The City of Dreams is a beautiful city, now fallen asleep, with a cloak of darkness and silence enveloping its skyscrapers and bustling streets.
However, the tranquility of the night was an illusion, a facade that hides the dark and sordid secrets lurking in the shadows. In a forgotten alleyway, behind a luxurious nightclub, a sleek black car parked, its occupants engaged in a tense conversation.
"Man, I think it's time to take the next step with Maria," James said, his voice laden with expectation. "We've been together for five years, you know?"
Marcos exhaled a puff of smoke, his eyes fixed on the dark street. "Five years, James? You're outdoing yourself."
"She's calmed me down, Marcos," James replied, a soft gleam in his eyes. "And she's been talking about kids lately. I think I'd like to be a father."
Marcos let out a rough laugh. "You, a father? Poor kids."
The conversation continued, a mix of banter and tension, until Marcos interrupted, his eyes fixed on the nightclub entrance. "They've arrived."
A brand new Porsche pulled up in front of the nightclub, a man in an expensive suit and extravagant jewelry stepping out of the car. He entered without hesitation, disappearing into the crowd.
"So," James asked, getting out of the car, "are we going in quietly, or are we kicking down the door?"
Marcos didn't answer. He put out his cigarette and walked towards the nightclub, passing the security guards with a presence that brooked no questions.
The interior of the nightclub was a stark contrast to the calm of the night. Electronic music pulsed, cigarette smoke hung in the air, and a crowd of bodies moved in sync with the frenetic lights. It was the kind of environment Marcos detested, but James seemed to feel right at home.
They headed to the bar, ordering a whiskey and a martini, observing the movement around them. Soon, they found their target: the man from the Porsche, now surrounded by women, ascending the stairs leading to the VIP area.
Without exchanging words, Marcos and James finished their drinks and followed the man, climbing the stairs to the exclusive world of the VIP area. There, the atmosphere was different: soft music, elegant people, and a sense of power and exclusivity.
At a table in the back of the VIP area, a voice said, "James and Marcos, Sanders' two dogs, what the hell are you doing in my area?" It was the man they had been following. Marcos would have responded to the provocation if James hadn't stepped forward. "Nico, is that how you treat old friends?" James said. Nico sneered, "Old friends my ass, you two are here for a reason, so spill it or get the fuck out."
This time Marcos replied, "I told you this son of a bitch is a piece of shit, looks like your time in Russia didn't make you any smarter."
Marcos drew his pistol and fired several shots into the air, causing the people in the VIP area to flee in generalized panic. James was next to speak, also drawing his weapon. "Pretty brave of you to go out without any security."
Nico remained silent, staring intently at the two men with anger and fear.
"Now Nico, I'm going to tell you something, you know why we're here." Nico didn't answer, just kept his intense gaze on the two men, filled with rage and fear. "You really think the cartel would protect you from Sanders? This city is his, you fucker." James continued where Marcos left off, "Your men downstairs are already on the payroll, now you're going to have to take a permanent vacation." Nico remained silent, just listening to them speak, looking at the floor.
"Last words, you piece of shit rat," Marcos growled. Nico raised his eyes, a mixture of hatred and defiance in them, and shaking off his fear, he replied in a fury directed at Marcos, "I'll see you in hell, you fucking nigger."
The word 'nigger' echoed in the air, a reminder of a dirty life and the prejudice suffered, making his blood boil. The pistol spat fire, not with muffled sounds, but with sharp cracks.
Nico fell, fell, the impact shaking the table. The smell wasn't metallic, but dense and nauseating, iron mixed with something putrid.
Marcos saw a piece of skull stuck to the wall, he felt his stomach churn and the familiar cold sweat, and taking a deep breath, he fought back the nausea.
"That son of a bitch, that bastard called me a nigger," Marcos said, clearly irritated, leaving the bodies behind. "Take it easy, Marc," James said. Marcos stopped. "Don't call me Marc." James just laughed and continued towards the stairs, and going down, they found the nightclub now empty.
Before leaving, James grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar. "Is that really necessary?" Marcos said, and James replied, "My car runs on alcohol," as he opened the bottle and drank straight from it.
Outside, there were still people in despair because of the sound of the gunshots, and others simply curious, waiting for the police to arrive to find out what had happened. The two just ignored everything and headed towards the car.
Arriving at the car, they heard the sound of sirens approaching, and James asked, "Let's go for dinner." Marcos, lighting a cigarette, started the car and said, "A pizza would be good," turning on some music as they drove away from the area to eat.
Meanwhile, inside the nightclub, a man was looking at Nico's body with a neutral expression on his face. Behind him, a man tied to a chair, severely injured, asked, "Who did this?" The man, with a strong voice and a noticeable Russian accent, spoke. The tied-up man, desperate and hoping to get out of that nightclub alive, replied, "It was men from Holy End." The Russian said nothing, put his hands behind the black overcoat he was wearing, and drew a silver gun.
"No... you said you'd let me go," the other man replied in panic, looking at the gun in front of his face and crying for mercy.
"Find the sons of bitches who did this, and I want them alive," the Russian's voice was as cold as the silver of the gun in his hand. "And I want the bastards alive." And then the flash and the sound of the shot, followed only by the smell of gunpowder and blood.
And the body of the once pleading man was left in the alley behind the nightclub, along with the rats.
This is the City of Dreams, where the Simple always succumb.