EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE
It will take a few days for all of the cocaine to be redistributed to its buyers, and the pressure of keeping high-value goods has the whole crew on high alert. Dutch prefers to stay away from the business of drug smuggling. Most organizations use their own personnel and make their own deals with the authorities. Without having all the bribes in place, international drug-running is almost suicidal.
The stack of plastic-wrapped white bricks dwindles with each day and Rock oversees the process. He weighs the packages for each group that arrives and has the recipients sign to make sure there will be no tricks. Revy sits on an empty oil barrel by the warehouse's shutter door and waits for trouble, letting the heel of her boot bang against the metal from time to time to remind the visiting gangsters that she is there.
Hotel Moscow comes at 09:00 for a third of the cargo. A man named Oleg serves as Balalaika's supply sergeant and matches Rock's taste for paperwork when he provides an invoice in triplicate for him to fill out. Oleg moves with a stiff precision that has outlasted his military service by nearly a decade.
The other end of the spectrum is provided by the Italians, who slink in with undone suits and an air of pointed nonchalance. They come in two waves because they are in fact separate organizations. The Sicilian Mafia here is led by Ronnie 'The Jaws' while the Camorra operates under the local management of Tomazo Falcone.
It is not the first time that two Italian crime groups have co-existed, but in Roanapur the alliance is unshakable because Ronnie and Tomazo are sworn blood-brothers. Thus there is no posturing when the two parties pass each other in front of the warehouse- they are both of southern Italy, and Rock supposes that the Neapolitan and Sicilian crime groups see each other as the closest thing to kin in Roanapur. The Camorra is the second biggest buyer of cocaine this time- they are more focused on international trafficking than the Sicilians.
The Albanians come by right afterward. They have a few kilos to pick up, probably just to sell locally in their own territory. Rock had seen them talking business with the Italians before, and suspects their alliance was solid now. Instead of drugs, the Albanians in town have been hungry for weapons. The escalation of fighting in Kosovo has grown the market for black-market arms.
Rock is glad that the Serbians come hours after the Albanians have left. He would not want to mediate the potential conflict that would have happened if the two groups met. Even still, the Serbian man making the pickup makes a point of asking about his competition. He's named Bogdan and is one of the leaders among his bunch. He wears a red tracksuit, but it is almost fully unzipped in the heat and humidity, revealing an undershirt.
"Have those Albanians already come?" He is brusque but not hostile.
"It is company policy not to disclose information on any of our clients," Rock says.
"What if I pay you?" Bogdan asks.
Rock remains tightlipped.
"C'mon, 100 dollars for a single word. You are not stupid enough to turn that down, yes?"
Revy feels the currents changing in the room. She eases herself off the oil drum, slow enough that Bogdan's guards do not hear her move behind them.
"I'm afraid disclosure is not a negotiable part of company policy," Rock says, keeping the false smile on his face.
Bogdan spits. "Yeah? Not negotiable? How about negotiating with this?" His hand reaches into the pocket of his tracksuit.
"Hold it right there," Revy says. One of her guns points at Bogdan's head, the other on his nearest guard. As always, her draw speed is too quick for Rock to track.
The warehouse is frozen. Bogdan's hand is still in his pocket. His guards cannot draw on Revy without getting their boss killed. The heat builds with each silent second, the sun rising achingly slow. The noise of a moped's engine cuts in on the standoff as it revs up and disappears down the street. Seabirds keep squawking outside.
Bogdan gives into the pressure and turns to face Revy, slow and cautious with his words. "Hey, Two-Hands, I wasn't going to try anything with your guy here. I was just pulling some cash from my pocket, that's all."
"Sure," Revy says. "Next you're gonna tell me that you saw Elvis and Tupac at the club yesterday. I don't need that bullshit."
Bogdan's act dissipates in an instant. He snarls at Rock. "Stupid fucking Chinese. You side with the Albanians?"
Revy clucks her tongue. "Hey, look at me. You're talking to me now." She gestures towards the shutter door with her head. "Get the fuck out of here, unless you want to get a little Srebrenica of your own right now."
At hearing the name, Bogdan spits again. "You're fucked, all of you. I promise. I'll start with your guy here first, then you-"
"What is the meaning of this?"
Oleg makes a fortuitous entrance. Four men of Hotel Moscow accompany him, all armed with carbines. As always, they look prepared to kill everyone in the room.
Revy speaks first. "This shithead right here is being a nuisance."
"This is highly irregular." Oleg faces Bogdan and switches to Russian to chastise him.
In front of his local sponsor, Bogdan has been cowed. He tries to make an excuse, whining.
Sergeant Oleg shakes his head once and then points out of the warehouse.
Bogdan and his goons leave, but not before giving Rock a threatening glare. After securing a verbal promise that the Bougainvillea Trading Company would not be held responsible, Oleg withdraws, and the tension flows out with him. Rock settles into a folding chair, his shaking legs glad to let go. Revy shoves her guns in their holsters, but paces uneasily.
"Fucking Serbs," she says. "I don't even know why Hotel Moscow keeps them around."
It was an important question to ask. Hotel Moscow has always preferred to be self-sufficient. If a small group like the Serbians is being protected and supplied by Balalaika, something strange is going on.
Rock can come up with a few theories but starts with the clearest link: the Serbian Mafia and its exceedingly close relationship with the Serbian government. Beginning in 1991, Serbian politicians had fostered their ties with organized crime to dominate their competition within Yugoslavia. Legal amnesty was given to the mafia to pay for the services of their thugs and killers. After the breakup of Yugoslavia, the same criminals were employed in paramilitary units for wars in Croatia and Bosnia. It had never been a true secret; the usage of criminals to do dirty work during wartime was not a new tactic either.
The relationship of the Russian government and mafia groups is also quite close, but in the other direction: the nomenklatura, the highly placed bureaucrats of the Soviet government, used the chaos of the collapsing Soviet Union to acquire factories, property, natural resources, and other such valuables to get a massive head start on Russian capitalism. The nomenklatura and the traditional criminal societies of Russia began to expand their ties, producing organizations such as Hotel Moscow. In Serbia, the government had corrupted itself to pull its mafia closer. In Russia, an already-corrupt government had sprouted new crime groups like tumors.
Rock knows that the relationship of these countries is strong enough that Russia continually opposes NATO intervention against Serbia. What does it mean for two mafias when their corrupt governments are friendly with each other?
"As above, so below," Rock says.
"Huh?" Revy looks back at him from her perch.
"You saw how she treated Lobos. Balalaika doesn't really want loose cannons like Bogdan under her umbrella," he says. "It's politics. Orders from HQ. The partnership with the Serbians comes from above her."
Revy shakes her head. "Jesus, man, what are you talking about? That asshole left a long time ago."
The pieces are falling into place for him. He can see the possibilities now, all of the different steps it would take to make Roanapur burn. Dominoes, lining themselves up. Revy senses what is happening and gets up, cautious, approaching Rock as if he is dangerous.
"They're all too close to each other," he says, his words frantic as he tries to convey what he sees in his head. "Too many alliances, too many rivalries, too many borders. It's all fuel for the fire. It just needs a spark."
Revy sees his expression and recoils from it. The glory and the ecstasy that comes with seeing the end of Roanapur are plastered on his face.
"A war? You want one?" she says, stomping the rest of the way next to him.
Carried away by the energy of the moment, Rock says something he will regret.
"I don't just want war," he says. "I will make it happen."
An open palm slams into his face, taking him by surprise. Rock falls sideways onto the warehouse floor. Revy kicks his metal chair away and stands over him. His cheek stings and he tastes rust in his mouth.
"I really didn't want to hear that," she says, laying a hand on a Cutlass. "Especially from someone who's never seen a war before."
Whether he can believe it or not, Rock knows he is living in Roanapur during its most peaceful period since the Vietnam War.
"You're bored, so you want to get this city shot up until the gutters run with blood?" she says. "How fucking rotten have you gotten?"
"No, no." Rock tries to deny but Revy crouches low over him, her teeth clenched. He fears what she thinks of him more than what she will do to him.
"This is why you're acting like such a junkie?" she asks. "You wanna torch this town just to get high off the smoke?"
He tries to remain calm, but the eyes Revy are showing him speak of alleyway executions and gore-streaked concrete. She has seen war in the streets and will never look upon the concept with objectivity.
"Roanapur needs to change," he says, almost begging. "I can't think of any other way it can happen."
"Okay, 'Che'," she says, and places the barrel of her pistol to his head, leaning in so he gets the next words. "If you want a revolution so bad, I'll let you be the first sap wasted. I mean, if you're gonna get people killed, it's only fair you get a free sample."
Her words come from so low in her throat that he can hardly understand. He needs to rely on a deeper current of meaning.
"If this is it, I won't fight you," Rock says. He lets his head down on the warehouse floor, feeling the grit in his hair. "Maybe you really do love this town enough to kill me for it."
There is a new sense of calm in him, a feeling distinct from the apathy that has dominated him. Strangely enough, it is only when Revy is threatening his life that he can be honest and clear with her. It must be the same for her too.
The insulation has been stripped off the wire. He watches the electricity spark within her. Her inner conflicts play out, layers of hurt and doubt lifted up by an unending fountain of rage. The gun shakes in her hand, and she pushes harder into him for stability, heeding nothing but her uncapped feelings.
"This isn't about Roanapur," she finally says. "Godammit, Rock. This is about you and the bastard you've become."
The accusation hits him with full force right through his brain. He has hurt her.
"I saw you drifting and just let it happen," she said, shoulders down but her gun still up. "I kept thinking I would catch you if you slipped. Guess we're too fucking late for that."
This is not how he had imagined this discussion going. Rock tries to shake his head, his brow rubbing against the barrel. The gun to his head is for his sake, to put him out of his misery.
"I'm not talking about a normal war," Rock says. "I would try and stage the fighting outside of Roanapur, maybe in another city-"
Revy pulls the hammer back on her pistol and he can feel the click vibrate to his skull.
"Rock. Baby. There's not a lot of slack left in this trigger now. I need a reason not to do this."
It would be easy to keep talking about his plan, and he almost does. But Rock realizes that he has not even told her why he wants to do this. To her, it looks like he has gone crazy and is seeking one final act of self-destruction.
"This isn't my hobby," Rock says.
Her eyes are a little clearer as they stare into his.
"This is for me, you, and everyone in the city," he says.
Her face twists with confusion. "Make up your mind. You just said you wanted to start a war and fucking burn it all."
He knows it sounds stupid and smiles. "Let me explain. I just have to ask you one question first: Are you here in Roanapur because you need to be?"
She doesn't answer but her eyes narrow.
"You don't have to tell me," Rock says. "It's just a question that popped into my own head a few months back. Do I need to be here?"
He closes his eyes and takes a breath. "Honestly, I don't think I could choose to be anywhere else. But-"
Revy jumps ahead to his conclusion. "You want to be here, but you don't need to be here. Nice word puzzle. Go try the fucking New York Times crossword."
Rock laughs from nerves. "It seems simple, right? Wanting is not the same as needing. But I started wondering why everyone else is here. Do you want to hear what I think?"
She lets the gun up and leans back a little in her squat. Some of her weight rests on his stomach. He accepts it as a sign that she isn't planning to shoot, even if the pistol is in her hand. "Spit it out." She is tired of his games and his grandiose plans.
"None of us need to be here," he says. "Not me, or Benny, or Dutch, or Balalaika, or Mister Chang."
He puts a hand on her boot. "You don't need to be here, either."
"Don't act like you know what I need." She moves her foot to get his hand off.
"This isn't Heaven, but they have too many rules here for this to be Hell, either. This is the place in between, Limbo, where lost souls wash up. None of us need to be here, but as long as Roanapur exists, we can't go anywhere else. Do you understand?"
Revy shrugs. "It's still fucking insane. You want to trash the one place you can live in because you're too chickenshit to leave yourself."
"I'm not ruining it just for me," Rock says. "I want to ruin it for everyone. If it were just myself on the line, I could go back to normal."
"You got a problem with normal?"
"Our 'normal' is living off death and destruction," he says. "We grit our teeth each morning and pretend to like the smell of blood and gunsmoke. I'm done lying to myself, Revy. I hate this."
She grasps his shirt collar and hesitates, not knowing what she wants to do.
"Are you going to say that you like living here?" he asks. "Was this what you dreamed of when you were little?"
Revy yanks him up and he can feel the hate within her fist, even as her voice is deadpan. "You want to know what I wanted to be when I was a girl? You think I spent all my time playing with barbie dolls, waiting for the day I could find my 'prince charming'? Fat fuckin' chance."
He sees her turn away as she looks to distant years. "You don't want to know what I got instead of dreams. Fuck your white-collar word games about needs and wants. There's no difference between them. All my life, I only wanted what I needed to survive. That got me here."
There is nothing to tell her that can make up for a lifetime of denial and destruction. He and Revy rely on leaving most things unsaid. That needs to change, or else they will be pulled right back into stagnation again. He knows their relationship might not be comfortable ever again, but it is a sacrifice he is choosing to make.
"You and me are stuck here waiting in Limbo," Rock says. "If we can't leave, this really is just a prison. I'm breaking us out."
At first, Revy does not know what to say. Rock's plan still sounds insane to her, but there's no anger in her response, just a sense of tender weariness as her arms relax and she decocks the hammer.
"Calm down," she says. "You must think you're Jesus Christ himself, but you're shit out of luck, Rock. The only move you know is nailing yourself to the cross."
She holsters her pistol. "The city will keep doing its thing and there's nothing you can do about it."
"You're wrong." He sits up to make eye contact, inches away from her grimacing face. He knows he looks crazy. "I know the way out."
"Don't start with the fucking war again," she groans. "I just put the gun away."
"Fine." Rock lays back down so their faces are at a comfortable distance again. She still watches him from above. Neither of them knows how to end this conversation. He falls back on his needs.
"Could I get a cigarette?" he asks.
Revy shakes one loose from her soft-pack and pulls it free with her lips. She leans down to him, close enough that her bangs brush his face and he can take it with his mouth. She offers her own lighter, and he cups his hand around hers until the smoke is stinging the cut in his mouth.
"You smoke yours too quick," she says.
Before he has the chance to reply, someone enters the warehouse. It is Angel, his uniform traded for a black suit, unbuttoned and without a necktie. His eyes are unreadable behind oval sunglasses, but he seems amused to see them in such a position.
"Pardon me," Angel says, his English as formal as his Spanish. "I hope I am not interrupting anything."
Revy gives Rock a hand up. "He just had a little accident."
Angel nods. "Nothing bad, I hope."
"Don't trouble yourself," Rock says, brushing the dust off himself.
Nuevo Laredo proves to be one of the largest buyers. They have even more routes now than a week ago. Of course, they do not have the Triad corridors into China through Myanmar or Vietnam. They don't have many sea routes either because the Italians hold a monopoly on supplying Australia and New Zealand.
Despite the smaller scale of his markets, Angel takes his business very seriously. He has commandeered a truck from the Colombian fleet, marking it with a large circle of black paint with a white X stenciled over it.
He supervises the loading of each kilogram, double-checking the count before he closes the doors. His movements are tight and efficient, even this late in the day. Even his suit remains in good condition despite the heat and humidity, with his stiff collar and tucked shirt.
"I like your new clothes," Rock says, trying his Spanish.
Angel laughs and responds in English. "A new position requires a new uniform. The suit reminds my men that I am in control now, not just in command. We plan to become a true leader in the city."
It strikes Rock just then that Angel is rather short. It makes him think of Napoleon.
"Leadership sounds difficult," he says. "Hotel Moscow and the Triad like to keep a tight lid on everyone else."
"I know this," Angel says. "But I have spoken with the Kapitan. I am confident there is room beside her for me."
Rock doesn't entirely understand that last sentence, but there are a lot of dangerous implications. "What do you mean?"
Angel only wags his finger. "The details are classified, and we have no more time. Tell la china I thought she looked glowing today."
Angel is lucky that Revy is out of earshot, but Rock doesn't settle down until the truck has left the lot.
"God damn, he's a weird one," she says when he returns inside. "Did you see the suit and sunglasses? Like he's copying Chang and Balalaika at the same time."
Angel had been quick to adapt to his new situation, killing his boss on the night of his arrival because he thought he could do a better job. And right afterward, he seemed intent on carrying out Balalaika's demands. His respect for Balalaika could be an act. After all, a salute is just a ritual. If Angel had a true respect for authority, he wouldn't have executed Lobos.
Rock stands by the entrance, seeing the late-arriving fishing boats finally make their way back to port. All the bodies and bulletholes left at the fish depot had not thrown off the fishermen. Despite it all, people still needed to eat.
Revy yawns, stretching her arms above her head. "When are the Triad guys gonna show? I can't handle another night of sleeping on the sofa upstairs. It puts a fucking crick in my neck."
The crew had been living out of the offices upstairs, Revy trading shifts with Dutch, guarding against the possibility some small timer would try to raid the town's entire supply. After so many late nights in a row, Rock is ready to have his schedule normalize. He needs time to think.
"Chang's guys like to call in advance," Rock says. "I don't think they're coming tonight."
After sunset, they roll the shutters down and take up posts in the office. Rock is busy trying to order dinner when he notices that Revy has taken a strangely stationary position by the window, looking through the blinds.
"What's up?" he asks.
She does not turn around.
"Revy?"
Her head is turned in the direction of the fish depot, the place where she had to kill Abrego and most of the Colombians. The evening is dark enough that the lights are probably on there.
"Hey, Rock," she says.
"Yes?"
"You can't see the lights come on at Marta's place from here."
He knows she has found him out but needs to hold her up somehow. It is too early for her to know about the Rip-off Church and his source of info there.
"What are you talking about?" he asks.
She makes the room go dark and yanks the cord to raise the blinds. They get a view along the coast all the way to the other end of the bay, but Marta's depot is obscured by a number of other facilities. All of them have their lights on as a basic precaution against theft, with no way to see the Depot's lighting behind them.
"No fucking way you saw Abrego come in and turn the lights on that night," Revy says. "Everything between here and there is lit too well and it's not like Marta keeps skylights on the roof."
Rock holds his tongue. He could lie to her. He could try to make more excuses. But Revy isn't stupid, and there are some things he won't gamble with.
"Who clued you in on the Colombian stash, then?" she asks. "Was it one of them? Did you let me shoot your own fucking informant down there?"
Just because he cannot lie to her does not mean that she has to hear the whole truth.
"I made a deal to share information," Rock says. "You and Dutch were shutting me out."
She turns around, angry for the second time that day. "That was for your own protection, dumbass! You were going to get yourself killed."
It is too early to tell Revy everything, but things would get out of hand If she knew he was swapping info with Eda without knowing about the CIA. Right as he is debating how to solve the problem without lying, the office phone rings.
Rock takes his chance to answer, even though Revy tries to stop him. Right before he picks up the handset, he exhales, trying to calm himself.
"Lagoon Company," he says.
Mister Chang is on the line, his voice as smooth as ever. "It's nice outside, so I'm deciding to make an in-person visit to retrieve our goods."
"You? In person?" Rock says, trying not to sound too relieved.
"Yes. In fact, I'd like to invite you up to my office afterward," Chang says. "We can have a nice chat."
The relief is gone almost as soon as it arrived. Nothing good has ever come from Chang wanting to meet with him. Even so, the news distracts Revy. It gives him time to think about what he can tell her without putting them in a dangerous position.
Chang and Biu Yuen arrive less than ten minutes after calling. The lower ranked men load the rest of the drug hoard into their vehicles, freeing Rock and Revy from guard duty.
"It seems we were the last buyer. How convenient," Mister Chang says. "Listen, Two-Hands, can I borrow him for a one-on-one chat back at the studio?"
Revy looks put out. "I'd like to say yeah, but the Colombians have few stragglers left in town. If something happened and I wasn't there..."
Chang pivots easily. "The invitation includes you, then. It involves a job for the Lagoon Company anyway. You should have more than one representative at this meeting."
Revy looks at the open limo door, then at Rock. There is a slight chance this is a trap, even if Chang shouldn't have any reason to kill them. They were surrounded by Triad guys and overseen by Mister Chang himself. If they had to force Rock to come, it would get very ugly.
Chang gestures. "After you."
Revy gets in first. Rock follows, lowering his head to get into the limo. Right before he steps in, Chang holds him back for a moment.
"I know about the Church," he whispers, then gives Rock a little nudge.
He stumbles inside while Chang slides into his own seat with grace. Rock's mind spins as he tries to sit up straight. Revy groans about his clumsiness and pulls him into a seat before the limo starts off.
A single dome light on the ceiling casts weak illumination. Revy is digging in the mini-fridge for something worth drinking and Chang's expression is free to terrorize Rock. His sunglasses are lowered so he can stare at his target with hard eyes, the shadows of his face made mask-like. Then the light shuts off, and all that can be seen is the silhouette of Mr. Chang, painted in shades of deep black against the twilight of Roanapur.