Chương 31: Billy Herrington!
"Bang!"
Before he could get another word out, a second bullet flew, grazing the side of the second brother's head and blowing off part of his ear. Thanks to the paralyzing agent, he barely registered the pain, but a chilling numbness spread from the wound. He quickly got the message and shut his mouth.
Ivan turned his cold gaze to the man called Old Dog. "He's not going to be much help. Now, it's your turn. I ask the questions; you answer."
Old Dog's face contorted into a grimace, more pitiful than terrified. "Anything… just ask."
Ivan narrowed his eyes. "What's the deal with the Immigrant Mutual Aid Association?"
This question had nagged at him since Anton had asked him about it before selling him out. Clearly, there was more to it than met the eye.
Old Dog swallowed, choosing his words carefully. "It's… something Mr. Howard started a few years back. Originally, it was just to help new immigrants; getting them jobs, finding places to rent. Later, it grew bigger… started organizing unions, running a newspaper, helping with debts…"
Ivan nodded. At least it sounded more legitimate than Anton's shady setup. "And if someone wants to meet this Mr. Howard?"
"Ah… you're unlikely to meet him easily," Old Dog stammered. "He's always rubbing shoulders with powerful people, congressmen, big shots. You'd need to make an appointment, maybe months in advance…"
"Who's your direct boss?" Ivan pressed.
"It's… Mr. Harris. He's the one who rents the old gold mine," Old Dog replied, his voice shaky.
"And what's his relationship with Mr. Howard?"
"Mr. Howard doesn't officially… endorse us kidnapping and selling people," Old Dog explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "But… rumors say there's some connection between them. I don't know the details, I swear."
Ivan's mind worked through this tangled web. There was definitely a deeper network here than he'd initially assumed. After a pause, he continued, "One last question. Who's the boss in Oakland now?"
Old Dog's face froze at the question. Panic flared in his eyes, and he visibly hesitated. "S-Sir… I can't say."
Ivan's expression darkened. "Nothing is more important than saving your own skin, Old Dog. What are you so afraid of?"
Old Dog clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head as his voice cracked, "You don't understand… If he finds out I talked, my whole family's dead. He'll make sure none of us survive…"
"You?" Ivan scoffed. "You've got a family?"
Old Dog whimpered, fear etched into every line of his face. But he still said nothing.
Ivan let out a long, exasperated sigh, then pressed the gun harder against Old Dog's temple. "I'm giving you one more chance. Talk now, or you won't live to see the next hour."
Old Dog's lips quivered, but he stayed silent. Ivan gritted his teeth, pulling back the gun before kicking him to the ground.
"I tried to be reasonable," Ivan muttered, his frustration mounting. He turned to the third man, who had been watching the whole scene with terrified eyes.
"You," Ivan said, his voice icy. "What's your name?"
"M-My name's Philip," the man stammered, forcing a sickly smile. "But… you can call me Tiger, if you like that better…"
Ivan gave a mirthless chuckle. "Tiger? Quite a name. Alright, Philip, let's see if you'll be more cooperative." He took a step closer, and Philip shivered, instinctively glancing at the gun.
"Sir, please," Hu said, his voice trembling. "I can tell you anything… anything except that last question. I have an elderly mother and a young child. We're both from Slavic I'm polish you're Russian, you wouldn't hurt a fellow countryman, would you?"
Ivan shook his head, smirking. "Didn't you just claim to be a American? Don't start with that brotherhood nonsense now."
He leaned forward, voice low and cold. "I don't want to hear excuses. I just want to know; who runs Oakland?"
Philip's breath came faster, his eyes darting nervously. Ivan held his gaze, and Hu could see that the man in front of him was perfectly willing to pull the trigger.
Finally, Hu took a shuddering breath, gritting his teeth as he answered, "I don't know much about him… we all call him the Tuner."
Sure enough, Ivan mused to himself, his thoughts turning over the scene before him with a mix of skepticism and amusement.
He wasn't naive enough to believe that everyone in Oakland was a music enthusiast or that their so-called leader was actually just a simple "Tuner." No, this individual was likely something far more dangerous and far more fascinating. A wizard, perhaps.
In a city as sprawling and eclectic as Oakland, the existence of a wizard wasn't just plausible, it was almost expected. A place of this magnitude would hardly be normal without a few spellcasters hidden in its shadows.
"A 'Tuner,' huh?" Ivan thought, turning the word over in his mind. It likely signified some kind of magic tied to sound, a craft that could manipulate vibrations, voices, or even emotions. But then again, what if this "Tuner" wasn't what he claimed to be? What if he was faking his nature, broadcasting a fabricated trait to throw people off the scent? After all, most wizards went to great lengths to conceal their powers; revealing one's specialty was akin to painting a target on one's back. Yet this guy not only flaunted his abilities but made them his title.
Why? Confidence? Hubris? Perhaps he was strong enough to not care about the risks. Surviving in Oakland, a city that shared the same cutthroat urban ecosystem as its twin across the bay, St. Francis, demanded more than mere parlor tricks. If he thrived here, he had to be more than a low-level wizard. Maybe even a B-level or higher.
Ivan didn't have the expertise to assess that. His knowledge of wizards was rudimentary, cobbled together from the teachings of Freddy. But he wasn't here to dissect the Tuner's abilities. He was here for a far simpler reason.
The kangaroo thief.
He sighed, spinning his pistol lazily before stowing it away. "Alright, listen up," he announced, his tone casual but laced with a warning edge. "You two are lucky. My boss wants to set up shop here, so he sent me to scope things out. He doesn't want me stirring up trouble."
Ivan's words were deliberate, meant to plant the idea that he was merely a pawn in a larger game. If Philip and Old Dog believed he had someone powerful backing him, they'd think twice before causing problems.
"Now, here's the deal," Ivan continued, his gaze locking onto the two men sprawled on the ground. "You'll lie here for a bit, and then you're free to go."
Philip's face lit up in relief, but his elation was short-lived as Ivan added, "Well, *two* of you can leave." The implication hung in the air like a storm cloud.
Philip blinked, his mind scrambling to make sense of the statement. "Two?" He turned to glance at his second brother, only to see the man sitting frozen, his eyes glassy and unresponsive. Alarmed, Philip's gaze darted back to Ivan, who was now watching him with an unsettlingly calm expression.
"Tiger," Ivan said with a wolfish grin, "let me ask you something."
"Anything! Anything!" Philip replied eagerly, his body still prone on the ground, though his eyes darted about nervously.
Ivan's smile widened. "Let's say one of your brother doesn't make it back. What's your story to Mr. Harris?"
"One of my brother?" Philip glanced nervously at his sibling, then back at Ivan. "Uh, well—uh—he… he went to steal some bootleg liquor, yeah! And ran into a cowboy guarding it. The cowboy shot him in the head and tossed him into the ocean. Old Dog and I searched the beach for him, but we couldn't find him. Only heard the cowboy bragging about it later at a drugstore. That's why we were late."
Ivan nodded slowly, feigning approval. "Sounds believable. I'll back you up."
Philip relaxed slightly, but Ivan wasn't done. "And what about these immigrant workers? Why didn't you bring them back?"
Philip's face fell, panic flashing across his features. "I—I'll say they escaped while I wasn't paying attention?"
"Idiot," Ivan snapped, crouching down to meet his eyes. He tapped Philip's cheek lightly, though the gesture was anything but friendly. "That's just admitting you're incompetent. No, here's what you'll say, you were kidnapped by Mr. Billy Herrington."
"Billy… Herrington?" Philip stammered. "Who's that?"
Ivan chuckled, standing and drawing his pistol again. "Exactly. Who knows?"
Before Philip could piece it together, Ivan turned and leveled his gun at the second brother. The man was trembling violently, the evidence of his fear pooling beneath him. He opened his mouth to beg, but Ivan didn't give him the chance.
The shot echoed, sharp and final.
Philip froze, the realization sinking in like a lead weight. Ivan holstered his weapon and turned back to him, his expression calm, almost amused.
"Now, Tiger," Ivan said, his voice cold but light. "Remember our story. Make sure Mr. Harris believes every word of it."
Philip nodded frantically, too terrified to argue. He would remember. Oh, he would remember everything.
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