Chapter 58: Chapter 58: New Acquisitions

Ennio stirred as someone nudged him awake. He was about to complain when a jolt of realization snapped him out of his grogginess.

Rubbing his face, he looked up in the darkness at Morris, who whispered, “There’s a truck coming.”

The night was quiet, amplifying every sound. A conversation like this, unnoticed during the day, could easily be overheard now.

Peeking out from the alley, Ennio spotted a truck moving slowly toward the corner.

Earlier in the day, he had visited a community hospital where a doctor confirmed that his radius was fractured but not severely. With a splint in place, it would take at least four weeks before he could remove it and three months for a full recovery. The doctor emphasized the importance of avoiding heavy lifting.

This situation deepened Ennio’s hatred for Kent. Not only had he lost money, but his injury meant he would also lose his job—a fate terrifying for poor people, who often couldn’t afford the twin burdens of medical bills and unemployment.

The truck stopped just outside the alley, unable to fit into the narrow space where the casino was located. Morris tugged Ennio further back. “I’ll climb into the truck,” he whispered.

Ennio frowned. “I should be the one to do it.”

Morris shook his head. “You’re too tall, and I’m shorter. They won’t notice me as easily. Besides, they know me and my dad. If I get caught, I’ll just say I was trying to steal something. Worst case? I get a beating.”

Ennio hesitated, then muttered, “It still should be me.”

But Morris was already focused on the task at hand.

By now, Kent’s men were rolling gambling tables out of the alley on small carts. The wooden tables were designed to be disassembled for easy transport, unlike the luxurious marble-topped tables in the Kodak Family’s casinos, which were meant to project opulence at the cost of mobility.

As the first load was loaded onto the truck, Morris licked his lips and said, “No time. I’m going in now. Just follow the tire tracks if you lose them.”

Before Ennio could object, Morris crouched low and darted to the truck. Using the wheel as a step, he hoisted himself into the truck bed.

Once inside, he found a narrow blind spot and curled into it, slowing his breathing to remain unnoticed.

The loading process took about 20 minutes. After the truck was packed, Kent and his men followed in two cars. Ennio trailed them on foot, but the vehicles soon outpaced him. He resorted to tracking the faint tire marks on the ground.

Kent’s crew didn’t go far.

Their clientele was primarily other immigrants from the Empire, so they wouldn’t leave the “Imperial District.” Although it wasn’t an official designation, the majority of immigrants had congregated in this area, giving it a distinct identity.   𝘙ＡŊȎBĚ𐌔

Last year, the municipal government formally labeled it the “Imperial District” on new city maps, legitimizing its colloquial name. Located in the southwest part of the port, the district was dominated by two gangs: the Camille Gang and the Red Dog Gang.

The Camille Gang controlled a larger area, but the Red Dogs spanned two districts. Beneath these major players were smaller groups, often just loose coalitions formed for mutual defense against extortion or police harassment.

Kent wouldn’t relocate too far for several reasons. Moving further would encroach on territories controlled by other gangs or established illegal casinos, creating risks he couldn’t afford. Setting up in a new area would also require finding a fresh customer base and starting from scratch—hardly appealing.

Ennio and Morris had assumed the crew would move far away, but in reality, they had only gone a few streets over.

The truck parked near a new building, and Kent’s crew began unloading into a basement—hidden and secure.

Morris seized an opportunity to slip out of the truck and rejoin Ennio. Together, they found a vantage point to observe the operation.

The unloading continued uninterrupted. By morning, the crew had moved all their equipment into the basement and hadn’t emerged again.

The following morning, Lance visited Alberto’s office with Elvin and Mello to purchase two additional vehicles.

“We’ve got around thirty people now, maybe more if we include some new recruits. I’m the only one who can drive, and we only have one car. That’s not enough,” Lance explained.  n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Alberto, ever accommodating, didn’t hesitate. “Pick out what you need. Oh, and I’ve got a surprise for you later.”

The trio headed to the lot. Elvin and Mello drooled over the luxury cars, their eyes lighting up like kids in a candy store.

No man, not even those inclined toward men, could resist the allure of a fine automobile.

If given the choice between a beautiful woman and one of these gleaming machines, they’d likely choose the car without hesitation.

But reality came crashing down when Lance steered them away from the luxury section to the lot of beat-up cars priced in the hundreds.

After test-driving a few, they settled on two vehicles for a combined cost of $900. Lance took one for a spin and found it satisfactory, save for the heavy steering.

Jamie, their mechanic, promised free repairs for minor issues, provided no expensive parts were needed.

As Elvin and Mello practiced driving the new cars, Lance returned to Alberto’s office.

“Come in!” Alberto greeted enthusiastically, a stark contrast to his stressed demeanor from before. He handed Lance a cigar. “A handmade cigar from Sumuri, rolled on the thighs of young women—or so they say!”

He showed Lance how to light and smoke it. Lance already knew but played along, taking a puff. The cigar wasn’t particularly remarkable.

“How much for the cars?” Alberto asked.

“Nine hundred,” Lance replied.

Alberto shook his head with a grin. “They’re on the house.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, uncertain. “So, does that mean I can pick out a luxury car now?”

Alberto roared with laughter. “Too late! If you’d chosen earlier, I might have let you. But you missed your chance.”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Remember when you suggested I stockpile alcohol?”

“I do.”

“Well, I did. And now, with the rising prices, I’ve made a fortune!” Alberto’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “You were right, Lance. I owe this windfall to you. I thought you’d pick a luxury car as your reward, but now… well, tough luck!”

Sobering slightly, Alberto added, “I heard from Fordis that you’re in some trouble. Need my help?”

Lance shook his head. “I’ve got it under control.”

He avoided accumulating favors, knowing they often came with strings attached. Rejecting Alberto’s offer now prevented future complications.

However, Lance did ask for one thing. “If you really want to thank me, how about a few more guns? I might need them soon.”

For Alberto, supplying untraceable firearms was a minor inconvenience. He had no allegiance to the Federation’s law enforcement and plenty of connections to source weapons discreetly.

After chatting briefly about the alcohol market’s prospects, Lance took his leave.

By the time he returned, Elvin and Mello were confidently driving the newly purchased cars. Alongside them, Lance also brought back five pistols—enough to prepare for whatever was coming next.