ANGEL
They wait a few hours more to let the sun set. It is a few days past full moon, but plenty of light is left in the waning gibbous. Dutch is less than pleased about their visibility.
"On a night like this, the V.C would see coming us a mile out," Dutch says. "We're going to full blackout conditions, Benny."
Benny shuts the door to the comms room and tightens it from the inside while Dutch starts deactivating the ship's sources of illumination.
Revy snatches the cigarette from Rock's mouth and extinguishes it in her beer can. "Pay attention, dumbass. No lights."
Rock's mind is elsewhere. Eda's intel proved correct. Their new rush job had come from Nuevo Laredo. They wanted to land their men and weapons in Roanapur without making a lot of noise.
Dutch sets the engines low, taking advantage of the low tide to roll out into the bay without a sound. It becomes too quiet inside the cabin.
"Something feels off," Revy says. "Are you sure Balalaika is cool with this?"
"She's been told," Dutch says. "As long as we handle this right, it'll all be copacetic."
The unspoken consequence of her approval is that if the crew fumbles their job, they have no promises of protection. Rock thinks Dutch is justified in his caution, waiting until they are out of sight of the port to get up to speed. Benny keeps the boat on track to their destination: a cargo ship out of Lazaro Cardenas, Mexico. The ship is destined for Bangkok, but its route has come inexplicably close to Roanapur.
"We're expecting thirteen passengers," Dutch reminds them once they see the cargo ship's running lights out at sea. "Get them settled as quick as possible."
Rock climbs up on deck to send light signals to the crew of the cargo ship. The massive craft keeps her speed low, and a rope net is lowered over the side to the Lagoon. It is obvious that the crew of the cargo ship is not new to this procedure, given the speed with which the net is set up. Almost immediately after Rock secures the net to the cleats of the boat, men in black start climbing down the hull of the much taller vessel. Stepping back and counting the men, Rock figures that there are two groups of six, plus their commander. Thirteen, all in army caps and balaclavas save for the commander who wears his mask with a beret.
"Bienvenido a bordo," Rock says, using his Spanish. "Allow me to show you your quarters."
They pass through the cabin on the way to the hold. Dutch and Revy nod to the commander as they pass through.
"El Capitan," Rock introduces Dutch.
The commander pulls off his cap and balaclava. He is young but his head is shaved bald. He smiles at Dutch and then at Revy.
"Encantado de conocerte," he says, looking towards her.
Revy tenses up. "What did he just say?"
Rock takes liberty with his translation. "He is pleased to meet you both."
The dozen men adjust to their quarters below without complaint. The leader remains standing while the others begin to unpack their weapons. They seem to be using standardized military hardware, but Rock does not know the names of any guns besides the ones in the Lagoon's gunnery locker.
The commander introduces himself once he feels the ship pick up speed.
"My men call me Teniente," he says. "You may call me Angel."
Rock asks about the journey over and discovers a lot about smuggling and sea travel, but any time he asks questions about the mission, the lieutenant stonewalls him with a knowing smile. As they get closer to Roanapur, the smile disappears, and Angel pulls his face covering and his beret back on. Can he know his proximity to the battlefield by instinct? Rock thinks it more likely that Angel is the kind of person who does their research and knows how long the trip takes.
The force of twelve is split into groups of six, and Rock watches as the lieutenant inspects their equipment. Now that Sister Eda expects intel on a regular basis from him, Rock pays attention to the little details, even if he doesn't know their significance. One man on each team has a scope attached to their rifle, and another has some kind of submachine-gun slung around their back in addition to their rifle.
"Do you have any recommendations for an armero?" Angel asks. "My team may need some special work."
Rock does not know of many gunsmiths in town, but he does have secondhand experience with one. Revy approves of him, at least.
"Ask Lobos about old Praiyachat," he says. "I have an associate that speaks highly of him."
"That Chinese girl with the two guns, right?" Angels says.
"What makes you think that?" Rock asks, curious.
"Your captain doesn't care enough about customization to even change the grips on his revolver." Angel gestures under each arm. "Now, la china, those pistols of hers had a strange balance just sitting in her holsters. They're heavily modified."
"Very impressive," Rock says.
"I am a professional," Angel says. "This is part of my job."
Dutch informs Rock through his radio that they are about to dock. Rock keys his transmitter twice to confirm that he's heard.
"What do you do on this ship?" Angel asks. "I know you already have a navigator, even if he keeps his door closed. If the girlis your main shooter, that means you're the odd one out."
"I'm just an assistant," Rock says. "I do whatever needs to be done."
"You don't shoot?" Angel looks him over, incredulity apparent even through his mask. "Why don't you have a gun, man?"
It is a question that Rock gets all the time. The answer has changed over the years in Roanapur. At first, he refused the concept of violence, but he has learned a few hard lessons since then. His rationale for being unarmed is twisted and self-contradictory, but there is one basic precept that anyone can agree with.
"There are some problems in Roanapur that can't be solved with a gun," Rock says. He feels the corner of his lips lifting.
Angel shrugs. "Fair enough. But you might want to rethink that. In a time of true conflict, you can't rely on others to keep you safe. Well, unless you prefer to let your woman do all the killing for you."
The way he says 'your woman' feels like a slight against Rock. Strangely, he feels himself respond to it with anger. This is the first man since Chang to irritate him on such a deep level.
Dutch interrupts any possible retort from him by calling him again on the radio.
"They need me on deck," Rock says. "Best of luck with your business in Roanapur."
He turns to leave but Angel has the last word. "Luck has nothing to do with it, mister."
As they dock, Lobos is already there with a few SUVs waiting for the men. When he sees the armed soldiers march past him, he starts complaining in Spanish.
"I said covert. Why are you all in black? My God, teniente, everyone will know you're in town by morning."
Angel stops by Lobos and doffs his beret. "Don't worry yourself, Mr. Lobos. Grupo Equis will be done before sunrise."
After the soldiers drive off, Lobos paces back and forth outside the warehouse. He obviously had been expecting more time for diplomacy, but overseas leadership has overruled him again. Rock watches from the second floor and is reminded of life back in Japan and its sense of uncontrollable frustration and dread. The endless tiers of management. Every tyrant with another tyrant over them.
"Looks like another of Lobos' plans has gone to shit," Revy says, peeking over his shoulder.
Rock turns from the window. Revy looks unconcerned, even though her life is also on the line tonight. If done incorrectly, a premeditated attack would draw Balalaika's rage, and a fire would sweep through to burn anyone associated with it.
They are left alone in the office during the operation. Dutch and Benny are manning the ship, just in case somebody is willing to pay top dollar for an evacuation. Rock is in the warehouse office to answer the phones and manage any potential fallout. Revy is there to keep him safe. When he cannot stomach watching Lobos for any longer, he sinks into the sofa.
"It'll be like a walk in the park for the Mexicans," Revy says. "There's less than fifty Colombians left in town, and they don't have a single real gunman in the bunch."
"The soldiers we picked up did seem well-equipped," Rock says, trying to seem casual. "What were they carrying?"
"You really wanna know?" She looks surprised. "You never gave a shit before."
Rock shrugs. He needs to start learning somewhere. She leans against the wall, looking up at the ceiling to remember what she saw.
"At the minimum, each guy had a G3," Revy says. "It's a German gun. We used to have one on the ship, before you went batshit and threw it when that chopper showed up."
Rock faintly recalls having lost control and throwing a rifle when he first joined the crew. "Oh, yeah. I guess I still owe Dutch for that."
"Whatever. G3s are kinda cheap for a rifle and the design is old for this kind of high-speed commando shit. It uses 7.62 bullets when even the Russians use something smaller. You can't go full auto and still hit things with that amount of kick."
"Is that why a few of those men had the smaller guns?" Rock asks.
"Yeah, those are MP5s, one of the mini kinds," she says. "I bet those guys kick doors down and spray everything like they're Schwarzenegger."
"Why don't you take a machinegun then?" Rock asks.
"I like to aim," Revy says. "And two guns instead of one means I can shoot twice as many fuckers at once. When I need to go full-auto or long range, I'll pick up the gun for that."
She had taught him about the firepower they kept on the ship so he could fetch them for her, but he had never asked about more. Her explanations come naturally, but they are helpful. The way she shares her own reasoning makes Rock understand a little more about the world of firearms.
"Thanks for that," he says.
"It's just the basics, jeez," she replies, looking out the window.
He lights another cigarette, debating if he should tell her what has just come to his mind.
"You know, I think you'd make a good teacher," Rock says.
Then he sees her anger building before she speaks, her defenses being constructed. Her shoulders tense up, her head goes a little lower.
"A teacher? Are you shittin' me?"
"I'm serious," he says. "I wouldn't know anything if it wasn't for you."
"That's only 'cause you're so goddamn clueless." Her voice is less hard now.
Rock knows her struggle. Anything positive seems fake to her, but even light criticism seems like a direct challenge. Instinct and reflex are the tools of her survival, and someone 'acting nice' is a sign of danger. Rock can see the struggle playing out on her, the tension increasing along her back. She has had enough of his attention, and finally steps back from the window.
"Fuck, I'm out of smokes," she says. "Gotta go around the corner for more. Keep the door locked while I'm gone."
"Wait," Rock says. "Dutch keeps cartons of his own around, and I have a few..."
She shakes her head. "It's not like we're out at sea. I ain't gonna settle for yours."
He goes up to the window to watch her as she heads towards the little store on the corner, just a man behind bulletproof glass that sells night-time necessities like cigarettes and condoms. It is a few minutes down the beachfront, and Rock can see her as she continues on. Her head is on a swivel, and she looks ready to draw at any moment. She must feel something in the muggy air.
The phone rings. Rock does not believe it at first. There is no reason for a call this late unless something has gone wrong. He crosses the room to the phone, his hand hovering over the set. It rings a second time before he answers.
"Lagoon Company." It is his automatic response.
"Hey, Rock, is Revy in the room? Am I on speakerphone?" Eda's voice is in his ear.
"No," he says. "She stepped out."
"Good. I hear that some men in black just arrived in town. Do you have anything to add?"
Rock looks over his shoulder. He is nervous. This isn't what he was expecting things to be like. He thought he would be using secret codes and spy techniques, not getting cold-called at his office.
"Um," Rock starts weakly, but he finds his words. "Thirteen soldiers, all in the same uniform. Led by a man in his twenties."
"Good. Tell me their equipment."
"G3 rifles," Rock says. "And... mini-MP5s."
"No grenades?" Eda sounds like she expected more firepower. "Okay. Tell me more about the commander."
Rock can still remember him vividly. "His men called him teniente, but he said his name was Angel. His men seemed disciplined, and he caused no friction with Revy or Dutch."
Rock hears the sound of papers being flipped through. He wonders if Eda is checking his intel against her own.
"Alright, Rock, that works for me. I'll let you in on a little information as a reward: The men you just smuggled are deserters from the Mexican army. Not only that, they're from G.A.F.E, the special forces. The cartel offered them a better paycheck and they took it."
"Special forces?" Rock asks.
His first experience with Nuevo Laredo had been their poorly organized attempts to recapture Jane and her counterfeiting gear. They did not seem like the type of gang to keep special forces soldiers around.
"Group X is made up of deserters, but they had plenty of international training courtesy of the USA before they flew the coop. Angel leads the twelve men you saw as part of their 'foreign' team. That's where the X comes from. Extranjero."
Rock looks to the door. Revy will be back soon. He needs to jump ahead to the important part.
"Is this satisfactory?" Rock asks.
Eda chuckles. "Oh, I'm a long way from satisfied. But you're on that stairway to heaven, all right. Keep me posted."
She hangs up before he does. He settles the handset down into its dock. This is the second time Rock has broken Dutch's rule on confidentiality. It gets easier with practice.
When he unlocks the door for Revy, she already has one of her Lucky Strikes burning.
"Fuck, it's quiet out there," she says. "I guess word spreads quick."
Their warehouse is in a neutral section of the city, just like the Yellow Flag. The whole warehouse block belongs to no gang in particular, but the area borders a few different zones, including Hotel Moscow's side of the city. The locals who saw the jeeps headed north to Colombian territory probably called their friends, and now everyone would be behind their shutters or hiding in their bathtubs, praying that a stray bullet would not find them.
The shooting starts soon after Revy's return. At first it is just a few random pops, but it turns into bursts of automatic fire. It sounds like war. Rock looks to the clock and tries to time the different phases of the conflict. Revy notices his stare by the second minute.
"You can't rely on the clock," she says. "When you're in a gunfight, the only timer you have is your heart."
"Then how can you tell how long the fighting goes on?" Rock asks.
"The sun," she says. "You'll feel the sun change. Why do you think cowboys always had their duels at high noon?
Rock hears an explosion. The shooting stops for a few seconds, and then the guns start up again. Revy's having fun listening by the window. She must be able to visualize the conflict from the sounds themselves.
"That's too quiet for it to be the Mexicans raiding," she tells him. "It's the Colombians shooting their little Mac-10s like bullets grow on trees."
Another explosion happens. A few sharp cracks follow it almost immediately.
"Those louder sounds are rifles," she says. "Our guys aren't the average bunch of banditos."
"Do you think they have military experience?" Rock asks. He wants to test her intuition.
"Dunno," she says. "Uniforms are really just fucking Halloween costumes without experience. Sometimes gangsters like to play dress up and pretend they're the shit."
Rock gets up to pour himself coffee. He does not know how much longer the fighting will continue and he wants to be alert. He cannot bring himself to sit down afterwards, either. He paces back and forth on the cheap carpet, walking a straight line to the phone and then back to the couch. Revy watches him for a while before saying anything.
"Jeez, man, I was wrong, you're not on downers," she says. "You're tweaking harder than a biker."
What was he so worried about? Rock freezes, his cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His heart pounds in his chest, the one timer he can trust. Something is going wrong in his body.
When he stands still, his body continues surging with the impulse to move. When he paces, his tiredness overwhelms him and he needs to stop. The fluorescent lights of the office are too bright, their glare hurting his eyes even after he squeezes them shut.
"Sit down," Revy says. "God fucking dammit, just sit down."
Rock feels the sweat pouring into his clothes, even though the room is cold. His head spins with thoughts of the House of God in the hills above Roanapur and the oaths he has broken and the betrayals that lie in his future. The gunfire continues in the distance, a reminder that the changes he seeks in the city will only ever come from the barrel of a gun..
This is not the kind of gamble he has made in the past. He had bought into Eda's poker game with his own soul. He is not sure he will ever be allowed to cash out.
Revy pulls him by his collar and he follows, unable to keep up with what is happening. She pushes him and he tumbles onto the sofa.
"Stay down," she commands. "And no more fucking coffee."
Rock watches her above him. There is a look of pity on her face. It reminds him of when he first joined the crew, and she could not decide whether to coddle him or terrorize him.
"What the hell happened to you?" she murmurs. "What could you even be worried about? The queso commandos have this in the bag."
He tries to smoke but his breathing is too shallow. She snatches his cigarette and stubs it out.
"Don't fucking sweat it, baby," Revy says. "You've got my guns. What's going to get you?"
The phone rings. Rock tries to sit up, but Revy places a hand on his chest and forces him back down. The press of her fingertips stings him.
"I'm doing your job now," she says. "Just be a good boy and take your nap."
She answers the phone. "What's up?". After a few moments Rock hears her pressing buttons on the phone. It sounds random. She curses a few times.
"Hey, Rock, how the fuck do you do a conference call? Chang and Balalaika want to talk to Dutch on the boat phone."
Once he gets up and gets Dutch added to their call, he has a pretty good idea of what is going on.
"Abrego and his boys are done in Roanapur," Chang says. "I would have preferred this to happen without the shooting, but that's beside the point now. This opens up a serious concern."
Balalaika's voice comes in next. "Our Colombian friends are attempting to back out of several ongoing deals and escape the city with goods that have already been paid for. If Abrego succeeds, it will set a bad precedent."
"Indeed," Dutch's voice is low in quality, coming from a cellphone on the ship. "The Lagoon Company will be more than willing to discuss the terms of a repossession contract."
Abrego is trying to take his last shipment of cocaine and make a break for it, weaving in and out of territories to make it difficult for anyone to chase him without getting into a fight. The Lagoon company is neutral and has the reputation needed to remain unbothered in any neighborhood.
Dutch finishes his negotiations and then calls the office back.
"We're receiving a base fee of 20 large and 15% of the value of the goods we repossess. Let's get started. Remember, we're not hitmen. We're asking Abrego nicely first."
"Closest thing this town has to police," Revy says. "That's fucking sad as shit if you think about it."
Rock knows what she means. The city's police are so corrupt that they are practically a criminal faction in their own right. If Watsap's cops took the cocaine, they would probably end up selling it back to the gangs at inflated prices.
"Rock, you're our radioman at base," Dutch says. "Revy, get downstairs and mount up. Benny will drive us. Take a few grenades from our stash, too. I have a feeling Abrego might try to make a last stand like he's in the temple at Hue City."
Revy looks guilty. She has been waiting for some action, but it means leaving Rock alone in his moment of weakness. "You'll be fine," she says. "No more fucking coffee. Keep the lights off. I'll be back soon."
He follows her instructions, more to convince himself than anything. In the gloom, he feels better. The board is changing, at least. Nuevo Laredo's gains in territory will make it powerful enough to be on the city's Commission alongside the Italians. That would open up new possibilities with Hotel Moscow. He needs more information to see how.
The phone rings again. Rock hesitates for a moment before answering.
"I know you're home alone," Eda says.
"How?"
"Normally, I would give you some bullshit answer like 'God sees all things', but I'll give it to you straight: We have an eye in the in the sky above Roanapur right now. Nothing fancy, just a surplus Pioneer with a camera on it."
Eda speaks as if it is nothing to have a remotely operated plane at her command. She literally has a view from the heavens, tracking all things moving in the night.
"You want God's perspective?" she asks. "Here it is: Abrego and all of his soldiers are hiding out in Marta's Fish Depot, right down the beach from you. All his coke fit in one truck, so he left the others empty."
"The Rip-off Church could take the drugs for themselves right now while everyone else chases decoys," Rock says. "Why tell me?"
"It would be a minor inconvenience if I let that cocaine return to the Americas," Eda says. "Make sure it stays on this side of the Pacific, won't you?"
The line goes dead as she hangs up, her point already made. The exchange of information will only ever be to her benefit. It is not a fair trade, but Rock has already made his choice about who he is willing to be. The show must go on.
Rock calls the cellphone. "Dutch, I saw some lights come on at the pier at the far western end of the bay. I tried calling the fish depot, but no one answered."
"Abrego could have slipped past the blockade and set up there," Dutch says. "We have nothing to lose by checking Marta's place out."
Chang is still on the line. "One of my cars will be there, too."
There is no response from Hotel Moscow. 'Radio silence' has a certain tactical value. Rock thinks he hears motors rushing down the street and moves to the window to look. The Grupo Equis vehicles are speeding straight down the street to Marta's place. Rock notices that there are a few bullet holes in the lead vehicle.
"The Nuevo Laredo group are headed over too," Rock tells the conference call.
"That's fine. We still have our contract," Dutch says.
The sound of gunshots has been dying down ever since Abrego fled, but Rock hears them starting up again. The sound is sharply clear, without much of an echo. It is close by. The fish depot is already being taken.
In between the salvos of gunfire, there is a heavy pounding on the door. Rock holds his breath, hoping that it is a friendly fist.
"The Captain requests your services as a translator," a voice says.
Rock peeks through the window. There is one of Hotel Moscow's soldiers, keeping a hand on his Kalashnikov. There is no point in refusing his request. The Lagoon company has a valuable relationship with Balalaika. He unlocks the door and is escorted down the stairs without coercion.
The Russians have brought their most expensive cars out, forming a little convoy outside of the warehouse. Boris, the second in command, is not in his uniform, but he looks ready for a fight. In the middle vehicle, the Kapitan awaits him. Her clothes are civilian, except for the military jacket draped across her shoulders.
"It isn't an inconvenience to come so late at night, is it?" she asks him as he climbs into the vehicle.
"Not at all," Rock says. They both know he never had a choice.
The convoy starts up, the hodge-podge of vehicles staying in the center of the road, forcing all others off. It must be a habit from Afghanistan. Balalaika is looking out of the open window, toying with an uncut cigar in one hand. She has been tearing it apart with just her fingernails, and she tosses it once she realizes its ruined.
"I need someone to speak Spanish, with all the Latin personnel that will be there," she says. "There can be no misunderstandings."
Rock nods. "Yes, of course."
The convoy continues. Rock sees the multi-floor fish depot coming closer, looming above its neighbors but still marked by an industrial humility. The Lagoon company warehouse is downwind of this place, and the stench of fish can be unbearable on certain nights.
"We used to have our own Spanish-speaker once," Balalaika tells Rock. "He had spent some time in Cuba when he was younger. He was always so proud of that."
This strange streak of sentimentalism from her makes Rock shiver. Balalaika only ever dropped her sense of decorum when something bad was about to happen. And still, his morbid curiosity compels him to investigate.
"What happened to him?" Rock asks.
In return he gets a terrible glare from Balalaika. It is a steely-eyed promise of pain and suffering. Instantly, Rock knows he has made a terrible mistake. Balalaika was not opening up to him as if they were comrades. Her memories had leaked out while her guard was down.
The men in the front of the car look into the rearview mirror with unease. They wince, pitying the Japonski who had stepped into a minefield. But there is no immediate violent response.
She sighs, looking tired. "A word is not a sparrow," she says. "Once it has flown, there is no catching it." She lets go of her anger and looks away again.
Rock is still apprehensive as the convoy stops in an impromptu lot in front of the depot. The Trans Am is parked out front, but it is accompanied by vehicles of the Triad, Group X, and now Hotel Moscow. A perimeter has already been secured and Balalaika walks confidently to the front of the assembly, even as gunfire continues within the building.
Rock thinks he hears Revy's Cutlasses going off in their doubled rhythm, but the loud bangs of the Group X rifles are making most of the noise. When he hears the whoom of a shotgun, he realizes that Dutch is still inside too.
Benny is waiting in the Trans Am, his hands are still on the steering wheel. He waves to Rock but will not leave the car. He has no desire to get better acquainted with Balalaika. After seeing her death glare, Rock cannot disagree.
Lobos is there, keeping his distance from Balalaika. He will not approach until the outcome of the assault on the Colombians is clear. A few of the usual guys stand guard with him, but they look far less effective than their fellows in Group X.
There is one last flurry of fire from Revy's pistols and then Rock hears a shout. Everyone looks up to see Abrego as he topples backwards from the roof of the Depot. His submachine gun sprays wildly in the air, his finger still on the trigger as he falls.
Rock ducks, but Balalaika stands unafraid of any stray bullets until Abrego hits the ground with a loud crunch. Revy appears at the lip of the building, blowing smoke from the barrels of her Berettas. She waves to the people below.
"Easy as pie, Sis," she calls to Balalaika, who allows herself a slight smile.
The Group X soldiers also reveal themselves. Somehow, all thirteen are still alive. Angel stands proud in his black beret while his men rappel down the side of the building to the pier. The two teams make their descent smoothly, and Angel comes down after them. Revy is left at the top of the depot, shaking her first before deciding to come down the long way.
Angel studies the splayed-out body of Abrego, peeling the jacket of the blood-soaked suit back to check the pockets. He folds the arms over the chest and then straightens out the legs. He even closes the eyes with his fingers. Balalaika watches him with concentration.
"Who is that man, Rock? You must have spent time with him."
"His soldiers call him Teniente, or Lieutenant. Otherwise, his name is Angel."
Their order and discipline must be the kind of thing an ex-military commander could appreciate. Even Rock can tell that Angel's unit is something special. Anonymized behind masks, they act in perfect concert, forming up behind their leader as he goes to report to Lobos.
Dutch and Revy make it out of the Depot and down to the pier all right, if slower than Group X. At their arrival, an impromptu meeting begins. The Triad sends Chang's subordinate Biu Yuen to join the rest of the leaders, including Dutch. Each participant stands a respectful distance away from their neighbors. Balalaika prepares to hold court and directs Rock to stand a little bit ahead of her to translate into Spanish.
"First, let us congratulate the Nuevo Laredo cartel for the skill they demonstrated tonight," she says with false cheer. "This conquest was unauthorized, but it was quite amusing."
Rock's translation seems unnecessary because Lobos and Angel both seem to understand her English immediately.
Biu Yuen was not so appreciative. "This was a scheme to avoid paying the market-price for that land. The proceeds from territory decisions rightfully belong to the two dragons of this city."
Lobos is nervous, and toys with his bolo tie while he speaks. "I can assure you that I had no intention of attacking tonight. This was only supposed to be our last resort, you see. But outside forces-"
Balalaika cleared her throat. He stops his explanation.
"It is too late for excuses, Lobos," she says. "This makes it the second time that you have been unable to control your organization."
There is something threatening in Balalaika's voice.
"You can hold me responsible for this night," Lobos says. "Even financially responsible-"
"20 million dollars." Balalaika names her price and the whole group goes still. Even if the fine is negotiated down, it is still an absurdly large number to start with.
"Whatever you pay Hotel Moscow, you must also pay the Triad," Biu Yuen says. "Territory payments go to both rulers of the city."
Balalaika bares her teeth in a grimace. "This a fine for starting war in my half of Roanapur. The Triad is not entitled to it."
Biu Yuen's frown grows deeper.
"Perhaps you would accept... 5 million?" Lobos asks, his voice beginning to quaver.
His career and his life are on the line. Angel stands silent and impassive behind him, seemingly unaffected by the stakes.
"This is not a financial negotiation," Balalaika says. "We will only accept items of equal value."
Lobos' mind works on doubletime to tally up all of his resources available. He has begun to sweat.
"I could provide you with free access to the Colombian smuggling routes," he says. "And discounted service to bring goods into the United States."
"Is that all?" she asks.
It's obvious that Lobos does not have the authorization for much else. Balalaika steps in with her own counter-offer.
"I will limit the retributive fee to 8 million dollars," she says. "Only if you guarantee that the commanders from your homeland will never again make a mockery of your chain of command. Clowns don't live long in this city."
When repeated in two languages, the message has an edge to it.
"Well, I c-can't promise that... I don't have the authority." Lobos stammers.
"If you have no authority, why am I speaking with you?" she asks, and then raises her arm.
There is a clatter of metal from every corner around the lot and her vysonitski reveal themselves. They are on the roofs across the street, in the windows of the warehouses surrounding them, and a few have even rolled out from underneath the pier. Their guns are trained on Lobos and his men. Angel forces the Group X troops to keep their weapons lowered.
"Lobos, you have spit on my face tonight," Balalaika says. "Apologize with your money or apologize with your life."
Lobos has been trapped but can only see it now. Hotel Moscow allowed the attack to happen, but only to slip a leash onto Nuevo Laredo before they grew too big. The new deal is now being negotiated at gunpoint. On some level, Rock has to admire the strategic move, even if it means that Hotel Moscow is becoming more powerful than ever.
But Balalaika must not have accounted for more than one leader from Nuevo Laredo. A visitor with higher authority. A killer, ready for violence. Rock sees Angel go for his gun, and it is already too late to stop what happens next. He draws his pistol and aims it from the hip.
Two shots ring out. Lobos gurgles, coughs, and then falls forward. Angel fires a third shot into the back of his boss's head before holstering his pistol.
"You said you wanted a tribute, Señora?" he says.
Rock relays the Spanish into English as fast as he can.
Angel gestures to the body of Lobos. "Unlike the one who came before me, I have the authority to control my people. His blood marks the sincerity of my pledge."
It is not a lie. Lobos' old gang seems uneasy, but their weapons are holstered. In fact, it is the Triad that looks as if they have taken the greatest offense.
"Do you consider killing your superior to be a good sign?" Biu Yuen asks. "We knew how to do business with Lobos."
In response, Angel takes off his headgear. Unmasked, they see his face is set with determination, made dramatic by high cheekbones and a shaved head.
"This is who I am," he says, pointing to himself. "I am Angel. I command Group X of the Nuevo Laredo cartel. It is for that reason that I have total authority when operating abroad."
Technically, Angel now outranks Biu Yuen by being the new boss of Nuevo Laredo. No further complaints can be made.
"A battlefield promotion," Balalaika says. "The Teniente becomes the Comandante."
Her arms are crossed, but it does not take long for her decision to be made.
"Pay 10 million to keep your territory and your lives," Balalaika says. "There will be no second chances."
"Thank you very much, Ma'am." Angel salutes her, but she does not return the symbol.
Having said all she needs to, Balalaika steps back into the car and leaves the details of the situation to be resolved by her subordinates. The Triad men waste no time in leaving, either. Mister Chang will need to hear the bad news in person.
Rock is not ready to rejoin the crew yet. He is still feeling the shock that came from seeing Lobos executed in front of him. Angel had pulled his gun from his holster so calmly that Rock hadn't even realized what had happened until the old boss was bleeding out.
Just a few minutes earlier, Lobos had been dreading the end of the fighting. Now he wouldn't be feeling anything again. The soldiers of Hotel Moscow move into the fish depot to evaluate the total store of cocaine. Once the trembling leaves Rock's hands, he can face Revy.
"You look a lot calmer now than at the office," she says, taking a long draw from her cigarette. "Fuck, is that all it took? Just a pinch of Sis? Into older wome-"
"It's over," Rock says. "The Colombians are done."
Revy grumbles, her hand in her hair. "I tried to talk Abrego and his guys out of fighting, but then Angel showed up and had to do his commando shit."
"Did it get messy?"
"Nah," she says. "The Colombians all thought they could be Scarface, but they must have forgot how the movie ends."
"And Abrego?"
Revy looks towards the broken body. "Fucker could have just given up and gone back to Colombia. I guess he thought he couldn't go home empty-handed."
He can tell killing Abrego has not made her happy. She likes testing herself against challenging opponents. Near-suicidal men aren't trophy kills. She changes the subject. "Still, it was fucking lucky that you saw the lights come on from the warehouse. We saw enough coke stashed in there for Miami and L.A to party all the way through 1999."
Dutch leaves his conversation with some Hotel Moscow people to join in with his own news.
"Our paycheck might come late," he says. "We need to store the goods in our warehouse. The owners will pick them up from us directly."
"What?" Revy says, bemused. "Did you see how many kilos were in there? Goddamn, we better invest in a drive-thru window. We'll be a fucking Medellin McDonalds."
The Lagoon will need to be brought in to transport the cocaine. Hotel Moscow has lent a few of its men to help load the cargo, but everything afterward is in the hands of the Lagoon Company.
Rock looks at the bodies scattered around on the floor. A lot of people had died for some very tiny changes, and he was the one who made it happen. The seagulls would probably start picking at the corpses soon, and Sawyer would be just busy for the whole week.
He looks to the moon. Eda's Pioneer plane crosses it, the sound of its propeller nearly silent and impossible to distinguish among the crashing waves. More sins from the Sister, yet another secret he would have to keep. None of this would have happened if he could have looked away, if he could have limited himself to the small-scale dramas that played out every day on board the Black Lagoon.
That was no longer an option for Rock. He would be in it until the end.