent you, and that person knows the pubs named The Umbral belong to the Sons of Anarchy."
Raúl seemed confused, as if he had missed something before coming here.
"I'm just a messenger…"
"Don't interrupt me!"
Raúl was about to explain more about the Twelve Monkeys when Dante's angry shout cut him off.
"Do you know who you're talking to? Of course, you don't. But we know who we're talking to. You're Dominican, crossed into this country as an immigrant, and spent the last ten years of your life working here."
Having received Raúl's information from Julia, Dante set aside the tablet and said, "Fortunately, no one's looking for you. So to me, you're just an unlucky bastard."
"You…" Raúl realized things shouldn't have turned out this way.
"You've entered my kingdom, and unfortunately for you, you won't leave it. You now know my face, and I know your information. I even know where your parents are. So be honest with me."
Dante paused and asked, "Why focus on destroying gangs?"
"I don't know…"
"Hmm, you're as pale as milk, and they've targeted several black gangs. I'm no fortune-teller, but I can guess the roots of this Twelve Monkeys organization. And do you know what I think? I think the Jiménez cartel is behind this, trying to take me out because of the territory they've lost to my organization."
Raúl seemed to be just a messenger, but anyone working for a criminal organization knew more than they let on, which was what Dante hoped to uncover.
"Will you kill me?"
"You people want my weapons. The Twelve Monkeys—or whatever the hell you call yourselves—sent you to die without telling you. But I'll avenge you, so tell me, where are they located?" Dante wanted to know where the Twelve Monkeys were hiding.
"I can't…"
"You'll die, Raúl. What's left to lose by taking revenge on those who used you?" Dante's cold voice whispered to the trembling, heavy-breathing man.
Raúl closed his eyes, thought of his parents, whom he hadn't seen in years, and murmured, "1675 Industrial Way, Brooklyn…"
The address was in a typical industrial area of Brooklyn, known for old factories and warehouses, some abandoned or repurposed.
When Dante heard the location, he didn't hesitate. Raúl died without uttering another word.
"Clean up this mess. Also, find out if that place is real or, worse, a damn trap." Dante, wanting to stay out of trouble, found himself entangled in something far more significant—an entirely unexpected ordeal.