Their next assignment was to cause more problems between Algonquin's Italian mafia families and the Russians over in Hove beach. This pleased both men, as it allowed them more finesse. Sniper rifles and car bombs were now options. But it wasn't the weapon choice that worried Rami. The Israeli had woken earlier then needed and hadn't seen any reason to go back to sleep for so short a time. Besides, he had an errand to run before meeting Niko. That was probably why he hadn't slept well.

He sat on a bench, looking out at the sea as a helicopter lifted off a ways from his left. The Statue of Happiness was visible to his right. The day was mostly overcast, but a break in the clouds lit half the famous statue up. Rami remarked on that; the statue of happiness, one half in glorious light, the other in the shadows. He saw himself in that one simple thing. He was one of the most successful operators in the city – perhaps the country – yet, work aside, he had what? A son who went to the grave without respecting his father, an ex wife, who's love Rami had eroded with his profession.

Rami suddenly wondered if that's why he and Niko got on. They both knew sorrow. Niko had become what he was due to unfortunate events, whereas Rami had unfortunate events happen to him because of what he was. The symmetry and irony was darkly beautiful, Rami reflected.

Is this why I work so much? Rami asked inwardly. Do I hide in the very thing that destroyed me?

That's who I am!' Rami heard his memory echo, 'Right or wrong. Rich or poor. Ever since I was a child. Ever since I falsified my age to join the army.

Rami looked down at his hands. When did I get so old? Next he wondered how much blood was on these hands. How many lives have these hands ended?

Rami lit a cigarette. He enjoyed his work, despite the lows. He was good at it – can a man truly be good and killing another?
At the end of the day, does it even matter? We all live, we all die. What choices we make in between are irrelevant. Does my career choice have any impact in the world? Have I killed The Next Hitler? Or have I prematurely ended the life of a man destined to solve world hunger? Some people are doctors, some people are writers, some people strive to make an impact on others' lives – successfully or not – others pursue the paycheck. Dead end jobs, one day to the next. Settling.

Some men terminate the lives of others.

Yeah, sure.

Rami clicked his jaw – a habit he did while contemplating important decisions. With that unaided movement of his mouth, hearing the click! in his ear, he changed gears. He took a long final drag on the cigarette and flicked it nonchalantly into the water, standing and reverting to his usual self. Everyone died, few had their dreams come true. Only in the West did one pursue women, for example, based on appearance. Well, that wasn't actually true, was it? Human nature is human nature.
And there is no greater human nature then the desire to wage war, Rami concluded. No, he was not ashamed of his choices. He did not regret his profession. In that moment he felt closer to Niko, but this was not the time to entertain such emotions. They had a job to do – which reminded Rami Yalon of his errand, one that he was still unsure about. More philosophical men would place their souls and pride on the scales to see which won. Rami saw it – fittingly – more in black and white. Loyalty or selfishness.

Contrary to what people thought, he was not a monster. He'd had a wife and a child, didn't that prove he was capable of love? So should he help an old friend, or work for his own benefit?

He paused and stared out at the sea again, more specifically out towards Broker.

"Fuck it," he said after a second, and headed to his car. Half an hour later he approached the door of a large, expensive house.

Point of no return.

He took a breath and reached out.

Luis Fernando Lopez wanted to talk to someone about the strange phone call. But he couldn't. Armando would likely just rip into him – something that was getting tiresome. He wished the guy would get over his jealousy or whatever the hell it was. Luis had bent over backwards for him, and was he grateful?

Luis shrugged. That was just how Armando was. Since school, he'd always shown his 'love' by making fun of people. At least he couldn't mock me for being skinny any more.

Henrique? No, he didn't have enough on the ball for that kind of conversation. They should hang soon – Henrique came out of his own when Armando wasn't around.

Who did that leave?

Who the hell was this person?

"You gonna work, or stare at the wall?" a voice sounded from behind him. "Hell, you see the girl that just walked in?"
Luis looked up to see Dessie nodding towards a slender girl that walked towards the dance floor. She was wearing a pair of super-skinny jeans, that clung to her toned legs like a wet T-Shirt on Foam Night.

"Alright, easy tiger," Dessie said with a chuckle.

Luis waved him off. This girl was his next conquest. He smiled and turned to the barman to order a 'complimentary' bottle of champagne. So far no girl had resisted that – especially when they found out he ran this place. Hell, it even worked when he was Tony's monkey boy.

"Hey," a subtly playful voice sounded from his left. It was just loud enough to hear, but not loud enough to sound over-enthusiastic.

Luis turned and saw a woman who was probably close to the club's patrons' upper age bracket. She was still attractive though, and ordinarily, Luis wouldn't say no. That girl's culo!

Luis waved at the barman. "Give this girl a drink on the house." He turned to the woman. "Sorry, but I've got to take this bottle over to…" He pointed and walked off.

"That's fine. Michael can wait."

Luis froze. "What did you say?"

The woman smiled politely. "I said we'd meet soon."
Luis motioned for the woman to follow him, but she didn't move. She flashed a naughty smile and motioned him over to her. Luis learned in as the woman whispered: "You've got to put on a little show. Make it look like you're pulling me or… I'm pulling you." She flashed a wink.

Luis smiled, forgetting the mystery and seeing his usual routine. Another conquest. He waved at the barman for two exotic drinks and, him being the boss, received them almost immediately. The woman sipped the drink and smiled.

"That's good."

Luis nodded and set his drink aside. He leaned in, stroking the nape of her neck, and settled his lips just below her ear, his breath causing her to close her eyes in mild pleasure as he spoke. He wondered if the reaction was real or not…

"So what's going on? You phone me, meet what, just to play around?"

"Keep the game going, big boy." She giggled before resting her hand on his chest. "How bout we go somewhere more… exclusive?"
Luis smiled, "This way…"

The Dominican guided the woman from the bar, his hand resting on her buttock – and liking what he felt. If he was to play this game he might as well enjoy it. He offered a little squeeze too, getting a little yelp from her.

A moment later they were in his office, having entered looking like they were about to kiss. The woman kicked the door shut then withdrew. The game was over.

"What was that?" she asked slapping at his hand.

"Hey, you chose the game, don't complain if a player's good at it."

The woman sighed and sat down. "Alright fine. Just so you know, we're not going to have sex."

Luis laughed. "I usually go for…"

"Younger girls?" Kids, she wanted to say.

Luis stared for a minute then shrugged. "Yeah."

The woman shook her head. "Anyway, my name's Karen."

"Good to meet you Karen… I guess."

"And I suppose you want to know what's going on."

"Yeah. How much shit am I in?"

"A bit." Luis realized that this Karen still had her drink. She sipped at it. "Basically, something's going on, and the only person that knows is Michael." She sighed. "I'll start at the beginning:

"It all started in the Middle East. Michael was part of a squad sent to eliminate a group of mercenaries working with the insurgent forces out there. Only thing is one of them talked, and his unit learned some things. What they said I don't know. The mercenaries were all killed. Then, on returning to this country, someone jumped Michael – as you know. Trying to shut him up.

"At the same time my previous employer was killed and I believe that he was killed because he knew something about this. Michael is either a good guy with precious information, or he's a bad guy trying to be eliminated. Unfortunately, with my employer no longer being a link between myself and a once-valuable contact, I am pretty much on the outside. I no longer have access to the information through those two that I did, and I do not want to share this with anyone else, out of concern of…. corruption within my own company."

"That why we done all this charade?" Luis waved his hand at the club.

"Yeah. Sorry. My job's always involved lying to people. I'm ashamed to say, people got hurt." Luis saw regret wash over her face, and he had little doubt of its authenticity.

"So this Michael knows something, that what it's all about?"

"Yeah. I don't know if he's a good guy or a bad guy. The hit on him could have been done by the people who he's found out about, to shut him up, or it could be done by the good guys because he's a bad guy. Either way he's in possession of valuable knowledge."

"So you want to find him to find out what he knows."

"Yeah. I…" The woman sighed and took a large sip of her drink… two large sips. "I was assigned to watch someone. Some nobody from overseas. I wondered why the hell this guy was interesting. Petty crime. Turned out he had links to known big times out in Europe. It got complicated and let's just say I got too close. It didn't end well."

Luis didn't seem to care. "Right, so what you want from me?"

"With the… – yeah, I'd say assassination is the right word – of my employer, my connection with the contact is gone. In other words, I don't have anyone to help me here."

"You mean you want a lackey to run around and do your shit?"

"To be blunt…? Yeah."

"You gonna pay?"

"I can't give you a large paycheck, Luis, no. But I can offer you protection… to some extent. Get yourself picked up for boosting a car, I can get you out a couple of times – don't take the piss though. I can get you some – some – good weapons, cars and information."

Luis's mind cast back to the 72 episodes he was watching. "So now I'm like Judd Parker?"

Karen laughed, but there was a dark undertone to it. "Not quite…. But kind of." She finished off her drink.

"So what you want me to do?"

"Find Michael Klebitz."

"How the hell am I gonna do that? He could be anywhere."

"He's with his brother – used to be in a motorcycle gang."

"Right. Find the biker gang?"

"Maybe he's hiding with them. Maybe they know places he might be. Safehouses, old haunts. That kind of thing."

"If I find him – then what. You want to kill him?"

"God, no. I need him alive. He knows too much."

Luis sighed, not wanting to hear any of this. All I wanted was to get laid…. "What if I say no?"

Karen stared, her eyes sad, as though she expected this but hoped otherwise nonetheless. "I'll be honest with you, I'll have run out of ideas."

"And this is important?"

"Yeah. I don't know what's going on, but something is, and it's big. Michael's the only person who can help, but he doesn't know there's any friendlies out there."

Luis sighed. "Alright, I'll do it, but you gotta tell me where to start. I ain't no detective."

"The Lost Motorcycle Club. The Alderney chapter is disbanded but not the Broker chapter."

"You think they'll help me?" Luis shook his head. "You know what these bikers are like, they hate outsiders. Why would they help me?"

"Use your charm." Karen stood. "Thanks for the drink."

Luis watched her leave and sighed. What the hell…?

"One thing about this city," Rami said into his headset, "is the criminals in it never change. There's always some deal going down." In this case that was a drugs deal between the Russians and some unknown drug ring. It was known that the Pavanos were at odds with the drug dealers, and word on the street had it that they'd placed a price on the drug dealers' heads. The Russians would be, of course, aware of this. Although this one would be more subtle than the last, Rami was confident the Russians would read this with their eyes closed. Petrovic would, Rami told himself.

Niko stared through the rifle's scope, watching the shiny black car roll to a graceful stop. Out stepped the Russian lieutenant. Probably quite high up in Petrovic's hierarchy, Niko thought. He moved with the authority and confidence of a lieutenant. He was quickly flanked by two burley men – one of which had opened the car door for him – and entered the park.

From his abstract perch atop the elevated rail, Niko could see most of the park and, in the distance, the pay n spray that had ended one of his first car chases with the LCPD. Niko resisted the urge to get sentimental, however. After he'd settled in Hove Beach he'd become fond of walking around this park. He knew the layout well – admittedly not hard seeing as it's only a small park. Right now he watched the Russian and his men enter the park. They had guns and the men were looking around.
Niko's rifle rested on the rusted railings of the emergency access walkway that flanked the tracks, a blanket draped over him – Rami's idea – and attached using safety pins to prevent trains' turbulence from sweeping the blanket away. This way no one on board the train would see a gun man, but instead the hunched, blanketed shape of what was likely a homeless person. No one would pay any attention.

The drug dealers had entered the opposite end. Rami had taken position on the roof of an apartment building. Although Niko had selected an excellent position – in terms of angles and elevation – he would also suffer from the trains passing – the reason Rami had not taken such a perch. Whilst a train approached and passed, Niko's aim would no longer remain static or stable.

Niko also had the risky job – another reason why he'd chose the rail as his perch – escape. His first shot would take out the Russian lieutenant and immediately draw attention to himself. Farther shots would only expose himself more, and the Russians, with AK-47s – modified by the looks of it – would undoubtedly open fire rapidly.

Niko could quickly break the line of sight, by running north. There was a few buildings he could jump to, or he could reach the bridge, and if he got that far with no chase he'd be home free.

Rami however was obeying that most American of acronyms, KISS – Keep It Simple, Stupid. He'd parked a Sultan Sport behind the apartment building, accessible only by running out a side door and round the block or, in Rami's case, hopping out of a first floor window, to a carefully placed Dumpster. He'd had a few test runs at his 'escape' and, within two minutes, he'd be half a mile away, courtesy of the Broker Bridge. It would take a minute and a half – give or take a few seconds – for the Russians to reach the apartment building from the park and run round to the back. He'd also set up a nice trap for the Russians at the apartment entrance – consisting of a smoke grenade, a flashbang and a remote detonator. Another Ace that hid up Rami's sleeve was the gun he had. The serial number and identification he'd made no effort to remove. What that meant was the gun was easy to trace – something the Russians would probably do. Rami knew from his time with Kenny that the man had a few skilled trackers. Sooner or later they would trace the gun… to the gun store in Chinatown – next door to Little Italy. He was also using a rifle caliber known to be preferred to a Mario Antonelli, a known Pavano hitman. But none of these 'clues' would shout out at anyone. The Russians would have to do their homework. Then they'd uncover something they'd believe. Rami had had a lot of practice at this. Even his escape route – into Algonquin – would hint at the Italians. If the Russian's managed to chase him they'd lose him in Chinatown or – if they're good – Little Italy. It was there where he'd do his chameleon act. Ditch the car, duck out of sight and re-emerge a different person.

Rami Yalon had not evolved in to one of the best operators by luck alone.

Niko was tracking the Russian as Rami's voice sounded in his ear.

"We have our drug dealers entering the park. How's or Ruskie?"

"I'm on him. He looks like he grooms himself well. His hair is immaculate. Eyebrows look plucked or something." Niko never understood why American women – and men – plucked their eyebrows.

"Nancy boy." Rami completed the jokey exchange. They always seemed to make such observations and joke about them. "I've got our man in my sights. Waiting for your cue."

Niko waited until the deal began. A clichéd suitcase was opened and both sides began talking. Niko waited as a train rumbled by. Then, once his aim had settled he lined the sights up. He took a breath. Routine…

Rami's sights were centered on the drug dealer. The Russian was visible – just about – on the edge of his sights. He saw the man's well groomed head jerk forward with a splash of red. The man dropped and the drug dealer jumped back. The Russian's guns came up, their faces evident of raised voices. The dealer tried to protest his innocence then, as soon as Rami identified on a russian face that look – the change of the eyes when a man decided another would die – he fired. The drug dealer went down.

Niko's second shot caught a Russian in the shoulder. The man fell backwards, spinning, and faceplanted the floor.
The second Russian goon had figured the general direction the shot had come from and opened fire. Niko heard a shot hit the rail ten yards from him. Nowhere near. He centered his sights on the man's head.

Rami's second shot caught one of the drug dealers in the chest. The man was thrown backwards, his body folding in mid air. The remaining drug dealer turned just as a Russian's eye exploded, covering him in a vile red. The man freaked out and ran. Rami let him go, rather turning his fire on the Russians. Attention had to be shifted toward Rami now.

Niko was getting gun fire – from the drug dealers, surprisingly. They were running in his general direction, leaving their vehicles, and ignoring their downed comrades. They were getting close enough that they'd see the shape of a gun man.

Time to leave, Niko decided. He got up and ran, taking his rifle and blanket with him. He left behind nothing.

Rami had gotten off several rapid shots, revealing his position. The Russians saw him and pointed, yelled, and begun shooting.
Rami ducked out of sight and darted for the door – leaving his rifle. He ran down the stairs and took a quick look through the dirty window. He saw the outlines of the Russians through the grime, run out of the park and into the road.

Rami kept running.

Niko didn't think anyone would catch him. He had a direct route to the bridge. The people from the park would have to run round the block, then follow the route of the tracks. He had at least a fifteen second advantage. Maybe as much as twenty. He also carried a couple of weights in a bag on his back. His legs burnt with about twenty kilograms of iron on him, and his back began to tire, but the bridge was in sight. He reached round and tore the bag off his shoulder. As he ran he fixed the bag securely – using zip-ties – to the rifle. He made sure every pocket was sealed so no ammo would escape. He glanced behind him, ensuring that no train was about to mow him down, then crossed the tracks.

Rami slipped out of the window and landed on the dumpster. He heard shouts from the front of the building as he reached his car. He'd pushed the unlock button on the keychain just before he exited the building so now he got in the car straight away. Five seconds later he was accelerating casually – no tire squeal – and slipped into traffic. Another ten seconds later he was ascending the on ramp for Algonquin. He glanced to his right and could just about make out a figure as a man reached the back of the apartment building. These guys were sharp, he told himself.

Niko was now jumping off the tracks onto the walkway on the north side of the bridge. He had intended to drop the gun off on the south side but realized that someone from Broker may see that, so he changed his mind and headed to the north side.
He had to jump, but he managed to hurl the bag and gun over the safety fence on the first go. He didn't wait for the splash though, but ran on. He timed his run right and, as a train passed, ducked across the tracks. He emerged on the central – and busier – walkway unnoticed and slowed to a walk. He took off his gloves and pocketed them. His balaclava that hid his face was also in his pocket.

Rami didn't notice a tail. He was sure he was alone, but stuck to his routine. He parked his car in Chinatown and walked through a busy street and alley into Little Italy. He didn't check for tails – that would tell anyone following him that he knew they were there. Instead he ducked into a building – locking the door behind him, and recovered a hidden package.

Half a minute later he had a new jacket on, and biker pants over his slacks. A motocross helmet was slipped on as were gloves and he exited the front of the building to a bike he'd parked earlier. He was thankful no one had lifted it.

He gunned the engine and sped down the road. A minute and a half later he parked in a car park and disappeared into a subway station. He had another costume change there – taking off his biker jacket, pants and gloves, and stashing them in the helmet. He took his slacks off too – revealing shorts underneath – and took off his zip-up top. Now he was a man, with a T shirt and shorts. He donned a pair of shades, a used a plastic bag – waiting in his pocket – to carry the discarded clothing. The only thing he'd been unable to change was his shoes – he'd worn dark grey tennis shoes in the thought that they looked generic.

Niko had reached Algonquin unhindered. Any chaser would have opened fire. He caught a cab south – to Little Italy. There he entered a building via the back door and emerged out the front in different clothes. It was the same trick as Rami's and now Niko sat in a cab heading to the rendezvous.

Rami's train had taken him to his usual taxi change – then he'd walked the last block to the ULPC unofficial headquarters.

Niko was there before him, waiting for an elevator.

"Timing," Rami said, slapping his hand on Niko's shoulder.

Niko smiled. "Perfection." The two men laughed.

The new boss of United Liberty Paper took the news with a simple nod.

"That leaves the Italians in this round."

"I'm not sure we even need to make a move there," Rami said. "The Russians will find our little trail. They'll suspect the Italians for jumping this. Couple that with the fact the Italians have put a price on the dealers… they haven't even tried to hide it."

"And if the Italians say they didn't do it?" Niko asked.

Their boss nodded. "Rami, you've worked with these guys. Will the Russians believe the Italians if they say they had nothing to do with it?"

Rami screwed his face up. "Petrovic would investigate." He shook his head. "There's no way to prove they did or didn't. We have to be careful here. If the Italians are hit and blame the Russians… they might figure it out. Besides I didn't work with the Pavanos."

"So, do we hit them?"

Rami took a moment and stared out the window. He turned back and gave a sharp, militaristic nod. "Yes. But not in the same manner as the Russians." Rami was quiet for a second. "I know exactly what to do." He outlined his plan to the man across the desk. Afterward, Niko agreed with their boss. They had a go.

Luis sat in the internet café, a milky hazelnut coffee with a dash of caramel and frothy cream and chocolate sprinkles on top. A new Bean Machine had opened next door and a section of the internet café had been knocked through to join the two establishments. He rarely used the internet café but he liked 'his' coffee, and the staff were beginning to know him by face and remember his usual. He'd also managed to sweet-talk the regular girl into a discount.

Today though he felt too paranoid to use his own iFruit laptop, and had elected to use a public one – they can't track that right?
What Luis was doing at the internet café was research. He'd run a search for Johnny Klebitz – it took him four attempts to get the right spelling – and had found some news reports. Most interestingly was an article about the incarceration of one of Johnny's friends.

Luis shut down the computer and stood, dropping his now-empty cup in a bin on the way out.

He flagged down a cab and stepped inside.

Luis rapped the address, and the cab pulled out into traffic.