Top of the Fifth Inning It had been roughly two weeks since the three men from the drug cartel Los Eses had arrived in f.u.kuoka. They were selling their smuggled drugs well. The plan was going smoothly.
“...So anyway, is there any better containers for this stuff?”
Ocho complained as they walked down a street in Tenjin with the guitar cases strapped over their shoulders. Inside the cases were not guitars. Uno had guns, Ocho had rifles, and Treinta had blades; each a weapon of their choice. They had heard this city had an abundance of hitmen, so they carried out weapons on their person, but Ocho did not take a liking to using these cases.
“We have no other option. This is j.a.pan. As if we could walk around with rifle cases.”
“But do we really have to use guitar cases?”
“Then write your name on the case. Or else you"ll confuse which one is yours.”
Ocho scowled at him. “But we look like an Antonio Banderas mariachi band.”
“So our band name is the Trio los Eses.”
Uno cracked a joke, but Ocho shot back, “that"s so lame.”
“You haven"t stopped complaining once.” Uno sighed. “We have to use something so we don"t look like drug dealers.”
“We already look awfully suspicious.”
The three multinational men wore sungla.s.ses and had guitar cases in hand. There was no way there would not stand out even among the many other foreigners in f.u.kuoka. There were some pa.s.serby who looked back to examine them.
“Hey, they"re looking at us. Smile.” Uno jabbed Ocho with his elbow. “Pretend to be a cheerful guitarist.”
“Do-mo, kon-nichi-wa~.”
The one pa.s.serby was taken aback and ran off when Ocho gave him a smile and spoke broken j.a.panese.
“Tch, he ran. That f.u.c.ker.”
“Don"t let it bother you,” Uno patted Ocho"s shoulder. “The j.a.panese are shy.”
“My wife is not.”
They hurried to their destination as they chatted. After they had walked for a while, they saw the Tenjin west street come into view. It was crowded with ma.s.ses of young people.
Treinta had been silent the whole time. He was not talkative like Ocho, but today he had not said a single word.
“¿Qué pasa, Treinta? ¿Qué tienes?”
“Tengo hambre.”
“He"s been doing nothing but puking his guts out. Of course he would be famished.” Uno smiled wryly.
Each time they took the fishing boat to transport their goods, Treinta would get sea sick.
“He has to do things at his own pace.” Ocho remarked. “Anyway, how about we go get something to eat? Maybe sushi. We"ve been here in f.u.kuoka for some time now, and yet we haven"t had any real j.a.panese food.”
“We"re to meet up with someone at the restaurant we"re going to today. We can eat there.”
Uno told them as they took a corner. They arrived at a central American restaurant located off the west street in a small alley.
“...This is Mexican food.”
Ocho made a displeased face when he saw the restaurant"s sign and menu.
“They have Colombian food too. And Peruvian cuisine.”
“The variety isn"t the issue. Where is the j.a.panese food?”
Uno entered the restaurant, bringing in Ocho, muttering complaints all the while, and the starved Treinta.
The Central American cuisine restaurant Moreno was fairly large. It had numerous tables, counter seats and booths set up inside. The restaurant"s background music was Latino music they heard often in their home country, and it looked like customers could enjoy a show while having their meal. Currently a central American guitarist was about to begin a live performance.
The person they were going to meet with was already there. He was at a table further inside. He was a j.a.panese man named Yakuin and their a.s.sistant for their current plan. He was well-informed about the drugs in f.u.kuoka and had connections with multiple drug organizations in the city. They were introduced to him by the Chinese dealers they were hired by at the moment. They were told to ask this man about drug dealers in f.u.kuoka.
“You"re Yakuin?”
The man nodded. “Yeah, I am.”
“I"m Uno. This is Ocho and Treinta.”
They made introductions and shook hands.
“Nice to meet you. Want anything to drink?”
“I"ll have a beer.” Uno said.
“I"ll have tequila.” Ocho added.
“...”
Yakuin asked Treinta, who stared at the menu in silence. “And how about you?”
“...”
“Ah, sorry. He doesn"t understand j.a.panese.”
Uno ordered a drink for him in his place. They ordered their food as they listened to the live music the guitarist was playing.
After a few minutes, their food was brought to them. Once the salad hors d"oeuvres, tacos, quesadillas, and pozole were laid out on the table, they raised their gla.s.ses and toasted.
Treinta frowned as he put the food in his mouth and muttered. “¿Qué es esto? ¿Comida de cerdo?” (What is this? Food for pigs?)
“What was that?” Yakuin tilted his head. He then turned to look at Uno"s face. “What did he say?”
“This restaurant"s tacos are superb.” Uno replied.
“So what do you want from me?”
Yakuin turned the topic to work as they consumed the beer and ate their food.
Uno stated their business. “We would like your help.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“We"re thinking of starting up a marijuana business in f.u.kuoka.”
Yakuin"s eyes turn wide. “Marijuana?”
“Yeah. The era for marijuana is coming.” Uno explained resolutely.
The movement to legalize marijuana was occurring throughout the world, beginning in America in Washington State and Colorado. And so the drug cartels in Mexico began to put effort into the marijuana business.
Cartels of today were dealing merchandise from Mexico, Colombia, and Jamaica that were geared towards America. They vied over bringing in the goods to America by either crossing over the border via truck, carry them over the Caribbean on a ship, or transport them on a Cessna plane. But with one of the states legalizing marijuana, it had not only increased the demand for it but the supply had also rapidly increased. If someone wanted it, it was easy to obtain it. So now there would be more clients desiring high quality material.
“But it"s not like we can earn the same amount of profits in another place.” Ocho cut in.
Treinta, unable to understand j.a.panese, did not partic.i.p.ate in the discussion and quietly ate his food. “Este chorizo, si está bien.” (This chorizo is pretty good.)
While other cartels sold off Central American marijuana cheap, the marketplace was trying to sell rarer, higher quality Australian brands. And that was what Los Eses were after.
“Australian products? That seems good.” Yakuin murmured.
There were other advantages to sell Australian goods. In the case the movement for marijuana legalization moved to Asia, the circulation route for Australian branded merchandise would be Los Eses" solely. It would be a prior investment, so to speak. They wanted to create the foundations. And for that to happen, they needed a point of distribution - a city that could act as their base of operations like Veracruz was for them in Mexico.
And so, the Los Eses turned their attention towards f.u.kuoka. If they obtained f.u.kuoka city, which was called the entrance to Asia with it being nearby other countries, many routes would be open to them. If they brought the goods made in Australia to f.u.kuoka, they could then distribute it to Korea, China, North Korea, and the Eurasia continent. And if they went through Tokyo, they could even smuggle merchandise from Hawaii to America. If they send their products to Hokkaido, then they could do business in Russia via the Sea of Okhotsk.
Operating out of f.u.kuoka, from producing the drugs to selling and distribution - in short, creating the f.u.kuoka cartel was Los Eses" plan.
“We"re currently selling to some Chinese men.”
For the past couple of days, they had contacted a Chinese dealer group, and they became their patronage to sell Los Eses" products.
“But they"re just a group of ten people. We need a larger organization who"d a.s.sist us.”
“Quiero algo dulce.” (I want something sweet.)
Uno continued with the discussion, ignoring Treinta.
“We heard there"s some yakuza dealing drugs in f.u.kuoka called the Noma Group.”
“I suppose the Noma Group has been the most active.” Yakuin remarked. “There was the Mutagawa Group that sold drugs and weapons, but the executives and their members were killed recently, and now they aren"t that big. A Hong Kong organization called Showan tried to move to f.u.kuoka as well, but they dispersed a few months ago.”
Yakuin, a current seller, had credibility on the topic.
“So you"re saying you want me to refer you guys to the Noma Group.”
Put frankly, that was what they wanted, but there was one issue which made the request not so straightforward.
“...As troubling as it is,” Uno looked reluctant. “Apparently the Chinese group we employed is having a dispute with the Noma Group.”
“Ah, I see.”
“We asked the Chinese group to distribute our products in Nakasu. But apparently that was the Noma Group"s turf, and one Chinese guy got killed.”
“¿Cuál comeré? ¿Helado de coco or gelatine de mango?” (What should I get? Coconut ice cream or mango jelly?)
“The Chinese group went into a frenzy, and now they"re attacking members from the Noma Group.”
Yakuin crossed his arms and groaned.
“That is definitely a problem.”
“Yeah, they"re causing us a lot of issues.”
Ocho chimed in while downing his third gla.s.s of tequila.
“Yeah, I guess they would be.” Yakuin placed a hand against his chin and thought on what to do. “Then you have no other option but to break away from the Chinese and team up with the Noma Group. The Noma Group has connections in the NLD and OBD. They bribe them for intel. If you"re going to do business in this city, having them as an ally would be to your benefit.”
“Same guys everywhere, no matter what police division they are in.” The former corrupt cop Ocho laughed.
Gaining the a.s.sistance of the local mafia to do business with other countries would be conventional for drug cartels. It was unique the Noma Group had the advantage of having friends in the police.
“The problem would be how to get the Noma Group on board.”
“What should we do, Uno?” Ocho asked.
“I have an idea. If we use the Chinese men as bait, they should take it.” Uno smirked. “Now with that decided, let"s get right to it. Yakuin, please contact someone at the Noma Group.”
Bottom of the Fifth Inning Pressured by the DEA agent Ricardo, Martinez ended up being forced to enter the drug industry. He was not enthusiastic about it, but he had to do the job well since he had accepted the conditions. First he made an appointment over the phone and got permission to discuss business with the head of the Noma Group, Kishihara.
Kishihara"s office was in west Nakasu. It was on the second floor of a building along the river, which had a sign hung in the front that read, “Noma Commercial Affairs.” Several stern looking men greeted Martinez as he arrived at the office on time. They brought him to Kishihara"s personal room further inside, and Martinez stepped in. When he did, his eyes widened in shock.
A tall man stood right beside Kishihara. He wore an unsettling outfit, consisting of a pure black suit similar to funeral clothes and a Niwaka mask that covered his face.
Martinez recognized who the man was immediately.
Hold on a sec, that"s Banba.
His eyes met with Banba"s through the mask. He could not give an over-familiar greeting like, “hey Banba! What are you doing here?” Martinez nonchalantly averted his gaze and pretended he was a stranger. Banba must have wanted that as well.
“Thank you for the other day, Kishiharsan.” Martinez sat down on the reception chair to face Kishihara and forced a smile. “You have a unique bodyguard working for you.”
“So what do you want?”
Kishihara ignored Martinez"s comment and went straight to business. Martinez was grateful. He wanted to hurry up with this conversation and leave as soon as possible.
“I have an earnest request.”
“A request?”
“I would like to distribute your products.”
Kishihara gave him a dubious look at his sudden request. As he expected, he was weary.
If he got suspected, that was the end. Martinez made a blatant smile to discern his aim. “Being a torturer isn"t very profitable. I was considering to start a new occupation.”
“So you want to be our dealer?”
“Yes.” He looked the man over and added. “You said it earlier, right? That you"d use my services again. Then why not hire me? I have quite a few clients in the underground, and I think I can do good work.”
Ksihihara fell silent.
The silence persisted. Martinez got nervous, wondering if he had said something wrong. How could he avoid being found out that a DEA agent instigated this? Martinez awaited, nearly praying for Kishihara to speak.
After a few moments, Kishihara smirked.
“...Fine.”
Martinez sighed in relief internally. Thank G.o.d, he didn"t suspect me.
“We mainly deal stimulants and narcotics. We just got another load of stimulants in. How much would you like?”
Martinez proceeded with the conversation as according to Ricardo"s plan.
“Alright...How does three hundred thousand worth in yen sound to start out?”
“Sounds good.” Kishihara glanced to the clock hung on the wall and stated.
“Go to the second floor of the multistory parking lot in Nakasu an hour from now. My subordinates are waiting there.”
“Okay.”
After giving a smirk towards Banba out of Kishihara"s sight, Martinez headed out of the room.
After he had left the Noma Group office, Martinez wandered around the area for a few minutes. Once he confirmed no one was following him, he went over to a nearby coin parking lot. A black car was parked in one of the s.p.a.ces. He saw Ricardo in the driver"s seat.
“How did it go?”
Ricardo questioned Martinez as he got into the pa.s.senger"s seat in a low voice.
“It went well,” Martinez gave a large sigh after he answered him. “Man, I broke a sweat from that.”
I"m unusually nervous. I got this stressed out just for carrying out one drug deal. Undercover agents have it rough, he thought keenly.
“I did as you asked. I ordered three hundred thousand worth of the stuff.”
“Alright, that"s good.”
“What about the money for it?”
“I"ll pay for it.” Ricardo took out a stack of bills from the dashboard.
Martinez made a sound of surprise when he saw that.
“Paying with your own money? The DEA sure pays well.”
“Don"t be stupid. It"s just expenses.”
“There"s no receipt for it.”
Martinez smiled as he took the ten thousand yen bills.
Ricardo drove to the multistory parking lot in Nakasu as Kishihara had instructed with Martinez accompanying him in the pa.s.senger"s seat. He parked alongside the road nearby. The deal would take place at 9:30 this evening. They decided to wait here until the appointed time came.
“...We got nothing to do. Shall we have some small talk?”
“Shut up and be quiet,” Ricardo instantly turned down Martinez"s suggestion.
He faced the man sitting in the pa.s.senger"s seat and pointed a finger to his face.
“Listen up. I"ll tell you frankly. I"ve hated your guts for a long time, and I have no intention of becoming friends with you. You can just shut your trap and follow my orders.”
He snapped, irritated, but the other easily brushed his comment aside. “You"re no fun,” Martinez replied cheerfully.
Ricardo scowled. He leaned back against his seat and glared at Martinez. He despised this side of him. He regularly looked composed and cracked jokes. His speech and conduct were to make fun of people, and that always annoyed him.
But they still had twenty minutes to go. They had nothing to do as he said. He could not stand spending time with this man in a small s.p.a.ce of the vehicle in complete silence.
“...Hey,” Ricardo spoke up first. “Why do you work as a torturer?”
Martinez laughed, “so you are going to turn to small talk.” After Ricardo glared at him once more, Martinez shrugged and began his tale, face turning serious. “After I got a new ID from the CIA and arrived in f.u.kuoka City, I lived in a cheap apartment in Oyaf.u.kou. Other illegal immigrants hung out there, and everyone lived there for a set of circ.u.mstances like me. And then an Asian man I knew gave me a job. It was to torture a certain man. Since then I continued doing the same work and by the time I realized it that was my steady occupation.”
Ricardo c.o.c.ked his head. “I can"t understand you. You hated how the cartel did things, and that"s why you fled over here, right?”
Didn"t you come to hate murdering people and ran away from the underground world to start a new life?
Martinez nodded in response, “yeah, I did.”
He only grew more confused. Then, why? “Did you not consider trying to do an honest job?”
“I did.” Martinez promptly replied. “I actually did give it a shot, and I still do it on occasion.”
That reminds me, he mentioned that he works as a chiropractor when I first encountered him here. So that wasn"t a lie?
Martinez then added. “However, I"ve lived killing people since I was sixteen. It"s far too late for me to pull out of this industry.”
“That"s just an excuse.” Ricardo snorted. “Just by relocating from Veracruz to f.u.kuoka didn"t change a single thing you do. You"re still a horrid criminal.”
“That may be true,” the other man had a bitter smile at Ricardo"s harsh critique.
“But I have changed in some ways. I"m not a hitman anymore. I don"t have to kill people.”
“But a torturer is similar.”
“I concur.” Martinez did not agree. “The biggest taboo for a torturer to commit is to easily kill their target. It"s fundamentally different from a hitman.”
Torture was a process to keep someone alive. To extend their life as much as possible. It was necessary to take the body into consideration to avoid killing them or making them pa.s.s out. The former Veracruz Executioner talked at length about that.
“And so, a torturer has to be kind, loving, and a gentleman.”
“But in the end you kill your targets, don"t you?”
“Yeah,” Martinez nodded. “Naturally depending on the client"s request, there are time when I have to kill someone. But the thing is most of those guys are villains to begin with. I choose jobs that don"t involve innocent citizens like I got in the past.”
‘But I have changed in some ways."
Ricardo thought over on what Martinez said. It was true. This man had changed quite a bit. And not just his looks but internally as well.
When he was in the cartel he was bloodthirsty and harder to get close to than now. He was said to be a cold-blooded. The executioner Alex would shoot his target in the head or heart to instantly kill them without a trace of hesitation, and he was feared by everyone around him to be a heartless killer.
But what if that was inaccurate? What if this man"s merciless methods were actually his form of kindness by letting his targets pa.s.s without pain?
He instantly did not know how to pin the hitman Alex. Even though he had changed his name to José Martinez now, Ricardo was still unable to get an idea on this man"s true nature.
So is he a good guy? Or a bad guy? Was he always a good guy? Or is he just pretending to be a good guy?
He did not know. He grew more confused. And yet it was puzzling.
It did not change the fact that this man was a criminal. As such, he had no way of knowing when he would betray him. He could not trust him. Even as he told himself this, some part of him was glad to have him as an ally.
Ricardo still felt the same emotions he did in the Veracruz hotel nine years ago - that this man would help him. Alex had that appeal to him even back then. He had the durability to pull himself out of situations and put down others" chances. That was why Don Ramiro had always had this dependable man at his side. He acknowledged his ability out of everyone else, and needed Alex to return alive in the battles with other opposing organizations in the city than the other members in the cartel.
“Even as I say that, I can"t become a good person now.” Martinez said as though to himself, his eyes having a far off look. “So at least I wanted to become a good bad guy.”
When he glanced at the clock, he saw that twenty minutes had gone by. The appointed time was drawing near.
“...It"s about time.” Martinez opened the pa.s.senger seat door. “I"m going.”
Ricardo stated while still facing forward. “Don"t screw up.”
“Can"t you give something more encouraging? Like, ‘good luck," or ‘be careful?"”
“Once it"s over, come back here. Got it?” Ricardo ignored Martinez"s reb.u.t.tal and emphasized once more. “Don"t run away.”
“I got it. Alright then, see you later.”
Martinez took off, waving one hand.
As he turned a corner the three-story parking lot came into view. Martinez headed inside and went up to the second floor. There was a black van parked on the second floor further in. Two men wearing suits stood next to the vehicle.
“Hey,” Martinez greeted as he approached them. “You guys work for Kishiharsan?”
“Yes.” The man nodded. “You"re the new dealer, right? We heard about you.”
They took out a case from the backseat and opened it up.
“Here is the merchandise.”
Inside were small vinyl bags with white powder in them. They were stimulants.
“Want a sample?”
“No, thanks.” Martinez shook his head. “I have faith in your boss. Besides, I hate drugs. I refuse to take stimulants on principle.”
“What a good mental fort.i.tude to have. Having drug addicts as dealers are the worst for us to deal with.”
“Here, the payment as promised.”
Martinez handed over the money he received from Ricardo. “Check it.”
The man nodded after counting the banknotes. “Three hundred thousand yen as expected.”
“Then the transaction is complete.”
The man went to give Martinez the bag of fine powder from the case. But suddenly, they heard the sound of an engine. When they spun around, they saw black shapes. There were two motorcycles speeding towards them. The lights blinded them, hindering their sight. Martinez tightly closed his eyes and stepped back.
“Who are you!?” He heard one of the Noma Group"s men shout.
Martinez held out a hand to block the light and looked around. There were two people on each motorcycle, a total of four. The men wore solid black clothes with full face helmets and were closing in on them. Martinez caught sight of one of the men on the back seat holding a gun.
“c.r.a.p, run-”
Martinez yelled and instantly went into motion. Immediately after, a gunshot went off. He heard someone groan, and the man who got shot fell to the ground.
“s.h.i.t!”
Another man from the Noma Group clicked his tongue. He was firing back at the enemy, using the car door as a shield. Gunshots, m.u.f.fled from the suppressor, continued to go off in succession.
“...Come on, are you serious?”
Martinez tutted at the abrupt shoot out. What on earth is going on? This took a sudden turn of events, d.a.m.n. I"m unlucky.
At this rate, I"ll get shot too. I need to hide somewhere. Martinez rounded behind a pillar in the parking garage to avoid the bullets.
After a few minutes, the gunshots ceased. The other man must have been killed.
Martinez was the only one left.
“We know you"re there,” a voice, thick with a Chinese accent, called out to him.
“Come out.”
This isn"t good, Martinez tutted again. There were four armed men. And he was unarmed.
I have to call for help. Martinez reached for his right leg.
Ten minutes had pa.s.sed since Martinez went to the exchange point. He should have just went in, gave them the money, and took the drugs. But he seemed to be taking a long time.
Did something happen? Ricardo c.o.c.ked his head in thought when an alarm went off suddenly in his car. It was an alarm from his tablet equipped with a GPS. For this function to activate meant Martinez forcibly removed the ankle bracelet.
Ricardo"s breath caught in his throat.
“...That f.u.c.ker!” Ricardo cursed.
That man used the three hundred thousand yen as war funds and may be planning to fly away somewhere.
As if I"d let that happen. I won"t let him get away.
The mark on the GPS stood still over the multistory parking lot. Ricardo turned on the car and stomped onto the acceleration pedal and sped towards the parking lot. He rushed inside without taking a parking ticket. He ignored the siren that went off and kept going.
Once he reached the second floor, he saw figures there. There were five people. Martinez was among them. He was surrounded by four men wearing helmets, and they were pointing guns at him.
What is this?
Ricardo"s eyes widened at the scene.
What the h.e.l.l is going on?
Who were these people and why were they pointing guns at Martinez? He was unable to comprehend the situation in the moment. However, Ricardo was able to see that Martinez did not betray him or attempt to run away. And that right now he had gotten into trouble.
Martinez was unarmed. He held his hands up in surrender. He could be shot at at any moment. So there was only one action Ricardo could take.
Ricardo floored it, speeding towards the men in front of him. After hitting two of the men out of the four, he slammed on the brakes.
The men that got hit flew back; one collided against the wall of the parking garage, while the other had struck against another parked car. Because they wore full-face helmets, their lives were spared. Ricardo could hear them shouting, “hurry!” and “run for it!” The four men quickly got onto the motorcycles and fled from the scene.
Ricardo got out of the car and rushed over to Martinez. “Alex!”
“...Hey,” he raised one hand up. “You saved me, Rico.”
“What the h.e.l.l was that?” Ricardo looked around the area and asked. “What happened here?”
There were two men in suits he thought were from the Noma Group lying on the ground near them. They seemed to have been shot by the other men earlier, as they were bleeding from their chest or head.
“Who were they?”
“Don"t know.” Martinez grimaced. “Those guys left with the money and the drugs. They targeted us right from the start.”
According to Martinez, they had been attacked in the middle of the trade. They were either a group of thieves after money from villains, or they were an opposing organization that came to interfere with the Noma Group"s business. Martinez got caught up in the attack and was nearly killed.
“I thought if I did this you"d come in to help.”
He broke the GPS device with his ridiculous strength to summon Ricardo as fast as possible.
“...I thought you ran for it.” Ricardo sighed. He panicked when the alarm went off.
“As if I would.” Martinez smiled wryly as he handed back the plastic pieces of the device and cord. “I"m sorry I had to break this. Give me a new one. You have a spare, right?”
Ricardo did have one. But it was apparent he did not need it. Ricardo shook his head. “I ran out of them.”
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Translation: Kaede726
Reposts are prohibited and should be exclusive to Kaede726 on blogger.
Editor: Voissane
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