Chapter 5: Speak of the Devil
"I appreciate that, Sergeant," hummed Balalaika as she entered her office, shutting the door behind her. It was late and she had had a long, tiring day. From what she had been told, there were several unprecedented occurrences taking place across Roanapur. Just last night, three members of the Manisalera Cartel had been gunned down. The attackers had taken off shortly after. Abrego was none too pleased about this. His cartel was known throughout the city and they were not often messed with. Whoever it was that had killed his men was either incredibly brave or unbelievably foolish. In this city, to kill a member of any of the cartels was as good as an act of war. And so Abrego had come to Hotel Moscow, hoping they could find the culprits responsible and deal with them. Tonight, however, she had no interest in looking into this. She could deal with Abrego and investigate his people's deaths tomorrow. For now, all she wanted to do was relax. She took a seat behind her desk. The office was very dimly lit, the only light source being Balalaika's desk lamp. She shuffled through papers and reports that did not interest her. "Will this night never end?"
"Be careful what you wish for," a startling voice caught her ear. There was nobody around to lend assistance. Boris and the other members of Hotel Moscow were either on lower floors of the building or they had taken off for the night. Balalaika had been caught at her most vulnerable. The man that strode out from the shadows to reveal himself did not look friendly, with his ornate breathing mask and a machete at his side. Balalaika did her best to appear unfazed by this man's appearance, though she was undeniably taken aback.
"I don't believe I know you," she told him calmly, setting down her papers and crossing her legs.
"You will," he assured her. "In time. If my information is correct, your name is Balalaika. You're in charge of Hotel Moscow, and by extension, the city itself."
"And why does that interest you, might I ask?" He chuckled.
"Let me tell you something you don't know," he began. "I came here under the impression that an old foe of my organisation would be here. Earlier today, I confronted him. But he escaped."
"So you're hunting someone from your past," Balalaika deduced, folding her arms. She was biding her time until one of her underlings would discover this stranger and attempt to kill him.
"In a sense," he answered. "My name is Kane. Remember it, for when this city is torn to the ground, it will be spoken by any and all who wish to survive. I came here for the Wolf, to watch him die. But the more I saw, the longer I was exposed to this…festering pit of scum and thuggery, the more I realised how far the world has fallen."
"What exactly is it that bothers you about Roanapur, Kane?"
"In my line of work, criminals are professional," he told her, momentarily avoiding the question. "We are connoisseurs of organised crime. People of my stature make millions by the month doing what we do. There is a certain…grace to the way we do things. It's a business. But Roanapur…crime is a fickle thing, here. Those who at one time might have been the best in the business have resorted to petty thievery or needless murder. Your city must burn, Balalaika. And if you wish to see it survive, you will bend to my will." With those chilling words, he turned and left through the door. How he had managed to get in here was a mystery. Judging from the silence that followed, he was successful in sneaking out. That was impressive. The next morning, Dutch made a point of visiting. What he had to tell her was more or less what Kane had told her himself the night before.
"I appreciate the information, Dutch," she told him, "but I fear you are too late. This mercenary stopped by for an office visit last night. He was rather emphatic about his desire to see Roanapur in ruins."
"Well, that's new," Dutch admitted. "From what we knew, he was after the Wolf. What exactly did he say?"
"Something about the calibre of crime in the city not being up to scratch," she relayed, disinterest palpable in her voice. "He sounded like he was offended by how we do things here. For someone who comes from a world of highly organised crime, it must seem so, I suppose. What did you say his group called themselves, the Black Marchers?"
"Yeah. Apparently, they had a run-in with our assassin a few months ago. Kane has spent that time rebuilding them so he could hunt Wolf down. If he's telling the truth, they've got enough people to make a small army."
"Then we need to find him before he can start bringing his people here," Balalaika said commandingly. "Keep your assassin friend close by. We may need him before this is over. Sergeant!" Boris entered the room immediately.
"Yes, Kapitan?" he asked.
"Have a patrol do recon around Roanapur," she told him, lighting a cigar and shoving it into her mouth. "I want to know the instance this man is spotted."
"Of course," Boris agreed obediently, leaving the room. Dutch squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.
"There's something else you should know," he began, unsure about how she would react. She raised her eyebrows. "The Bloodhound is back in town. It was the Lovelace boy who contacted us about this job. Kane came to them asking about the assassin. Just thought you might want to know." Balalaika was frighteningly silent for a moment before she relaxed in her chair.
"Thank you, Dutch. That will be all." Dutch rose from his seat respectfully and left the room. That was troubling news indeed. While Roberta had been incapacitated heavily during her last mission, her presence in the city still bothered Balalaika. The Bloodhound was a vicious assassin, a hard-core terrorist. And Balalaika had no doubt she would still be formidable when provoked. This situation was tricky. She would need to speak to Chang about this.