"Here's the money he owed for the last two months," I said smugly as I passed the bills that old man Kobayashi gave me to Reina.
I leaned back into the chair in front of her desk—damn, this thing was comfy. When I get my own office, I'm getting one even better—top-tier lumbar support for my back for my criminal career.
There was a brief flicker of surprise in her eyes as I handed her the money, but her usual icy expression swiftly covered it.
Interesting. She didn't expect me to come back.
Did she know how dangerous that old man was?
So, it wasn't a job—it was a death sentence wrapped in small talk—a neat way to get rid of someone without blood on her own hands.
So that was her way to take revenge for my earlier disrespect: send the loudmouth rookie on a suicide run.
She definitely didn't get her fearful reputation for nothing.
But would it stop me from being an ass in front of her? Hell no.
"And when you send your goons to collect money from the old man, tell them to use the word 'rent' in front of him," I continued with a smug smile.
What did I see? A flicker of grudging appreciation, unfortunately, it was quickly replaced by her cold expression again.
"You handled it," she said flatly, begrudgingly accepting that I had completed her suicide mission. "Let's hope you can keep up the streak."
Aww, I didn't know that after Felicia, I would meet a second tsundere.
"Here's your reward," she said, passing me a $50 bill from the money I had given her.
My lips twitched as I accepted the money. Even if I knew that I would receive that amount for completing the mission, it still felt weird that a cartel queen gave me a $50 reward.
It felt more like a tip for a barely acceptable service at a high-end restaurant than a payday.
"Since you finished your first job so quickly, you can take on another one," Reina said, her voice like frost.
"Sure, no problem," I replied casually, leaning back.
Reina again paused at my casual, disrespectful tone, but said nothing.
Yeah, I knew what I was doing.
She'd tried to feed me to a shark disguised as a ramen chef, and here I was still talking like I owned the room. Most people would call that suicidal. I call it refusing to bow.
She could play her games. And I would play mine.
Since she didn't kill me directly before, I was stretching to know how far I could go with my attitude.
The brief flicker of appreciation she showed proved she was not wholly unreasonable. As long as I demonstrated my usefulness, I could easily get away with a lot more.
It was similar to how an overachieving student might receive a simple slap on the wrist for something that would result in detention for an underachieving or delinquent student.
But the moment my value dropped? She'd make my death slow enough to be a tourist attraction.
"There's a drunk who's run up a massive tab at the bar. Hasn't paid in months. Collect it. I don't care how," she said.
Huh. Another low-level job, but at least it's a step up from the bully a 'frail old man' assignment.
Wait a second. The drunk accumulated a massive tab in her bar?
"What?" she asked, irritation creeping in as I stared at her.
"How does anyone even have a tab in La Madrina's bar?" I asked, with a special emphasis on the words 'La Madrina'.
I once again felt the killing intent of her four guard dogs. I felt a prickle at the back of my neck, but I didn't look away from Reina.
Her face was unreadable, but it looked like she was contemplating whether to answer me… or order her goons to cut me into pieces and feed the dogs.
Finally, she broke the silence.
Annoyance flickered in her eyes as she explained coldly, "He was useful once, but now he's past his usefulness. He just doesn't realize it."
And she just proved my previous point.
I continued staring at her. That bit sounded like gang drama. I was hooked and leaned in, wanting to know more.
Her eyes narrowed. Did her hand just rest a little closer to the revolver on her desk?
…Probably my imagination. Probably.
"He was a janitor at a local police precinct. It wasn't hard to keep him loyal: some drinks, a little cash, and the illusion of importance," she explained with an irritated expression. "He helped by sometimes passing useful information he overheard while working. But a few months back, he was fired for repeated misconduct."
I nodded in understanding. Such an insider could provide her cartel with valuable information, including shift schedules, the proximity of law enforcement to uncovering definitive evidence against her cartel, and possible raids on her safe houses, among other uses.
"He was arrogant before, but was tolerable since he was useful," Reina said. She gave me a meaningful look as she continued, "Now his access is gone, but his arrogance stayed, still believing he is the cartel's 'man on the inside'."
She just compared me to that guy, didn't she?
"Oh, that's it? And here I thought he was some bigshot," I said, grinning.
She didn't bother replying to that.
I could handle that much arrogance.
"Where can I find him?" I asked.
"No need. It's the weekend—he'll be in the bar soon enough."
"Cool," I said and got up to leave.
But I suddenly stopped as I thought of something.
"What if he doesn't have enough money to collect?" I asked, turning back.
She looked at me, her gaze turned ruthless, "Then collect his life."
A shiver ran down my spine when I heard that. But I still looked nonchalant.
"Sure," I said lightly, and walked out without looking back.
I passed by the corridor guard, the only F3 guard outside.
I gave him a nod, the polite "we're coworkers now" kind. He stared at me with an expressionless face and then turned away after a moment as if I wasn't worth his time.
Well, fuck you, too, asshole.
You are lucky I am scared of you, or I'd be picking your teeth out of my knuckles.
I went downstairs to the ground floor and met the stair guard again.
I remembered how he behaved earlier when we first met, so I decided to reintroduce myself.
"Hey, buddy. Missed me?" I came up beside him, and my arm went around his neck.
"Remove your hand, or I'll break it," he barked, shoving my arm away. "And I am not your buddy."
"Aww, come on. We're colleagues now. That practically makes us buddies," I said, unfazed.
"Colleagues? You're just a runner, chico," the guard sneered. "An errand boy. Know your place."
"Runner? Maybe. But I still went to your boss's office twice today… and you're still here babysitting stairs," I shot back with a grin.
His jaw tightened. He looked ready to explode.
"Relax, Mr. Stair Guard. Violence is prohibited inside, remember?" I said, smirking.
"Enjoy that mouth while you can," he replied, voice low and venomous. "When you're no longer useful, I'll be the one zipping you in the bag."
"You sound jealous. Need me to put in a good word with your boss?" I laughed and walked away smiling.
The guard could only watch me leave with impotent rage burning inside him.
Just because I can't deal with your F3 boss, do you think I can't deal with a little F2 like you?
I slid onto a stool in front of Philip, the bartender.
"Hey, Philip, buddy. Another one of your best orange juices, please," I requested cheerfully.
He looked uncomfortable with our earlier interaction, but still nodded and started pouring me one.
As he slid the glass across the counter, I asked, "Now that we're… associates, do I get a friends-and-family discount?"
He gave me the kind of look you reserve for dog shit on your shoe. "No."
"Cheapskate." I paid, sipped, and leaned back to watch the room.
Now, how to pass the time until the target appears?
I waited for an hour in the bar. I passed the time by having small talks with Philip and whoever else looked bored enough to humor me.
Why do I feel that Philip doesn't like me?
Nah, must be my imagination.
I flicked open the missions tab on my system to check the new mission.
Mission: Tab Closed
Description: Gary Holden still struts around like he's Reina's golden boy. In reality, he's just a washed-up ex-janitor with a bar tab big enough to drown in. The Cartel doesn't run a charity. Get the money, or make sure Gary never drinks again.
Reward: $200, More missions from Reina
Failure Conditions: Gary escapes
Failure Consequences: No more missions from Reina
Finally, the wait was over as I saw a familiar man entering the bar with a swagger as if he owned the whole establishment. I confirmed by matching his face with the photo on my phone that Reina sent me.
Yep. Target acquired.
He looked to be in his mid-40s to early 50s, with a beer belly. He had small, sharp eyes that darted, as if he was constantly watching to see if people were paying attention to him. His receding hairline, styled slick back with obviously coloured hair, screamed desperate instead of professional.
He wore a wrinkled button-up shirt with the top button undone, paired with trousers that had seen better days. His shirt was tucked in poorly, and the belt was worn and cracked. A washed-out jacket. And a possibly fake, oversized watch on his left wrist.
The alcohol and cheap cologne smell hit me like a wave before he even arrived. He came and coincidentally sat beside me, as that was the only stool left unoccupied. The entire way to the bar counter, he had a smug, knowing smirk as if he were in on some big secret.
"Philip, bring me my regular," he ordered in a tone as if Philip worked for him and not for Reina.
Philip gave him a far dirtier look than he gave me when I asked for a discount.
"What the fuck are you looking at me like that for?" Gary roared, louder than the moment called for. "I can have La Madrina throw you out of this job."
Dude, are you fucking serious?
Can't you see all these guards watching you like a pack of wolves debating which limb to start with?
"Nothing, sir," Philip said — the sir edged with a bite. "I'm just worried you still haven't paid your tab."
Gary stiffened like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
"Pay? You want me to pay for these cheap drinks?" He half-sneered, half-yelled. "Do you have any idea how much your boss made because of me? I could drink here every day until I burst, and it still wouldn't come close."
The customers had mixed reactions to Gary's outburst. Some looked bored as if they were used to hearing it. Some looked at him with mock or pity, thinking that with his attitude, his end wasn't far. Others outright ignored him; their own affairs were much more important than a loudmouth's blabber.
Philip took a long, slow breath before turning to mix Gary's drink.
Gary looked satisfied seeing that. Then he turned to look at me.
"What the hell are you watching, kid?" Gary barked, looking defensive about his earlier spectacle.
My mind was in overdrive as I thought of something interesting.
"Sir, I was admiring your greatness," I said, looking like a teen who had just met his idol for the first time. "You must be La Madrina's close confidant, even part of her core circle."
My enthusiasm took Gary aback. He felt a little embarrassed being praised by a fan with stars in his eyes. The bark in his voice faltered, replaced by a faint flush of pride.
"You have good eyes, kid. You understood my greatness by only watching me once," Gary guffawed as he slapped my shoulder.
"I'm not worthy of such praise, sir. I'm just lucky to be in the same room as a man like you," I said humbly, stroking his ego.
Gary was practically starved for his past recognition and was filled with soul-crushing insecurity. For him, my praise was like finding an oasis in the desert.
"Heh… kid, you've got a good head on your shoulders," he said, swelling with pride. "Not many these days remember the old days — or the men who made 'em happen."
As he said that, he looked to Philip with a smug smile, as if saying, "See? This is how you people should treat me."
"Sir, since this is our first meeting, let me honor you by buying your drink. It's the least I can do for a man of your standing," I said with deference. Admiration was practically overflowing from my eyes.
Without waiting for his reply, I passed a crisp 100$ note to Philip.
The bartender froze for a moment, giving me a "Have you lost your mind?" look.
I only smirked at his expression, which immediately switched to pure admiration once I turned back to Gary.
A flicker of greed crossed Gary's face before he smothered it under a prideful grin.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Philip passed Gary his drink. Gary took it with an arrogant smirk and sipped like free booze was his birthright.
Seriously, dude? Not even a thanks to the one who bought the drink?
Why is this bar filled with rude mutherfuckers?
"Sir," I said, letting a touch of hesitation creep in. "If I may be presumptuous, can I make a request?"
His mood soured instantly—guess he liked collecting favors, not handing them out.
"What?" Gary snapped, his tone bordering on irritation.
I immediately shrank back a little, my shoulders curling, head ducking just enough to sell the act.
"S-sir, I've always admired La Madrina. Since I first heard her name, I've wanted nothing more than to be one of her loyal soldiers," I said, my tone bordering on fanaticism.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Philips, who gave me a disgusted look, hearing that.
Well, fuck you, too, Philip.
I continued to flatter him, "Sir, as La Madrina's trusted lieutenant, I am sure your counsel is something she takes seriously."
His face immediately softened with the praise; he looked like he was remembering the good old days.
And to be fair, it wasn't a lie—back when he was an insider in the precinct, she did take his words seriously. Of course, the only respect she had for him was the kind a cartel boss had for an informant… which was to say, none that mattered.
"Sir," I said, pulling him from his reverie, "would you consider putting in a good word for me with La Madrina? Coming from you, it would mean a lot."
"Naturally," Gary said with a smirk, leaning back like a king on his throne. "One word from me, and you'll be set for life."
"Then… will you?" I asked him with big, hopeful eyes.
"I can," Gary said, drawing it out, his smirk making it clear that he was enjoying it. "But what's in it for me?"
"Please, sir. I'll owe you more than I can repay," I begged, eyes wide like he was my last hope.
"Oh? Then how do you plan to repay me?" Greed flashed in his eyes.
"I–" I started, then stopped, letting the pause hang. My gaze darted around the room. Gary followed my eyes, noticing the stares.
I leaned in and lowered my voice. "Sir… this isn't the place. Too many ears. We should talk somewhere you trust."
He thought for a moment and then gave a curt nod.
He stood up and started walking towards the exit. I waited for a beat and started following behind him, maintaining a respectful distance.
I looked back at Philip. He gave me a hateful glare. His hand hovered under the counter, fingers twitching like he was deciding whether I was worth a bullet.
I smirked and gave him a two-finger salute, and then turned around and followed behind Gary.
I could feel that the guards were all glancing at us, or precisely me, with killing intent.
The stair guard met my eyes, dragged a thumb across his throat, and grinned. I smiled and just waved him goodbye.
Another guard, the one who had taken me to Reina's office earlier, gave me a long, cold look before heading upstairs, probably to tattle to Reina.
However, none of them attempted to stop us, and we left the establishment peacefully.
We arrived at the parking lot.
"Kid, you know how to drive?" Gary asked, not wanting to drive when he had a free chauffeur at his disposal.
Drive? I am at a level that is unattainable in your life.
"Of course, sir. I will not give you a chance to complain," I said.
Gary nodded and threw the car keys towards me. I caught them easily, even if the aim was way off.
We both slipped in, and I started the engine. The car was at least a decade old, coughing as if it already resented the idea of moving, with black smoke emanating from the exhaust.
I wondered if this heap of junk would keel over halfway down the road.
Miraculously, we reached our destination without having to call a tow truck—or a priest.
Gary's apartment block was stained with decades of grime and faded graffiti, with too many gang signs overlapping each other. It squatted between an old, rundown laundromat and a building with a storefront sign that read, "Easy Credit Services – Cash When You Need It Most".
Easy Credit? Yeah, sure, but at interest rates that'd make the Devil blush.
We climbed to the second floor of the apartment building, and Gary entered the second flat.
The one-bedroom reeked of stale beer and cheap noodles. A sagging couch faced warped blinds, and the carpet was a patchwork of old stains. A small fridge sat beside a single bed with sheets that hadn't seen a wash in at least a year. A small cupboard stood beside it. In one corner stood a study table and a chair with a computer—the old kind with a bulky CRT monitor.
Who the hell still used those ancient relics?
I stood out like a good, obedient follower waiting for the big boss to call me in.
While he was not looking, I pulled out a pair of white gloves from my pocket and put them on.
Gary turned around and looked at me, a superior gazing at a junior.
"Not many have the opportunity to come to my home," Gary said arrogantly. His skin must be too thick if he could call this dump his home with a straight face.
"Yes, sir. Absolutely. It is my pleasure," I said humbly. My feet were still outside his doorway, respectfully.
"Come inside," he said. Then his attention turned to my hands.
"When did you wear the gloves?" Gary asked suspiciously.
I came inside and answered without stuttering, "It was because I didn't want to dirty Sir's abode with my hands, so I wore gloves."
He still looked suspicious, but didn't want to break his character of La Madrina's close confidant, so he just nodded.
Gary sat in the chair, looking at me like a CEO would look at a low-level employee.
"So, tell me… what exactly can you offer that makes you worth recommending to La Madrina?" Gary asked arrogantly with his chin tilted up.
"Sir, I have saved up some money. Please accept it." I pulled out a wad of mixed bills—about $1,500—and placed it in his hand.
Cash like this couldn't sit in a bank; wrong kind of money for that. Only the payment from my taxi job was deposited into the account. The rest stayed stashed at home or on me. Usually, I carried far less, but for the Newark trip, I'd brought over two grand, just in case.
Gary's eyes popped out of his sockets as he saw the wad of mixed bills. He took it and counted in disbelief.
I pretended to ignore his disbelief and said, "Of course, I know this is little money for a man of your stature. But it's all I have for now. I promise, the rest of my savings will find their way to you soon."
He gulped, greed flashing in his eyes at the promise of more.
"O-of course, such little money is of no importance to me," he said, trying to force arrogance back into his voice. "At my position in the cartel, this is less than pocket change."
I nodded along as if I believed him.
Gary suddenly thought of something as his focus snapped to me, suspicion creeping back into his tone.
"If you can save that kind of money at your age… why bother with the cartel?" He asked, his eyes sharpened.
I smiled like he'd caught me. "You're right," I said, then leaned in and continued with a greedy expression, "But sir, you, of all people, must know how much a good position in a cartel pays. And really—who doesn't want more?"
His eyes softened. He nodded subconsciously. His suspicion faded.
Greed understood greed.
"Of course," I added smoothly, "once I'm in a good position, I won't forget who opened the door for me. With your permission, I'd pay you a regular tribute."
The suspicion mostly left from his eyes; what was left was only greed.
"You are a good kid," he said, voice tinged with sentiment. "If only everyone were as grateful as you."
"Sir, some people are nothing but ingrates and parasites — always taking, never giving. They're not worth your concern," I said, my tone sharp and unwavering.
"Thanks, kid," Gary said, genuine warmth in his voice. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you get a good position in the cartel."
"Thank you, sir. I'll forever be in your debt," I declared with emotion.
Gary looked pleased with the attention.
But he frowned as my expression shifted from gratitude to hesitant unease.
"What happened?" He asked.
"A-actually, sir… I heard something." I faltered, then shook my head quickly. "No, it's nothing."
Gary's frown deepened. He said in a deep voice, "Tell me what happened."
"It's just… a few haters talking nonsense. Nothing worth your concern," I said, trying to dismiss it.
"Tell me," Gary pressed, irritation creeping into his tone.
"They're just lesser people, jealous of your achievements," I tried again. "You shouldn't waste your time on them."
"You are no one to tell me what to do. Now speak. What did they say?" Gary snapped.
"Sir, please… don't make me repeat it. It's disrespectful, and saying it aloud would feel like I'm insulting you myself." I lowered my gaze, voice heavy with reluctance. "How could I do that to my benefactor?"
Gary's jaw clenched, but he drew in a deep breath. My reasoning gave him pause.
"You don't have to feel guilty," he said, calmer now. "It wasn't you who said it. I won't take offense. I permit you — tell me."
"Ok, sir, if you say so," I said reluctantly. Gary nodded to show his agreement.
My expression shifted, disdain curling my lips.
"You're nothing but the precinct's mop boy who got paid in piss-water to sweep floors and wag your tail for scraps, and now you're just a bloated drunk leeching off Reina's bar — a bottom-feeding nobody who's never been worth more than the dirt on his mop."
Every word dripped with venom.
Gary's face darkened instantly, anger flaring in his eyes.
In the next instant, my expression shifted to one of meekness and guilt. "That's what they said," I murmured innocently, head lowered like a scolded child before a teacher.
His expression softened as he said, "No, don't feel guilty. It wasn't you who said it."
"Thank you, sir, for your understanding," I said, relieved.
His expression darkened again. "Hmph. They think they're better than me? Once I give Reina the secret I've found, I'll be above all those haters — and I'll send them six feet under."
He jabbed a finger at me. "And when that happens, I won't forget my promise to you."
"I'm honored, sir," I said with admiration and gratitude. "And I'm sure those nay-sayers won't be around much longer."
Gary nodded, pleased with my flattery.
Then I showed a curious expression. "Sir, if you're keeping this secret under wraps, I'm sure it's something worth the effort," I said, keeping my tone casual but curious.
"Of course, it is," Gary replied with a smug grin.
He leaned back. "At first, I thought I'd feel her out, see what La Madrina's stance was. But now? I'll sell it to her directly—let those bastards know there are some people you don't mess with."
I gave an approving nod. "Excellent plan, sir."
Gary showed a pleased smile.
"Only thing…" I hesitated, as if reluctant to voice it.
"What?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
"A secret so big—will she take your word for it?" I asked, looking genuinely concerned for him.
Gary chuckled with a hint of pride. "No one in this business takes things at face value. I've got evidence—enough to prove every word."
"As expected," I said with a small smile, like I was relieved. Then, feigning sudden realisation, I added, "Wait… did I mess up your plan by showing up today?"
"I was going to talk to her today, yes," Gary admitted.
My expression dropped. "Shit—"
He waved it off. "It's fine. I'll do it tomorrow."
I looked relieved.
The next breath, my expression changed again.
"At least now your swagger earlier makes sense," I said as if simply stating a fact.
"What?" Gary frowned, the meaning taking a moment to sink in. Then his face darkened. "What did you—"
His rant ended abruptly when my right hook smashed into his temple, dropping him cold.
"Shit, that was tiring," I muttered, rolling my shoulder.
My plan had been simple: wait for Gary to leave the bar, follow him home, and demand payment. If he had enough, I'd take it; if not, I'd take his life. Reina probably preferred the latter as well.
But his behaviour in the bar didn't fit. No matter how stuck in the past he was, that level of arrogance was off. Earlier, I'd spoken with regulars—people who knew him. Sure, he'd always been arrogant, but not that arrogant.
Then there was that smug expression that practically screamed, "I know something you don't."
So, I had no choice but to change my plans to satisfy my curiosity.
I started searching for the evidence. Since he wanted to talk to her today, he should have had it. But it must be hidden somewhere and not easily accessible.
I took off his jacket and started searching. Nothing was in the pockets. I searched for any inner seams. Nothing. I patted it everywhere, but still didn't find anything.
I took off his watch and checked it for any hidden mechanisms. None.
Next, I took off his belt. I checked the belt buckle. And bingo. There was a concealed buckle compartment. I opened it and found a pen drive inside.
I didn't rush to check the contents of the pen drive.
I tore a few pieces of cloth from the bedsheet, tied Gary's limbs to the chair, and gagged his mouth.
I went to the computer, first yanking out the network cable, and then turned it on.
And it asked me for a password. Of course, Gary would keep it password-protected.
Now, how to get it from him? Should I wake him up and torture the password out of him?
I put that idea on hold and first looked around the room for any kind of note that hinted at the password.
There was nothing on the desk or in the drawers. I pulled out the entire drawer to check if Gary had stuck something on the other side. Nothing. Inside each drawer space, I reached in and touched the walls and the underside, but still found nothing.
The fridge? Nothing other than stale food. The bed? Just stains that I didn't want to investigate. The wall? Nope.
Next was the cupboard. I checked it thoroughly, but other than smelly cloths, nothing else was inside.
As I touched its inner walls, I found a hidden compartment.
Unfortunately, there was no password inside either, only his hidden stash of a few thousand dollars, which I pocketed directly after verifying that it was safe to take.
In the end, I decided to ask Gary for his password politely. But before I could bitch-slap him awake, I thought of something.
I went back to the computer desk and turned the keyboard upside down. And there it was, a sticky note, with "ReinasMyBitch" written on it.
I looked back at Gary's unconscious form.
A man's allowed to dream, I guess. No matter how absurd it may be.
I entered the text on the password screen, and bingo, I was in.
Now… let's see what's so special about this pen drive.
For the next hour, I combed through every file on the pen drive. Calling it a "secret" didn't do it justice.
The big one? The new captain of Gary's old precinct — the one appointed just a few months back — was the Iron Serpent MC's bitch.
The Iron Serpent Motorcycle Club was a biker gang, and like Reina's Cartel, one of the three rulers of the Newark underworld.
The pen drive held enough dirt to put the captain away for life — and bury the key where sunlight never reached.
Not only was there evidence against him, but also against many other corrupt cops, not only from the same precinct, but also from other nearby precincts. The evidence against them was not conclusive, but it was still enough to warrant separate investigations against each.
It could be a significant blow to Reina as the cops in her backyard were under her rival's payroll.
Not only that, there was evidence that the captain was setting up a task force to simultaneously raid many of the cartel's safe houses, warehouses, and other operations. If it were successful, it would be a big blow to her.
Pull that off, and the captain would become a hero on paper, paving the way for future promotion, while the biker gang would waltz in to claim the turf. Win-win for both.
"Mmmh—"
The noise snapped me back. It looked like Gary was finally coming out of dreamland.
I double-checked the computer but didn't find anything other than a copy of the pen drive's contents. I pulled out the pendrive and formatted the computer.
By then, Gary was already conscious, glaring at me with pure hatred.
"Thanks, man. You were a great host," I said, picking up the pen resting on the desk.
"Allow me to give you some advice, as a token of gratitude," I added calmly, removing the pen cap.
Gary screamed, but the gag muffled it. He struggled against his bindings, but I had tied them tightly.
"In your next life, remember this," I said.
His eyes widened as he realized what was coming. The fierceness drained from his gaze, replaced by fear and betrayal.
As I approached, he shook his head frantically, pleading with his eyes. He thrashed in desperation, but the bindings held firm.
I gave him one last look—then drove the pen into his temple.
His body convulsed, then went still.
"Never let a stranger into your house."