Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 68 Don't Drink and Drive

Zhou Yi took a sip of his drink: "To be specific, what's your friend's trouble?"

“A man, Makar Salin.”

"The head of a small gang in the harbor area has been expanding too fast lately. Last month, he took over my friend's warehouse without even saying goodbye, and he also killed two porters."

"You need me to kill him?"

"Of course, nothing too fancy. Clean, fast, preferably one shot."

Where does he usually hang out?

"There's a nightclub in the eastern suburbs called Freedom. It's a very tacky name. The lights are bright, and the music is loud."

Zhou Yi took out another cigarette, lit it, and slowly took a drag.

How much is this job?

"For our first collaboration, it's $600. Payment will be made immediately upon completion. Well done, we'll double it next time."

"Six hundred?"

"Don't be disappointed, human life isn't that valuable these days."

Six hundred dollars? That's too little.

Based on his resume, this kind of "go in and fire a shot" job would have cost at least a hundred times more, even at the end of the 20th century.

But Zhou Yi didn't say it aloud.

Now is not the time to worry about the price.

He knew nothing about the city.

Although they can understand conversations, their reading and writing skills are roughly equivalent to those of a semi-illiterate person.

Moreover, he didn't know who could be bribed and who couldn't; which bar had informants, which alley one could walk into and never come out; who was the local bigwig, and who was a retired military officer temporarily out making money.

In this era without the internet, without encrypted communication, and where you even have to ask a stranger for directions to find a map, information isn't something you read, it's something you piece together.

Where is the black market? Who controls the ports? Which shipping routes are used for arms dealing? Where are the ammunition of retired Soviet troops hidden?

All of this can only be achieved by people.

And the middle-aged man in front of you is very likely a key.

After taking the last drag of his cigarette, Zhou Yi stubbed it out in the ashtray on the table: "I can take this job."

However, before the middle-aged man could even feel happy, he heard him continue, "The problem is, you want me to believe you, believe your friends, believe everything you say, but I don't even know your name."

"Call me Yuri."

“Yuri,” Zhou Yi repeated, then shook his head, “not enough.”

"What else do you want to know? My ID number? My military service number? Or my mother's maiden name?"

Whether you say it or not is your business, but whether I believe it or not is my business.

"If you don't believe me, why are you still willing to sit here and listen to me say so much?"

"Trust cannot be built by you claiming to be a good person; that's the kind of logic only children would believe."

"Unfortunately, I'm not."

Yuri blinked, then chuckled softly.

“Okay,” he said. “How would you like to do it?”

"I decide the timing and the method of action," Zhou Yi said calmly.

"I need to be there."

“Of course you can,” Zhou Yi nodded. “But don’t ask questions, don’t interfere, and don’t bring anyone else.”

Yuri looked at him for a few seconds, then tilted his head back and finished the rest of his beer.

“Sounds good,” he said. “What are you planning to do?”

"I'll scout out the location first, and if the timing is right, I'll take action and resolve the matter tonight."

"You make it sound as easy as buying bread."

"Killing this kind of person is not much different from buying bread."

“Alright.” Yuri smiled and shook his head, then stood up, grabbed his scarf and draped it around his neck. “My car is parked in the back alley, I can take you there now.”

"Didn't you drink alcohol?" Zhou Yi glanced at the empty wine glass.

"We have an old saying here: only those who are drunk for the first time are afraid to drive." "Let's get going, didn't you want to get this over with quickly?"

The broken Lada was parked across the street from the nightclub.

The windows fogged up, and the dim yellow lights along the roadside appeared distorted through the moisture.

The car was as cold as a tomb.

Zhou Yi pulled his jacket tighter, but still felt a gust of wind sneaking up his neck.

He rubbed his hands together, frowned, and asked, "Could you turn the heater up a bit?"

"Heaters need to burn oil."

Yuri sat in the driver's seat, smoking a cigarette as he adjusted the air vents slightly. "It's not that I'm stingy, gas prices have gone crazy lately. If you're really cold, there's a leather jacket in the back seat, take it yourself."

Zhou Yi turned his head and pulled the black coat out of the back seat.

The leather surface was stiff, but the lining was thick, though it smelled a bit pungent.

It smelled of a mixture of alcohol, tobacco, and some cheap perfume.

With a helpless sigh, Zhou Yi resignedly put on his clothes.

Damn, I'm freezing to death.

Before the next time I go through it, I must wear two more layers.

Yuri took a drag of his cigarette and turned to look at him. "Aren't you going to go up and take a look around? You're just sitting in the car? Is that what you call scouting?"

"You think scouting out a place is about going in to drink and dance?" Zhou Yi's gaze never left the nightclub.

“This kind of club has two bodyguards at the entrance, one overt and one covert; there’s an escape route in the alley behind it; the barbershop across the street is probably run by their own people; the windows are tinted but there are cigarette butts outside the ventilation holes, which means someone is watching them.”

How do you know those are bodyguards and not guests?

"The shoes were too clean, and a corner of the belt bulged out."

Yuri curled his lip. "Tell me the truth, didn't you retire from that side?"

Zhou Yi didn't answer, but instead asked, "Do you know the difference between a sniper and a barber?"

"what?"

"If a barber makes a mistake, the hair can grow back."

Yuri paused for a second, then burst out laughing, "That's fucking cold, I like it."

Outside the window, the faint beat of music drifted in; it was a kind of chaotic Techno.

Just as the car fell silent, Zhou Yi glanced at the window and then suddenly sat up straight.

A group of people walked out of the nightclub through a side door, laughing and joking; they were clearly drunk.

The man at the head of the group was surrounded by others. He was wearing a deep red velvet suit, with an exaggeratedly thick gold chain around his neck and an unlit cigar in his mouth.

"Is it him?" Zhou Yi asked.

Yuri followed his gaze and glanced at him. "It's him, that bastard, Makar Salin."

"Give me the gun."

"What?" Yuri exclaimed in surprise. "You want to leave now?!"

"Stop talking nonsense and give me the gun."

Yuri stared, opened his mouth, and finally pulled out the old-fashioned Makarov pistol from his pocket.

"Seven-round magazine, not enough for accurate aim," he muttered. "You'd better not get out of the car; they all have guns."

Zhou Yi took the gun and cocked it.

There was a crisp metallic sound.

He rolled down the car window.

A cold wind immediately rushed into the car, along with the noise from the street.

Yuri felt his head explode: "You're going to start here?!"

"Are you crazy?" he exclaimed urgently. "The lighting, the distance, the gun, the angle—you go up closer, it'll be safer than this!"

Zhou Yi ignored him, gripped the gun with both hands, and gently steadied it using the edge of the car window as a fulcrum.

Then, adjust the angle and lock onto the target.

(End of this chapter)