Volume 1 - Chapter 14
Bleeker Building, Part 1
As I walked closer to The Bleeker Building, I noticed several NPC men in faded trench coats patrolling the sidewalks around the perimeter.
Their faces were hard and weathered, eyes constantly scanning for any perceived threat. A few of them openly cradled shotguns or rifles in their arms.
These had to be The Cortez Family mafia goons Donovan mentioned. I slowed my pace, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.
One of the men spotted me and gave a long, appraising look. I kept my head down and strode past like I belonged there. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him turn and mutter something to one of his buddies.
Reaching an alley across from The Bleeker Building, I ducked inside and found a relatively clean spot to observe from a distance. The shadows concealed me as I watched the armed men continue their patrol routes, forgetting about me.
They moved with a swagger, like they owned the entire block. They certainly appeared to. From the looks of all these buildings around me, they might as well.
From where I watched, I saw a couple of the goons light up hand-rolled cigarettes. Every now and then, one of them stopped and had an animated conversation, their voices hushed mumbles.
I wished I could make out what they were saying, but I didn't dare get any closer. If I understood the assignment correctly, all I needed was to gather intelligence.
One particularly nasty looking thug with a wicked scar running down his cheek suddenly froze mid-stride at the end of the alley. He turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he peered in my direction.
I was already too close to them, I realized. We were about two hundred feet away from one another. My heart pounded as our eyes met briefly in the darkness. He probably had two points in Awareness, or that was my thought anyway.
Pressing myself against the brickwork, I hoped the NPC couldn't actually locate me. Long seconds ticked by until he grunted and continued on his way. I wondered if he'd been looking through my information somehow.
As I knew from my affiliations screen, we weren't enemies yet, but we weren't exactly friendly either. It was possible the NPC had a talent that knew I was sent here by Samuel Donovan.
In the end, it didn't matter. The man walked off and I was able to relax.
Once he left, I let out an audible sigh of relief. That was too close. I made a mental note to be more careful going forward. These weren't the types of NPCs I wanted to get on the bad side with, even if they couldn’t exactly kill me yet.
As I watched the Bleeker's entrance, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of illicit activities could be happening inside those walls. The place had a sinister vibe, like something rotten dwelled within.
Whatever it was, it had to be very important to The Cortez Family, since they had at least a dozen guards surrounding the building.
After a while I looked at my watch and saw that time had ticked by to early evening. I'd walked quite a distance and then observed The Bleeker Building for too long, having learned very little.
It was 5:44 p.m.
Sweat trickled down my back and my shirt clung damply to my skin. I could feel the moisture beading on my forehead and upper lip.
Despite finding a shaded alcove to stake out The Bleeker Building from, the stifling heat was becoming oppressive. The air was thick and heavy, making each breath feel like I was inhaling humid cotton.
Across the street, the armed sentries seemed largely unfazed by the sweltering conditions.
NPCs probably didn't care. Most of them were even wearing long trench coats, the thick fabric somehow not causing them to melt under this intense heat.
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As for me, I could already feel the beginning pangs of dehydration setting in. My throat was parched, and I found myself unconsciously licking my dry lips every few minutes.
I would have killed for an ice cold glass of water or some type of soda.
Staking out the building had seemed like a decent idea when I set out earlier, but after finding nothing good it felt like a waste of time. For the past couple of hours, I hadn't seen anything of real interest.
The same handful of armed guards patrolled, and the occasional blue-named player character slipped in or out. There was no way I would try that. It was obvious those players were allied with The Cortez Family.
The Bleeker Building itself sat impassive, ten floors of windows betraying no obvious illicit activities rumored to be occurring within.
Armed mobsters in trench coats were enough to tell me the place was bad news, but this was a fictional world where authorities did nothing.
From my vantage point, it looked quite boring. The place certainly wasn't worth slowly roasting myself in the evening heat for.
I was just about to call it quits and find somewhere to grab a cold drink, when new movement across the street caught my eye. A familiar figure ran into view, and the unmistakable silhouette of Stalvek Dyomin appeared.
The intimidating player stalked forward to the NPC guards with an arrogant swagger. He squared his shoulders, eyes scanning the area like he owned the entire operation.
A couple of the guards turned to him, but Stalvek just barked something at them and they shrank back.
I unconsciously moved further into the shadows as Stalvek passed right by the mouth of my alley. We were more than two hundred feet away. His cold gaze flicked in my direction for the briefest moment before he moved on.
After a tense few seconds, he disappeared through The Bleeker's entrance, the guards going about their business as usual. It was obvious that he'd seen a blue-named character, but since he didn't stop, I could only assume he didn't care.
I had no way of knowing if he had any points in Awareness. I could only guess that since he didn't investigate, he didn't know the blue-name character hiding deep in the alleyway was me, Ethan Jones.
He wouldn't have kept walking if he knew it was me.
Well, I figured, so much for this being a bust. If Stalvek was there, something concerning my mission must be going down. I had the mission to watch for him and relay any important details, so I pressed myself deeper into the alcove, settling in to see what happened next.
Time crawled by, and a merciless sun slowly dropped. By this point, my shirt was essentially a sweat-soaked rag clinging to my body. I could feel the dampness seeping down the back of my overall pants.
My throat felt like I gargled with sandpaper. I'd have given just about anything for a tall glass of ice water. Or even a lukewarm beer, and I wasn't a drinker. Honestly, any kind of liquid refreshment would have been heaven.
As the shadows grew longer, I realized Stalvek still hadn't emerged from The Bleeker Building. He might not for some time. Just what the hell was he up to inside that place?
There was no way for me to know just yet, and I wasn't about to mess with those guards that surrounded the place.
The grumbling of my empty stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten anything since the fried steak at Emma's place. My eyelids were starting to feel heavy as well, fatigue setting in from hours of minimal movement and sapping dehydration.
I needed to get back to my apartment before I got too tired. Stalvek could lurk in that damn building for the rest of the night for all I cared.
Right then, the only thing on my mind was finding some shade, hydration, and maybe a power nap to recharge.
Stiffly pushing off from the wall, I carefully made my way out of the alley and back towards the more familiar. One last glance over my shoulder confirmed the patrols were still ongoing around The Bleeker's perimeter.
On the way back, I stopped at the first little store I could find. It was an old place with a tall door underneath a sign with faded lettering. The words seemed to indicate it was some type of general store, and my mini-map informed me it was Gregg's Bodega.
I pushed open the door and found a ramshackle bodega crammed with all manner of sundries. They had canned goods with little twist-open handles, toiletries, boxes of crackers, and saltwater taffies. It felt like stepping back in time.
An elderly man with a thick mustache looked up from behind the counter.
"Help you, son?"
"Just need something cold to drink," I rasped, my voice scratchy from thirst. "You got any soda pop or water? Cold. Anything cold."
"Sure thing." He gestured towards an old icebox humming in the corner. "Got all kinds of flavors over there. Even got some of that new Zappy! Citrus Exploddy! if you're feeling adventurous."
I made my way over, peering through the fogged glass at an assortment of bottles promising exotic tastes like Ginger Zest and Rhubarb Riot. But my eyes were immediately drawn to the bright green liquid sloshing inside the Zappy! bottles.
"I'll try that Zappy! Citrus Exploddy!" I told the shopkeeper, getting a dime from my wallet.
He cracked open the icebox and handed me a cold bottle, condensation already beading on the glass. I twisted off the cap and took an eager swig, the tangy, effervescent liquid hitting my parched throat.
It was like drinking fizzy limeade with an extra kick. The flavor was tart and sweet at the same time. Utterly refreshing. I could feel the cold liquid reviving me with each swallow.
By the time I drained the last few drops, my fatigue and dehydration had melted away. The old man grinned at me through the haze of my contentment.
"Good stuff, ain't it? Zappy! really packs a punch."
"You can say that again," I agreed, running my sleeve across my forehead. "That really hit the spot."
He gave me a nickel back from the dime, and I was left with two dollars and seventy five cents to my name.
With a satisfied nod, I headed back out onto the street, the hot summer evening feeling a lot more bearable now that I was refreshed.