2: Contracting . . .

A man stands behind a bar. The neon light outlines his tall silhouette as he smokes a cigarette. Taking out a lighter from his pocket, he hovers it over Zero’s and Vincent’s files. This peculiar man casually tosses the lit files aside in front of Zero and Vincent. Dazzling embers have invited shadows to come out and play. He greets them with a firm handshake, patting them on the back like old friends.

As the ashes settle into the unknown, his sharp eyes of gray dart around the area. The dimly lit bar should provide a cloak of anonymity, shielding their activities from prying eyes.

"Let's get started," the well-dressed man declares. Of course, there is no time to waste. Whatever business lies ahead demands immediate attention. With a flick of his cig, the man gestures for Zero and Vincent to join him inside.

They move to a secluded corner of the bar, or at least, that is what they think. On a stool near the corner, an old drunkard dreams away. A drop of liquor drips out his mouth, and he snores away blissfully.

"Ah, we can't have that. Excuse me for a moment," the man takes the drunkard's arm and carries him outside.

The clock ticks and tocks. Chatters fill the other side of the room. Ignorant, loud chatters. If someone is to scream right now, no one will know. If someone is to die right now, well, the janitor has a hefty task awaiting him in the morning.

It takes not a minute more before the well-dressed man comes back inside.

"I didn't hear a gun. Did you off him?" Vincent settles onto a sleek, polished table with Zero, facing the enigmatic man.

"I'd rather not draw attention, Mr. Lacroix," the man replies. "I laid him down with the rest of his fellows outside. They'll take care of him in my place," he chuckles.

"You sly motherfucker. There are no homeless bums around here, and for a good reason, too," Vincent scoffs. "Ya fed him to the dogs, didn't cha?"

"I'd much rather lay back and let the world run itself, Mr. Lacroix. To the man, this will be a most unpleasant night, but for the hounds... it's a banquet."

"If that's what you'd do to a random drunk just to remove him, then to hell with Christ!" says Vincent. "You'll just get rid of us when we finally hit the wall and stink up the place like that drunk. Am I right, Contractor?"

The Contractor does not answer.

"I said, am I fuckin' righ-"

Zero puts a hand on Vincent's shoulder.

"Apologies for my partner's rude comment. Why don't we get straight to the point, Contractor?" Zero tightens his grip on Vincent.

With a business smile, the Contractor begins the discussion. The air is contaminated, thick, and heavy with the smell of whiskey as they go through the details and precautions.

Unbeknownst to them, hidden CCTV cameras discreetly capture fragments of their conversation, providing glimpses into their negotiations.

The Contractor leans forward, hushedly laying out the terms of the deal. He carefully chooses his words, revealing only enough information to pique his clients' interest. Each word is embroidered with gold, but also possible lies. He speaks of power, wealth, and opportunity, tantalizing Zero and Vincent with promises of untold riches.

Zero, the ever-vigilant, listens intently, scanning the room for any signs of deception. His hand hovers near the hilt of his katana—a reminder of the danger that lurks beneath the surface.

Vincent, the so-called strategist, weighs the risks and rewards, calculating the potential profits of the venture. His lips curl into a sly grin as he envisions the profits ahead.

Stolen story; please report.

As the conversation unfolds, the hidden cameras capture snippets of their dialogue, piecing together the puzzle of their partnership. Cryptic phrases and coded language hint at the true nature of their collaboration.

But even as they delve deeper into the intricacies of the deal, doubt lingers in the air. Each party guards their secrets closely, wary of revealing too much too soon.

Checking his watch, the Contractor rises from his seat. His silhouette is framed against the bar's dim lighting as he puts out his smoke. With a nod of acknowledgment, Zero shakes his hand as they prepare to embark on the mission. Vincent does not. Instead, he gets up and walks away. Zero does not try to follow him.

The hidden cameras continue to roll, capturing the final moments of their rendezvous. And then, as if it was possessed, the cameras blow up on the spot. Sparks and gray smoke exhales from the malfunctioned machine. Unfortunately, whatever was recorded is lost now. The Contractor had made sure of that.

***

Light buzzes above like a bee on pollen. But that does not bother Jack so much. He slumps in his chair, nodding and struggling to stay awake. The monotony of the night shift weighs heavily on him, and the exhaustion devil is trying to consume his being.

Suddenly, the shrill voice of the Director pierces the silence, jolting Jack awake with a start.

"Agent Jack! Report for duty!"

Jack's eyes snap open, followed by his heart racing as he realizes the gravity of the situation. He immediately straightens up in his chair, frantically rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, ma'am! What is the purpose of your visit, ma'am?!" Jack salutes the Director. His voice is hoarse with fatigue.

The director strides over to Jack's workstation as she delivers the urgent news.

"Vincent has just been caught on CCTV," she says. "I need you to analyze it, now!"

Jack is wide awake now. The mention of his nemesis' name sends streams of adrenaline down his veins, erasing any trace of weariness. Vincent, the elusive criminal mastermind who has eluded capture time and time again, is the agency's most wanted target.

Jack springs into action. His fingers fly across the keyboard as he accesses the newly discovered footage. The images flicker to life on the screen, revealing glimpses of Vincent's shadow as he moves through the streets.

As Jack pores over the footage, his mind races with possibilities. Every clue, every detail could be the key to finally bringing Vincent to justice. With determination fueling his efforts, Jack dives deeper into the investigation, zooming in and out on every detail exhibited on screen. In the battle against crime, there is no room for rest. For Jack, the pursuit of justice is relentless, driven by a fervent desire to protect the innocent and uphold the law, no matter the cost.

Hours pass by and he cannot find a clue relevant to his case. The footage has been cut off, and even though the quality has been enhanced and brightened, not much is extracted from it. “Vincent is shrewd, no way in heaven would he ever let slip of his activities,” Jack crosses his arms and lets out a sigh of frustration.

Disheartened, Jack finds himself seeking solace in the familiar comfort of his favorite bar. The neon glow of the sign casts a welcoming light as he pushes open the heavy wooden door and steps inside. The bar is lit with an opaque tint, thick with the woody scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke. Jack settles onto a stool at the worn wooden counter, nodding to the bartender.

"Rough night, eh?" the bartender flips a rag over his back, pouring Jack a generous measure of Gin and Tonic without him needing to ask. Jack usually prefers light drinking during weeknights. While drinking could ease his mind after a long day, he would not want it getting in the way of his work, and Gin is strong enough to offer flavor without drowning his senses.

Jack sips the amber liquid, tasting the combination of sweetness and bitterness from the Tonic, and fruity notes from the Gin, as he reflects on the events of the evening. Vincent's elusiveness is a constant frustration, a reminder of Jack's many challenges in justice-pursuing.

"Vincent's a slippery one," the bartender says while brewing another shot for an impatient customer. "But you'll get him eventually. You always do."

Jack manages a faint smile. "Thanks, Joe."

Despite the setbacks, he knows he can never give up the fight. Too much is at stake, and many lives hang in the balance. As the night wears on, Jack finds himself lost in thought, drifting to the countless cases he has worked on over the years. Each one was a puzzle to solve, and each one was a chance to make a difference in a world plagued by crimes.

With a feeling of determination and alcohol burning in his chest, Jack finishes his drink and pins the usual payment under the glass, including a huge tip for the kind barkeeper. Stepping outside, Jack finds himself caressed by the cool night air, telling him that tomorrow is another day—another chance to bring criminals like Vincent to justice. He sets out into the night, preparing to face whatever challenges lie ahead. For in the battle against crime, there can be no rest until the job is done. And Jack would not have it any other way.