Hastum
patreon
19. Why can't anything be simple
🕑 Added 2025-08-29 21:58:20 +0000 UTCWith my soul soothed a bit and mana replenished by a large mana crystal I carried with me, I was ready to get to the meeting.
As I walked slowly through the tourist-oriented streets with their many shops and clubs, they gave way to the city's more mundane, lived-in areas. Simple houses and streets with music replaced by the everyday noise of the city. Until finally, I could tell I was getting closer and closer to the ‘bad part’.
The amount of filth lying around increased alongside the homeless and unsupervised children running around, or their older siblings sitting in doorways, smoking, and drinking. Thankfully, I gave off a natural do-not-approach vibe, which seemed to be back in full force after I got a good rest, so unless someone was really dead set on bothering me, they shouldn't approach on a whim.
The meeting place turned out to be a bar. An old sign with something that had probably once been a drawing of a beer bottle hung over old doors. I made my way inside and looked around. There were a couple of sturdy tables with wooden chairs around them, a couple of locals sitting on stools at the counter giving me not-so-friendly looks, and an old, probably once green, pool table that had seen better days.
The air smelled of sweat. The aroma was not helped in the slightest by the slowly rotating fan on the ceiling. It was a typical bar. A typical bar, if not for one detail. I chuckled and silently cast a spell. Good thing the cat gave me a heads-up, as I knew to look for something.
Finally, my eyes caught the policewoman sitting in the corner with a laptop and a half-empty bottle of beer.
“Hello,” she said and lifted her eyes from the laptop. “I'm glad you didn’t get cold feet.”
I smiled at her and sat down at the table. “So the info?”
“Why so formal? It's after office hours, you should get something to drink. The beer is actually not so bad here. And a cold beer is perfect for a hot Brazilian night.”
I considered the offer. I wasn't much of a drinker, but since it made talking easier, I could go for one. “Okay, why not?”
I went to the bar and ordered the same one she was drinking.
“So why this place?” I asked, sitting back down.
“It’s safe. Any high-class establishment has informants on informants, from the staff to the owners. But here, nobody would bother. It’s just a shithole bar,” She proclaimed not lowering her voice even a little. The guy behind the bar seemed to overhear us as he gave her a side eye, but did not make a fuss. “Also, I like the atmosphere here. It’s calm, no stiffness.”
I took a swig and cringed a bit. “Well, I do see the charm of a small local bar, although the only good part about that beer is that it’s cold.”
“Heh, didn't take you for the stiff kind of guy. Thought this place you would feel right at home.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Sort of,” she shrugged. ”I prefer simple, honest people over the suits with their fake hair, fake makeup, and fake smiles. Even at a cost of the beer tasting like piss.”
Simple and honest, you couldn't be further from the truth, but I’ll chalk that up to her trying to get on my good side for the info. “Well, at least it’s cold piss.”
“At least. To the honest people and honestly bad beer, then.” She raised her bottle a bit, and I followed, taking a big gulp.
Honestly, it grew on you. I could imagine that by the third, I would be able to enjoy it even. As my father said, alcohol tastes better the more you drink it. What a wise man.
But sadly, I doubt we would get to the third beer tonight. “Okay, I think it’s time to get down to business. We can drink later to celebrate a fruitful exchange.”
As I said that, I saw a brief glint in her eyes. “Okay, show me what you got.”
“You first. I get the clients' list and locations. You get the rest of my info. I showed you part of it, so you know I can follow through. Now it's your turn.”
“Sure.” She agreed easily, a bit too easily, and handed me a document a couple of pages long.
I went over it. All I recognized were the names of a couple of more prominent politicians and some people from the Doeing board of directors. From the information, it seemed they all frequented the same clubs, probably the ones for special clients.
It wasn’t a confirmation that the girl was in one of those, but it was a start, especially since I would probably soon be getting more intel.
“Are you happy? Did you get what you wanted?” the woman asked, noticing I was done with the list.
“Very much so.”
“So, now, your part of the deal, the information on the smuggling. I would also like to know where that information originated from.”
My smile got even wider at those words. I tilted forward as if about to reveal some deep secret. “I like that. I really do like the way you work. No wonder you can keep the whole thing running this well.”
“What are you-”
“I thought you might give me a fake list.” I cut her off before she finished the sentence. “But just in case I knew more than I let on, you gave me the original to ensure I didn’t suspect anything, and I wouldn’t have, to your credit, I had a bit of a heads up. You didn’t mind giving me some info, of course, as you were sure I wouldn’t be walking out of here alive.”
I made eye contact as the woman's gaze hardened. Her hand moved slightly towards something under the table, probably a gun prepared there.
“Have the face of anti trafficking work for you to get all the info, that's really smart, I assumed the police are on the payroll, but you, you got me fooled,” I said, genuinely impressed. “No wonder you got the info so quickly, you just asked at the source,” I chuckled.
“The whole story about being trafficked when younger, it all seemed so sincere. But you fucked up with the setup. The guys at the bar are great, though,” I said, turning to them, ignoring the sound of safety coming off the pistol, and waved thumbs up to the clients at the bar now turned to us, ready for action.
“Okay,” Sarah said, pointing a gun at my head, stopping the whole policewoman charade, “And how did you find out, you know, for future reference if you don't mind?” She said with a cold, flat tone.
“Awesome setup, but the morons at the pool table, now that's where you screwed up. It would seem suspicious if we sat next to any other table of people, as the whole point was to do the transaction silently. So you sat in the far right corner, but you wanted the muscle close just in case, as you probably didn’t get any info on me before the exchange. So instead of sitting more people closer, you moved the pool table towards the corner where they could react and cut me off from the exit.”
I shifted in my seat and pointed at the floor next to the pool table. “But you left the drag marks in the dust where the table stood, probably an hour ago. And also, the goons put random balls in the holes as if they were pretending to play while listening to us.” Well, that and the peek I took at her aura the moment I noticed, without training, normal people don’t know how to conceal their killing intent.
The pool table man's expression soured as I turned back to the woman, now pointing a gun at my face.
“Well, aren't you observant? It's a pity you still fell for it. Maybe if you had bolted for the door immediately when you noticed something, you could have had a chance. But now we will take a ride to some place where you will tell us how you got the info, and who gave you a ‘heads up’, Mr John.” The name John was clearly said, laced with irony.
The men at the bar stood up, showing some guns in holsters under the loose shirts, and a couple got baseball bats from under the counter for less lethal means of coercion, I assume.
“Well, the ride sounds lovely. But I'm afraid that with you turning out to be a traitor, I have even less time in case your higher-ups decide to move what I'm interested in, so I'm afraid I can't keep you company.”
The women and men chuckled to themselves.
“But there is one thing I'm curious about before we start," I said with genuine curiosity in my voice.
“Shoot your shot.” Apparently entertained by the whole situation, the woman shrugged, sure of her win.
“The story about your trafficking when you were younger, was it real? I mean, it's hard to fake with the international attention you are getting.”
“More or less, went for a shady job offer as a young teen, but bolted out of there before anything worse happened. But I got interested in that world after that, and my work at first was honest. That's why no one caught on. At the beginning, I was as clean as crystal, and now Francis still gives me wins sometimes to maintain my image and divert attention from the more lucrative business.” She tilted forward with the gun. “At first, I worked hard for justice, but do you know what I found out? No one gives a shit. All the politicians and those supposedly in charge of upholding the law simply take the money and keep things quiet. Everywhere I went, I met their backs turned and political walls. Everyone was getting on with their lives, enjoying themselves, patting each other on the back over a job well done after busting some low-level criminals. I ran into dead ends. It got tiring, you know. So if you can’t beat them…”
“Right.” I nodded absently.
“Are you gonna give me a speech about believing in one's ideals, or how things work out in the end if you keep going? Because if you think you can get me to let you go, then please don’t waste my time.”
“Well, I‘m not one for moralizing others, although from all criminal activities, you chose one of the most disgusting ones, and coming from me, that’s quite the insult. But I try not to judge one's methods. Honestly, I get not wanting to run in circles, although joining the other side instead of resigning was a bit of a greedy, dick move.” I commented.
“Well, money makes the world turn, now move,” she waved her gun at the exit.
“Or what?” I tilted my head, letting a bit of amusement show on my face.
“Are you stupid? You'll get a bullet to the knee first, then higher.”
“Oh, but how will you pull the trigger without a finger…”
