Nochnaya in the daytime looks utterly different than at night. Even at noon, there are not many pedestrians. Especially since I'm in a residential area. The ones with a 9 to 5 in the city center went out long before me. Big steppers and cutthroats are up even before they do.
Crossing the Lesnaya, the bustling street is now filled with litter, empty bottles and fresh vomits giving off unbearable smells under the blistering sunlight. A man with his necktie draped down his shoulder like it's a scarf walks by me with bloodshot eyes and an agonizing expression, slowly dragging himself north towards the skyscrapers across Via Martinase.
When the salty smell of the ocean and chemical waste starts invading my nostrils. I turn right and start heading west. Through four blocks. A group of factory workers in tank tops and unbuttoned shirts are having lunch on a short wall.
Unforgiving sunshine contours their weather-beaten faces. Sweats on their forehead glitter while slowly dripping down. Wrinkles form on the edge of their face as a man with a bloated belly lying on the short wall facing the sun said something in a language I don't recognize.
The foreman squints his eyes as I walk by, letting out a hum. I purposely turned my head and quicken my steps.
Past experience taught me getting into fights with someone who engages in physical labor is a very very bad idea. Unless you're ready to kill them.
Hot wind from the west. Smoke, the smell of burns from cutting metal, and seawater mix together into a strange scent. Signaling I'm in the right direction.
Walking by a warehouse and three blocks, a brick wall with barbed wires on top replaced the unchanged scenery of concrete buildings and shop windows. It extends from far south to the next crossroad up north.
Though it's lunchtime, the factories behind the walls are less noisy than early morning. But the smell from the shipyard still lingers in the air.
This area by the branch of the great canal is the industrial area of Faust. Being a shoreline city and one of the most important port cities in the world, the demand for workers and wielders in docks, shipyards, and factories of all kinds is enormous.
Dreamers and opportunists from all over the world came here searching for a new world paradise and the next American dream when Faust was built at first. Few succeeded.
Those that failed and didn't choose the life of crime in many gangs of the city. Ended up in the docks. They thought it was just a temporary means to feed themselves and they would be able to get back up and fulfill whatever drives them here in the future.
Years later, their children or grandchildren grew up in public housing down south. Constantly in fear of his drunken father's footsteps. Stumbling upstairs from the dock after his shift ended. Promising to never be like him, to become a better person. The kids left home...... and asked for a job at the closest construction site.
***
Took a left turn at the crossroad up ahead. Riverside Road looks empty with only one or two trucks passing by and a couple of dock workers sitting on the humped sidewalk. A man in vest is on the phone with his car parked by the empty bridge.
"No! No! Not that motherfucker again. I've told him more times than his fucking wife! To not......."
The man stops whining when I walk past him, leaning on the railing as if he's been looking at the ocean this whole time.
Thirty past noon. Even with sunglasses on, the estuary still shines brightly under the high noon. Glinting. Like shattered glasses on a proscenium stage.
But if you look closely, the color of the ocean doesn't match the one under this bridge. One is deep blue of Prussian, the other is dirty green like cloudy emeralds.
With the industrial area behind me, the street became lively again with pedestrians on both sides. Clothing shops and antique stores on the first floor of townhouse buildings. It's daytime so the difference between here and East noch are hard to spot. It's only at night do you realize the shops and stores here barely have any neon lights. There are also fewer clubs and nightlife over here. (the amount of bar stays the same though)
Heading north for four more blocks. The shops and stands start increasing in number but there aren't many customers in those establishments. Crossing a small crossed road the buildings by the side start changing. Becoming more and more like the ones in the east, dark alleys under iron canopies with a shady-looking guy in jerseys, window gratings on residents' homes, and shop keepers display windows.
And most importantly the passer's starts becoming...... complicated.
Fellows in leather coats with a big bulge on their back waist, middle-aged Russians with butch cuts, young adults wearing gold chains and silver rings.
They scowl at anyone giving them second glances. Walking in a distinctive way that I know too well, wide spaces between steps but the time foot is off ground are reduced to the minimum so they can be ready in action when someone tries to jump them.
A young bloke about 19 or 21 years old is walking straight at me. His eyes convey a stoic calmness. A string with silver trinkets braided on it gave a clear warning to those that know the streets not to fuck with him.
Different regions of mobs have their distinctive traditions. The ones in the East like to use different tattoos to show what they've done for instance, the most commonly known is the Makarov pistol which means the person with such a tattoo had killed a cop before.
In the West, they use bracelets. It's hard to tell what's on the bracelet until you're up close. Like the tattoos, each piece of silver means a different sin you carry. The more you have, the more respect you get from your peers. But those are usually for 'the six' only, higher ranks than foot soldiers don't need the bracelet anymore. Their position in the organization speaks for itself and having a silver bracelet that makes a bunch of 'clinks' while walking isn't the best approach in most scenarios.
But those that had it, tend to keep it.
I can see he's sizing me up. There's an alleyway between us that's perfect for mugging. But after I subtly shake my head and put my hand in my exterior pocket, the kid moved his gaze and move aside. He got the message.
This is why when I meet a new 'Shestyorka' I tend to test them by asking where they came from. Regional differences between soldiers and scouts are vast. Especially among low-rankers.
And oftentimes, the ones that are actually capable are from here, the 'Tenth street'.
***
10th Street is the joint name for the area between the main canal and its branch. A peninsula between Nochnaya and Desalos, the Russian mob, and the La Vina cartel.
This place used to be hell. In the early days when the owner of the canal haven't been decided yet. This place was the main battleground for one of the biggest gang wars in history. It goes on for a whole fucking decade. Massacres, assassinations, burning opposite sides establishments, cleaning houses. From what I have known, that ten years made the 'warring state' of Piao Jie look like kids throwing toy cars in elementary school.
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It wasn't the only war going on at that time. The line between the Italians and the Japs wasn't as clear as today. And the Chinese were at war with themselves at the time. All sorts of violence and bloodshed in scales future and past generations never seen before. Lots of the legends in my businesses were made during that period.
Though the whole city was dedicated to killing each other. But even now if you ask anyone which part of the war was the most intense and unforgiving? Nine out of ten will say the tenth street.
Between the industrial area and the enemy front line, the Russians at tenth street have to face the full weight of Desalos crushing down on them every day. The body count on both parties is immeasurable. At the time, the mobs haven't developed their club businesses in Lesnaya yet.
Arms dealing and gun business is their priority. And the docks are the lifeline of their cash flow. So they made sure to do everything they could to keep ports at the canal at any cost. They made so many safe houses, strongholds, and underground gun shops on the tenth street. Making this place the heart of their operations.
At the end of the decade, both sides had enough. They negotiated a feasible agreement on the usage of the canal as I mentioned. As the mobs start pulling forces and focus less on Tenth streets since there hasn't been much trouble at the docks after the truce.
The peace that came after the war helped Lesnaya become what it is today. Russians put their main focus there, on club business, money laundry, drugs, and lately, sex business.
The rise of the East means the desolation of the West. Russians leave the necessary manpower to keep la vina at bay and stop caring as long as shipments and ports are fine. Which eventually leads to 10th Street becoming the second paradise for mercenaries and freelancers.
Smuggling sites, gun shipments. The brigadier of tenth street 'Luthier' started letting people like me buy guns from his places and conduct business on his territory like other places in Noch since he doesn't have to worry about Tinos and their spies. Tenth Street has gone from the most secure and strictly controlled area in noch to the second biggest merc gathered place in town next to the lanes.
Despite the number going down significantly, new recruits from this area tend to be the best. The battle-hardened gangsters that survived the war tended to train new blood as harshly as they were trained. Making the six in this place much more than stupid teenagers that terrorized locals. They know their place and their job, though still youthful and frivolous but the gangsters here are the most disciplined and capable.
This is why Igor loves 'borrowing' soldiers here and assigning them to all kinds of tasks when he's short on men or roaming the streets looking for the next batch of future soldiers for the mobs. (Luthier often complained about it and ask the higher-ups to stop Igor from stealing his man.......... The request went unnoticed)
***
The buildings on both sides of the road slowly rise from five or six-story apartment buildings to business buildings with twenty-plus floors. A bald man with a nasty scar on the back of his hand strides out of the alleyway carrying a cello case. I don't see any sign of saint peter's cross or bracelets on him. Plus the fact that he looked aside, avoiding my presence confirms his a mercenary too.
Someone's got a hot one on hand huh?
Professional courtesy made me treat him like a normal passer too when I walk into the alley he just came out of. Shadows of skyscrapers block out the sunshine so I take off my sunglasses. Took a moment to adjust, years of messing up sleeping schedules made my eyes sensitive to brightness.
I take a right and take two lefts before walking straight through an apartment complex. This part is incredibly hard to navigate unless you're local. It's been a while since last I was here but if memory serves the place should be.......
Following the narrow trail in the middle of a concrete jungle. I've reached 'Glasgow'. What seems to be a lone island in the midst of skyscrapers actually holds tremendous tactical advantage. The alleys around this shop can lead to all sorts of places on the tenth street, if you know your way around you can even make it to the canal faster than driving.
'Glasgow' is a vintage violin shop. Two display windows on both sides of the front door, framed by ebony wood. The bronze shop name hangs proudly on top of the entrance with 'Founded since 1894' written under it in smaller font. Shop width is about the size of a backstreet liquor store but the length of this place seems to be limitless.
Violins and Viola are on display at the front. Look closer. You can see old pictures, a cello body, books, a workbench, a counter...... things that belong in a Music Store through the window.
You can understand what's inside but the instruments at the display window block out most of the sights. Creating a delicate balance using the inertia of the public.
You know what's inside. You believe a glance while passing by had given you all the information about this place. You wouldn't pay more attention because it's too much trouble.
A muscular man is talking on the phone next to Glasgow. Black hair with few strays of gray, gelled back, hand on the belt. An upside-down cross on the back of his left hand which is holding the phone.
Approaching the shop, I lower my pace. Another tradition of tenth street is that when close to 'legitimate businesses' properties of the Russian mob, walking slowly is both a sign of respect and no I'll intention. From the stories of seniors, La Vina used hit-and-run tactics in war. Four or five in groups, they would rush to one of the establishments. Throw IEDs or grenades through the front door before attacking.
Pretty sure it gave veterans PTSD.
20 meters away, I casually walk past two hooded individuals in an alley to my right. A string of silver pieces on their bracelets. They're casually chatting about news from the East. The conversation keeps going but their eyes are on me when I passed by.
7 meters away, a small group of men in leather jackets strides out of an intersection. I lower my pace even more when passing them, and one of them recognized me. He pats my shoulder and gives me a warning look while passing by. I return him a nod. Guess things haven't been quiet here either.
In front of 'Glasgow' the man on the phone hung up. And walked in front of me, blocking the entrance.
"Lee. Good to see you're......well." Arseny's heavy Russian accent stays the same as I remember. I tried to squeeze a smile on my face but without the inhaler, it probably look like a smirk.
"Words traveled this far? The fuck did you heard happened to me?" He spits out a yellowish sputum before answering me.
"Igor said you lost your cock for fucking the Chinese princess." A smile drag its curves through his cheeks, looking like a stitched mark on his face twisting. Believe it or not, this guy is actually quite nice...... before he runs out of smoke.
"Cool story. How about you skip the part about my cock before spreading it? So I don't have to take off my pants to prove him wrong every time I heard it." His smile becomes a grin, a hoarse laugh came out of his mouth.
"So." I put on a grin too. "Why are you blocking the entrance like you're saint peter at heavens gate?" Arseny stops for a second and looks past me. He's looking at one of the alleyways.
"Boss made a few new rules. For both old and new customers," I raise my eyebrow.
"Limited stock, limited buyers, cash only."
"Limited buyers?"
"No ties to the Qins, well behaved, not a chink." My right eye twitched, and my hand formed a fist out of reflexes before I released it.
"And I'm?"
"For him to decide." He leans back on the pillar next to the door frame. "Once he's done." His pose made it clear I can't wait inside. I take a peak at the work bench inside but the old man is not at his usual spot.
I shrug and pull out my pack of cig leaning on the other pillar by the display window. Lit mine and take a drag. Arseny's nose twitched. A light chill runs down my spine, I take a look at the road I came, counting eight sets of eyes from all corners staring at me.
Some things never change.
The effects of nicotine can't compete with an inhaler when it comes to calming my nerves. Especially with a bunch of scouts staring at me. But the taste of tobacco always beats chemicals.
"And Igor's been dropping by lately?" He lets out a grunt and tilt his
"Stealing our recruits like always... but I couldn't blame him now." The smirk is gone, he looks less intimidating without it though. "The low lives at east been stepping too far."
"So I've heard. Is that all this is about? The rules and...." I draw a circle in the air, specifying the beholders in front.
I'm not too worried about Luthier giving me the cold shoulder, but the fact that he's not behind the store counter is strange. And the security weren't this tight months ago.
"Yes, and no." I raise my eyebrows. He raises his shoulders. "Время покажет."
Knowing I wouldn't get more answers from him I take a long drag, a slight sting under my skin at left side of my head spreads. I blame the heat, nicotine and my own actions last night..... goddamn it.
Last night feels like a nightmare with too much details. But the wooden grip of her dagger pressing my chest suggests reality is nightmares lacking monsters. Come to think of it, I haven't got the chance to tell Ivan what went down after I left.
Wonder if he will have any information about Xiao.
I take another hard drag. Clearing my mind with sharp pain in my temple. Slowly puffing out the smoke, a smoke ring was formed unintentionally. I watch it disintegrates in the air, the corner of my eyes I catch Arseny's nose twitched again.
"You out of cigarette?" I say after puffing out more smoke in the air between us.
"Quitting. Three weeks now." Arseny says with a light smirk.
"Well." I put the cig back in my mouth. "Consider me your biggest supporter." I take two more steps to the right, leaning on the display window. The reflection of sunlight found its way to land on my shoulder. I avert the light and throw my head back, my back pressing the bulletproof display window.
"What made you quit it? Last I check, you were chain smoking two packs a day."
Arseny fixes his jacket collar before slowly tracing them down back to his pockets, his left-hand stops at the position of lung for half a second. I turn my head to puff out the smoke at the concrete wall next to the violin shop. Hoping I made a trivial contribution.
"And you? Off town for the past months?" He said before his lips curl leftward and spit out another sputum. His eyes relocate me while his head is unmoved. I nod.
"Vocation," I say dryly. Arseny didn't laugh. He just nods slowly with a light smirk.
That, was the most normal reaction I got so far.
After shooting the shit for ten minutes. Sounds of heavy footsteps came behind me as the door between me and Arseny opens.