Skip the news channels, I stop at the weather report and turn up the volume.
"Temperatures are going to sour. In the afternoon the southern parts of Faust might hit a new height of 31 degrees Celsius, 88 degrees Fahrenheit......."
The voice slowly fades away as I walk into the bathroom to wash my face with cold water, but the dizziness is still stuck at both sides of my head alongside a mild headache.
Fun fact: Dizzy is just another form of headache.
I grab a bottle of painkillers from the mirror cabinet. Walk past the living room.
"Sunny with cloudy periods. But after sunset....."
The kitchen is under my open bedroom, though it's got all the stuff you can think of, but truth be told I've only been using the fridge, coffee machine, and oven (cabinets next to the stove isn't large enough for my booze stash). I found a mug that doesn't look too awkward with espresso and press start on the coffee machine.
"Light drizzling after night is expected. And mild drop of temperature......"
While I'm waiting, I open the oven to check if my M&P is still between two bottles of gin. A security check is long overdue since I'm back in town. As the deep buzzing stops behind me. I pop two painkillers and finish the expresso in a minute.
Pondering if it counts as a miracle I'm still alive with a lifestyle like this.
"Next up, on the capital of......" Turning off the TV and popping my joints. I start taking care of three months worth of chores.
***
Guns are all in good condition despite not tending them for a while. Some water stains on the edge of my gun cabinet behind the mirror in the bathroom but the firearms themselves seemed fine after some basic examinations.
My place on the fifth floor is not as fancy as Ivan's penthouse or his office but living here for more than a couple of years now I had converted the whole place to be as comfortable as possible ....... for me at least.
The wooden cabinet by the porch has a small monitor inside connected to the pinhole camera installed on a screw hole above my door knocker. On the second shelf is a set of keypads, if someone doesn't type the password in the next 15 seconds after opening my door. The alarm next to my bed will sound....... I'll admit this had cost some inconvenience when I had visitors. So I added a manual disable by my bed.
The bathroom is on the right of the short hallway upon entering which is the only space in here without a wooden floor. Five meters left to my entrance, the place expanded.
To the left is my living room. Iron coffee table in front of my TV, placed just far enough to rest my feet and not hitting the legs of it every damn time I walk by. Next to the television is the portable record player Vera forced me to buy (There's a story behind that, but I really don't want to reminisce it..)
Under those is an industrial TV stand to place the records I collected and a Beretta 92 between 'The animals' and 'Who's next'.
Between the third and second couch cushions of a leather sofa is a SIG P365. And close to the wooden sofa legs on the left is a Benelli M4. A row of one-way window glass on the north wall to save elasticity bills. A Black Sputnik chandelier hangs in the space between the living room and kitchen.
A bookshelf against the south wall, with Russian, Chinese, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, and English dictionary on the lower shelf. And classic stories and poems that I read less and less nowadays but on some nights when I'm out of booze and sleeping pills having a 'Life in the Woods' is always good.
The kitchen area is basically for me to make cocktails, coffee, and throw stuff in the fridge. A giant liquor store 100 meters away, made me fill the glass overhead cabinet with stuff that even a professional bartender doesn't recognize.
A stove under the cabinet. The last time I used it was because I can't find my lighter again. A Nespresso next to a kettle and a box full of coffee capsules. A CZ75 in a holster was placed between the fridge and counter.
A kitchen island with another sink and a cutting board, and a knife block with combat knives and fruit knives on it. Under them is the oven.
This place used to have an attic but I got some contractors to remove it, only leaving the part above the kitchen area, relocating the bedroom up there, and setting up a set of stairs.
Nothing of note up there except some bulletproof vests I got tricked into buying in the closet, a heavily modified Mp5 under my bed, and the window up there are also one-way glasses.
Some said it's too much and too risky with a fuck load of contrabands in my home...... Those have never seen Viviane and Vera's place. And I rather be too careful than get killed by some drugged-up robbers, desperate thieves, or enemies I may or may not know exist.
***
I head upstairs, strap my shoulder holster, picked up my 1911 by the bed, and Fn 509 on the porch. The room that used to be a bedroom is now a storage room for all kinds of stuff that I 'might' need but never did. After clearing out the northeast corner. I remove a piece of the wooden floor and showed an iron handle underneath.
Opening up the hatch shows a hole that leads downstairs. I unlocked the safety lever on the edge, dropping a ladder down.
Descending, I reach a bedroom with nothing but a portable bed with a thin pair of dust on it.
This is James's place if I remember correctly.
This building used to be government owned but after constant reports of junkies and robbers in the neighborhood and most importantly, them being too lazy to care or manage the place at all. So they decided to release the ownership back to the public making me, and the rest of the people living here the owner of their own real estate.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
After some persuasion and encouragement. Those that used to live on the four lower levels moved out and sold the place to me at reasonable prices.
Then, I found four homeless people whose names just so happen to be James, John, Juan, and Johan. I got them to sign the papers for renting apartments downstairs and opened a bank account.
Leaving the rest of the work to an accountant, financial adviser, real estate agent, or whatever he calls himself today that I spared during a job I had done. Now he keeps on running his schemes and cons in the lanes.
He built four ..... mildly believable identities for those hobos. Making them functional individuals in our society with above-average income and always paying taxes on time. But most importantly, paying rent of very high fluctuation.
Non-affiliated criminals such as freelancers, killers, mercenaries, fixers, and cleaners generally have their own side business of owning a shop or a fast food restaurant, etc. Not because they're short on cash (Alright, some of them do.) but because despite euforia is practically the Wild West.
Taxes. Are still a thing. Even syndicates like Qins too have a company front as a disguise. People often joke about the IRS being the most efficient and intelligent department.
Therefore, money laundering is a big deal in Faust. And most of the time, they run their own procedures and numbers since it is risky to let someone else do it.
The accountant is one of the most ingenue, slippery, flattering guys I've seen. But he has years of experience in this kind of stuff.
Plus, he won't shut up about 'Repaying my benevolence'. So I took a risk and pay him a visit. Propose for him to laundry money for me in exchange, he can spam however much the residents 'make' every month. Promising him free use of those four identities for other projects as long as it doesn't get IRS's attention.
We shake hands. Then I pull out my 1911 and gave hand him the round in its chamber. I told him "If you ever fucks me over or steal from me. That bullet will be your only way to escape me."
So now in the government's data. I'm a landlord.
***
The fourth floor is like my office. Depends on my workload. Sometimes I don't come down here in weeks. Other times I sleep on the portable bed more than the real one upstairs.
Pushing the door open. I'm relieved to see everything is still the same.
The wooden blinds are closed, not allowing a single ray of light to trespass. The air conditioning and the lights are on as always. This floor has the same setup as the fifth, but the interior is quite different.
The TV is moved to the north wall, in front of the windows and a small couch in the middle of the room faces it.
Several cables are taped in place at the edge of the floor, all lead up to the television.
On the spot for the TV stand on the fifth floor is a titanium desk with spare parts of pistols, punches, key wrenches scattered on the surface, and a box full of screwdrivers, and brass hammers. A bare tube light with its separate switch nailed on the wall right above the workbench.
A variety of riffle bags, sports bags, violin cases in all sizes leaning against the west wall. A black steel cabinet door replaced the bookshelf.
The kitchen is mostly the same. The only difference is the places where I store liquors such as oven, cabinets, drawers, or fridge. Are filled with canisters to refill my inhaler. Usually, I don't like to take it raw. But there's still a bag of various 'products' and adrenaline shots in a medical kit bag.
A full map of Euforia covers half of the kitchen island with spots marked in red, and an ashtray on top of it. A whiteboard next to the kitchen area with reminders, notes, and scribbles I wrote for reasons I can't remember.
The accountant once estimated that the stuff I have on the top floor alone is enough to put me behind bars for good. Adding the rest will probably get me on a chair.
***
I spent the next twenty minutes cleaning my pistols. Unloading the mag. Removing the slides, the firing pins, recoil spring, and barrels. Using a toothbrush and oil from a plastic toolbox under the table.
Debris are all over the bench when I'm done.
Next, I fish out the TV controller between sofa pats. Six different images appear on the TV screen. They are pinhole camera images of the front doors of the five apartments in the building and the front gate. I starts playing at the top speed from the second I left my place about three months ago.
Viviane came three times, Vera once, Ivan almost tear the front gate down once, Igor rings my doorbell once and left 10 seconds later.
All kinds of people in my life came to my doorstep, each for very different reasons. I'm surprised to see Nan came too. He picked the front gate lock and made it to the fifth floor.....twice. I stop the tape and check the date.
2 weeks ago...probably came for the job.
The rest is pretty normal, some hooded fellows and kids tryna trick residents to open the door. Two drunks fighting from the grocery store to the front of my building. Regular stuff for Nochnaya citizens.
After I turned off the television. I walk to the kitchen area and wipe the whiteboard clean with my sleeves. And starts making plans for today and the necessary preparations for the meeting on Friday. 10 minutes later the board looks even more chaotic than before.
***
Back on the fifth floor. I pull the letter back up, close the hatch, and hid it.
I climbed up the stairs to my open bedroom and pushes my bed to the side revealing a mp5 and a floor safe. Inserting a 10-digit password and with great effort, I pull the metal door open. The sound of rusty hinges terrorized my ears.
I grab a stack of cash and a brown, cowhide journal with a pen between pages.
Sitting on my bed I allocate the stack of cash to a few different envelopes, placing them on the window-side table along with everything else. Then I open the notebook. And starts recording the time, date, associated people, compensations, and the details of my work yesterday.
The habit of taking notes and records of all the jobs I've done was developed after I got screwed over for the first time a few months after I became a merc. Since I keep adding pages throughout the years it's as thick as an encyclopedia by now. And what happened last night alone took five pages.
After I'm done with them. I decided it was finally time for me to head out. Throwing the clothes I wore yesterday into the laundry basket in my bathroom I notice a small piece of paper on my back pocket sticks out.
Emilio&Fulvio.
I stare at the wrinkled business card. And ran upstairs to open my closet. Staring down at the card again. I slowly exhale. Placing the card on top of the envelopes on the table. And reopen the safe to get another stack of cash.
***
I put on a v neck, cargo pants and check my watch. Almost midday. The sun from outside makes me feel the dry heat without opening the window so I put on round shades.
Recalling Ivan's words. If the place is mafia owned...... I still decide to wear my holster and take both guns with me. Not bothering with spare mags though.
Knives might not be necessary either since I'm not technically 'working' today. Just doing some preparations. But when I put on my jacket, the asymmetrical feeling made me strap a dagger in my left sleeve and a brass knuckle in my right jacket pocket.
Still can't find my lighter so I take the matches too...... When my pinky finger graze the inhaler next to it, a strong urge to run downstairs and fill it up hit me. But remembering what happened last night, I decided to quit it for the next few days before the meeting. As much as it soothes me in all situations, I almost step over the line of no return yesterday.
I force myself to avoid gazing at it which leads me to another poisoned chalice. The dagger Qin Yan gave me.
A part of me wants to place it on my bookshelf and be down with it. But.......
After a battle within my mind. I put it in my inner pocket and head outside. The metal pommel pressed down on my left chest. The coldness of it penetrates the fabric of my clothes and sends a chill through my body.
Just for Javier to take a look.....
As I walk down the spiral stairs. Slowing making my way back to the land of the living. What Viv said the first time she was here echoes in my mind.
"Cool place you got here. Secured, comfy, but empty as Faustian population in heaven. Don't you get lonely in here?"
I laughed.
Because I didn't know how to answer her. I filled my days with work and errands to the point I don't have time for it. Overthinking your well-being is unhealthy but some nights when I'm too sober or the inhaler's effects are delayed. It's hard to convince myself I don't.
***
Solar noon. The scorching white in the clear sky above me radiated heat waves to the concrete pavement and my face. Like a judging eye telling me I'm not welcome with its angry glares. I return its hostility by putting on my shades. Heading south.