Gambling Opportunities
Sun streamed through the slits of Rinoa's semi-closed blinds. She groaned and turned over from her side to her stomach, shoving her face in her pillow to block the disruptive rays. It shouldn't be long until she fell asleep again. However, chance was not on her side this morning as the phone suddenly rang out. It took her a moment to identify the sound and a heavy, sleep-weighted arm reached out towards the nightstand. She fumbled for the receiver and dropped it on the floor. She picked it up and brought it to her ear, "You're dead." Was her muffled greeting to whoever was on the other end. She wasn't a morning person and the idiot on the other end of the line knew that very well but yet he tested the limits. He always tested her goddamn limits.
"No, I'm feeling quite alive, thank you." Irvine's voice replied from the other side of the city, "The sign is shining, baby. It's a great day for business and you've got a series of rendezvous that I set up for you. Mr. Dincht himself, leader of the Wakasenshi. You want some action, I got you some." Rinoa replied with something incoherent to him, "I have no idea what the Hell you just said. I'm in the industrial district right now … it smells like fish here so have yourself some breakfast, it'll keep you from upchucking bile. I'll be at your place in twenty-two minutes and thirty-six seconds."
"Shove your meetings up your ass." But he had already hung up, "I hate you!" She yelled in the receiver. In fear that the operator would come on and ask her if everything was all right, she hung up and began muttering to herself. She turned over to look at her clock however she was already at the edge of the mattress. Rinoa landed, enveloped in covers, with a thud onto the cold plywood floor. She gave off a moan of pain and finally found some strength to get up.
She went about her usual morning routine, slower than usual due to the lack of sleep she had gotten the previous night. First, she took a shower, dried her hair, applied her make-up, picked out her outfit (navy jeans and a beige, tight hooded sweater with a zipper down the front). Her routine ended with her making herself a cup of black coffee and then the doorbell rang, "You aren't ready yet?" Irvine nagged as he followed her in to the kitchen, "I thought I told you I was coming in twenty two minutes and some odd seconds."
She drank her coffee without the slightest indication that she had been paying attention to his complaints on her speed. "Hello? Did you not hear me? I got you some important meetings and all you can do is make them wait? Come on, move it!" He hustled and clapped his hands, "Let's go, let's go!"
She whined in protest and threw the rest of the coffee down the drain. "I didn't want to do anything today." She proclaimed while getting her coat on, pouting.
"Except wallow in your self-pity? It's a beautiful day; you'll find it'll cheer up your seemingly depressing life. We're going to make money! Don't you love the sound of that? Cha-ching! Bills and bills of-"
"With Dincht?" Rinoa teased, laughing; "Now that's some good humor, Irvine."
"That was rude." He remarked without a smile on his face, "I believe he'd be a good ally. Plus, he assures us more than your hair-brained schemes, Heartilly." The cowboy left the kitchen to go into the living room. She guessed he was now angry with her.
"Have you been reading the dictionary again? Schemes … wallow … self-pity. Since when do you use big words like that Kinneas?" She rolled her eyes, adjusted the collar of her jean jacket so she wouldn't look like Dracula, and trailed behind her companion, "And I never doubted his value but he's not the type of guy you make money with."
"Are you ready?" He asked, his annoyance going in a crescendo.
"Yes, keep your pants on." She chided innocently.
They took the elevator down to the garage where Irvine had parked the same black Lexus GS300. "Got any briefings on the guy? I've never met him before … and actually, I wasn't planning to but you know, since you so gracefully arranged it without my consent." Rinoa asked wearily as she got into the passenger seat, wondering why the hell he always did this to her.
"Yeah, I got it all prepared for Princess." He retorted sarcastically and reached to the back seat to retrieve her a thick brown folder. Irvine backed out of the parking space and drove through the garage expertly. As soon as they were onto the trafficked street, he turned up the radio to what Rinoa called 'nerve-racking music'. Bass was pumped to the max while the lead vocals belted out how he would knock up his girlfriend.
"Great … if she's like Trepe, I don't care how attached he is to her, we're burning her in the central plaza of Deling with the reason that she's a witch." Rinoa replied heartlessly, "Any other things I should be aware of? Any cases of child molestation or rape pinned on this guy? Because if so I am not dealing with him."
Irvine sensed the sarcasm and rolled his eyes, "No, he's a clean guy. Well, minus the illegal activities he's involved in but you know … nothing like that." He gesticulated in the air, dismissing the conversation and turned on Harksin road, into the industrial district. The buildings were older here, their facades infested with rude graffiti stating obscenities. Trash littered the sidewalks and small groups huddled around every street corner, indubitably buying drugs from the local dealers. "We're in a rough part of town." Irvine stated dully as he turned on Fern street and continued east until he reached a dojo, "And here's his front."
"How original." Rinoa droned dryly. She tucked the document she was reading under the passenger seat and got out of the car, "Hey, Irvine … if he isn't involved with Selphie why don't you put your manly charm to good use and start some influencing?"
"Or you could always flirt nicely with Dincht." Irvine suggested casually, "It would solve your deficiency problem and gain you a new ally."
"I am not fooling around with an Asian guy." Rinoa snapped and slammed the car door harder than she should have. She glared at Irvine and approached the dojo. Irvine came up behind her and grabbed her shoulders, "Don't touch me!"
He leaned in a whispered anxiously in her ear, "Ok, that's another thing … he's not Asian. So don't look dumbfounded when you see him."
"No. You are drowning in stereotypes, you know?" Irvine muttered as two Wakasenshi members came out of the dojo to greet them, "Be nice." The cronies were both dressed in black pants. They were both bald with goatees and dark sunglasses. They bowed slightly and Irvine reciprocated. "Konichiwa." He greeted.
The two martial arts masters looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Rinoa bit the inside of her mouth not to laugh. The first man turned to Rinoa, "He has been expecting you." The man motioned for her and Irvine to enter the dojo, "Go up the stairs all the way. You shall find the door."
"Thank you." Rinoa replied, emphasizing her English not for the men, but more for Irvine's sake. She pushed open the door and began climbing the stairs. When they were out of earshot she turned to Irvine and teased, "You've already succeeded in looking like a dumbass." He scowled at her, as she imitated a mystical voice, "You are de-evolving, young grasshopper."
"Aha … ha …" He began laughing monotonously in a sarcastic way, "So funny …"
They climbed the second flight of stairs, then the third, and the forth until there were no more stairs to climb. They walked cautiously down a hallway with a red carpet and walls adorned with golden symbols. The long body of a painted dragon bordered the only door made of layers of rice paper. Rinoa pushed it open.
"Hey, come in and sit." A voice called from within. They advanced steadily to a low table that could have passed as a coffee table. "Just … uh … sit on the cushions." A blond man motioned from the table, "It might look cheap but they're comfortable." He was the most un-Asian man you could come upon. His light blonde hair was spiked up and a tattoo ran down one side of his face. He was wearing a dark pullover and navy cargo pants. He extended his hand, "Nice to meet you. I'm Zell."
Rinoa dropped down onto a cushion and shook his hand, "Hey, I'm Rinoa." Something made her feel already at ease with this man. Something so frank about him, a transparent kind of guy. She had seen this trait in someone before … Squall Leonhart. As soon as she realized this, her guards went up.
Irvine looked down at the cushion and slowly leaned down to position himself accordingly. "I'm Irvine." He decided to lose the Asian greetings and accent. His eyes wandered around the room where katanas and other traditional things decorated the already rich walls. Kanji was painted in gold as borders.
"So, I guess we should talk business, eh?" Zell smiled a big toothy grin. His teeth were perfect; straight and white. "Well, we'll be honest with you … we do need an ally. Conditions will be applied and stuff. Uh … you guys want something to eat? Hotdogs?" He had nothing of an Asian. Nothing at all.
Rinoa seemed to flinch at the proposal for hotdogs instead of dumplings but she casually overlooked it, "No thank you. I'd like to discuss money issues. You deal with drugs … do you import them?"
"Yup, we have to. D.C.P.D. is getting cocky. We've had over thirty raids this month. That means day by day, sources in the city are diminishing and we can't afford the blame that the officials have been placing on us. The safest thing is to import."
"So you're familiar with DeGracia? They run the airports. You have to go by them, am I right?" Rinoa cross-examined.
"Of course. We have to run our supplies by them each time a shipment comes in. They keep quiet and we pay a percentage of the profits to them." Zell explained, "Not a package has been seized yet so it's a method that works. Though it is a bitch. They're a costly bunch of assholes."
Rinoa smiled, "Yeah."
A short girl bounced in the room unexpectedly making Irvine jump up in surprise. Rinoa had no doubts that this was the famous 'Selphie Tilmitt'. "Oh, this is Selphie. She's my partner. Sort of …" Zell pointed to the happy girl.
"Ooh! Guests!" She plopped herself down onto a cushion on Zell's side of the table, "I'm Selphie. I pretty much run this place while this lazy bum whines and complains." Zell muttered something under his breath, "You must be Rinoa, can I call you Rinny?"
Selphie smiled in glee, "Woohoo! This is going to be so simple! I've done my homework, figures! Trepe's allied with DeGracia and that's an obstacle for you. So, here's our little blood oath. You give us protection from the Diabolos, since they don't like us very much, and we'll import drugs for you. It'll be easier since you will have no fear of being caught because of Trepe's manipulation of the airports. Deal? You don't always have to make it so complicated, Zell." She slapped her partner in the back of the head.
"I have a feeling that this is the beginning of a lifelong friendship, Selphie." Rinoa smiled in awe. Nothing had ever been accomplished this fast.
SQUALL'S MORNING HAD proved to be an eventful one. After being awoken by a charming Hispanic goddess, he had taken another trip to the shower and had dressed for the day. His outfit had not differed than the one from the previous day. Diabolos had given a hearty breakfast and had given him his first assignment, "Fail this one, amigo and you'll have to take your bags and leave. Carlos will accompany you."
Carlos had driven him around the district. His job was to retrieve the money from the dealers and head back into the car. Things had gone smoothly. He had headed into the deserted alleyways and salvaged the briefcases filled with green bills that were hidden under dumpsters, debris or simply out in the open. On occasion he had to knock at a metal door in the alley and a thuggish dealer would open, hand over the cash and slam the door back in his face.
The only irregularity that had taken place was when he had bent over to grab case #11, the dealer had ambushed him. The pair had rolled on the ground until Squall had been able to squish the dealer to the floor and punch the daylights out of him. He had gotten up, grabbed the case and kicked the dealer once more in the ribs. After reporting to Carlos, the silent Spaniard had gotten out of the car and extinguished the remaining life of the traitor, "He will not do business for the Diabolos again. Traitors are dealt with accordingly." Carlos told Squall, almost as a warning.
They returned to the warehouse where Diabolos counted out five hundred dollars and handed it to Squall. "You did good, Leonhart, you did good." He tapped him on the shoulder, and reached into the drawer of his desk, "This is a pistol, and a switchblade. Means of protection, you know what I mean? The gun don't have a silencer so you be careful where you shoot it." He reached in for another item and drew out a pager, "My means of communication with you. Always keep an eye on it." He slid the items across the desk, "You're all set. Go down to the corner of Benshire and Mahogany Avenue. I believe these are familiar to you. There will be men waiting for you. They will give you a briefcase. Bring it back to me at all costs."
"No problem." Squall replied confidently, "Where are my wheels?"
Diabolos led him to a garage sector of the warehouse. Many suped-up cars were parked improperly but el Boss pointed to a specific car. It was an old Chevrolet with rust eating away at its steel frame. Squall shrugged and demanded the keys. They were dropped into his open palm and he was back on the street in a matter of seconds. It felt good to be back at the wheel of a car again. He switched it to a radio station and basked into the freedom and music that were at his disposition.
99 red balloons
Floating in the summer sky
Panic bells, it's red alert
There's something here from somewhere else
The war machine, it springs to life
Opens up an eager eye
Focuses it on the sky
As 99 red balloons go by
He swerved out of the district and the scenery got better. There were less homeless around, less graffiti that stained the buildings, and less trash that blew around on the cracked pavement. As he drove to the heart of the city, his thoughts pieced together like a puzzle and became a clearer picture. He slowed down when he turned onto Benshire, watching for Mahogany Avenue. When he found it, he turned into the 'Midnight Music' parking lot. Squall parked, got out, locked his car and started walking to the group of guys in the middle of the lot.
"Hey …" He greeted, unsure of what he was really looking for.
One of the turned, "Hey, I'm Marty. Are you from the Diabolos?" He had a metallic briefcase in one hand.
"Yeah … is that the money?" Squall pointed to the case.
Marty grinned and nodded, "Un huh, some odd thousand bucks. You can count if you want, we got all night." The boys in the back of him laughed as Marty handed over the case. Squall's poker face did not waver.
"No, that's alright. Who owns this turf?" He asked as he looked around Underground Universe, "This is your turf, right?"
"Yeah, it damn well is." Marty smirked, "I'm slightly offended that you don't know who we are. The Syndicate. A little Diabolos like you should know our name."
Marty flinched and then shrugged, "I don't know, man."
"Who's your boss?" Squall continued his interrogation.
"What's with the cross-examination?" Marty demanded to know, slightly annoyed, "Don't piss me off, buddy. Just take that case and be on your way. Next time we see a Diabolos affiliate here, we've been told to shoot the Hell out of him."
"Ok, by who? Just tell me by who?" Squall took a few steps back towards his car.
"Got it? Good." Diabolos greeted and snatched the case away, "Excellent …" He flipped through the money, calculated another five hundred and passed it to Squall, "There you go. You're done for tonight, go have yourself some fun. Be here tomorrow at ten thirty though. No later."
"Can I borrow a car?" Squall asked eagerly, "I can't really go anywhere without a car."
"Steal one, amigo. I don't care. We need all the cars tonight." Diabolos replied, engrossed in his money.
Squall sighed and left the warehouse. He walked four blocks to the rental car shop and paid the clerk seventy dollars to rent a Toyota Corolla '91 that looked as if it had survived a very violent war. Squall told the clerk that he would bring the car back tonight, or at the latest in the morning. He took the keys, thanked the man and drove off into the streets. His first stop was at a fast food restaurant.
The handsome handyman ordered two hotdogs, a large portion of fries and a mega-gulp drink. Enjoying every bite of good deep-fried foods was something he had missed in jail. Next to the sticky macaroni, this was unhealthy heaven. He took the time to watch everything around him: the kids complaining to their mothers, the smell of oil, the dirty, greasy floor and the dirty, greasy men that piled the food on the trays.
As he was casually sipping his coke, a child of about six came up beside him and tugged on his sleeve, "Mister?" Squall looked down with a raised eyebrow, "Do you have two dollars and seventy-eight cents?"
"My brother is at the dojo and told me to get some food but the man said I'm two dollars and seventy-eight cents short so I was wondering if you had two dollars and seventy-eight cents. Do you?" The little girl looked up hopefully at the man.
Squall sighed in defeat and reached in his back pocket for his wallet. He opened it and handed the girl a ten-dollar bill, "Scram." But the six year-old only looked at him with admiration, "What're you looking at me for? Go buy your food."
"Thank you very much, sir." She smiled at him, "You're a very nice man. Like my brother."
"Yeah? Well, that's great." Squall replied absent-mindedly, his eyes now scanning a flock of girls in mini-skirts.
"My brother can't be here right now because he's meeting with important people. They should be gone by the time I get back though. Do you know who Rinoa Heartilly is?" Squall's eyes diverted from the pleasurable scene, back to the child in awe. "Yeah, she's really important! She's who my brother is meeting. She's the leader of The Syndicate, I don't really understand it all. I saw her coming in the dojo, she's really pretty."
Squall chewed nervously on the straw of his drink, "Rinoa Heartilly … with Irvine Kinneas? The Syndicate?" He asked the child but then found it ridiculous that he was questioning a six-year-old on the whereabouts of his ex-girlfriend.
"That's right! Her friend is Irvine Kinneas and that's the thingy they lead … the … Sydney … Cate, thingy!" The girl clapped her hands in excitement at the man's knowledge, "You know a lot!"
"She's with … Irvine Kinneas …" Squall stated numbly, "Do you know if she's with Irvine? Like … you know … like … Barbie and Ken?" He tried to put it in simple language. Once again, he found himself questioning why he was so interested and why he seemed to care. He should be asking if she was still there.
"What do you mean?" The little girl looked back at him, confused.
He felt stupid, so very stupid, "I mean … are they boyfriend and girlfriend?" Had he really asked that question? Or was he hallucinating his obvious lack of intelligence?
The girl put up her hands, "I dunno!" She smiled maliciously then, "Why, do you have a crush?" She had elementary mannerisms, and that was when he realized that he was talking to a six-year-old.
"No. I don't." He replied and turned back to the melamine table. He began sipping his drink once more, trying as hard as possible to ignore the child that was beside him.
"Thank you sir! I'll tell my brother and if he can find you again, you can betcha that he'll give you back the money!" She scampered off to the counter to place her order, leaving Squall to deal with his demons.
"I can't believe you, Rinoa." He thought angrily, chewing on the straw, "You are such a bitch. I can't believe it."
Additional Disclaimer 1: I do not own the song '99 Red Balloons'. It is owned by many different artists but the version I used belongs to Goldfinger.
