亚洲综合中美

Assistants watched enviously. Igna held his ground, taking time with his fa?ade. The furnace snuffed its howl, the fire faded for heat. One of the helpers beelined for the sterile white floor. There, gathered their ashes and labeled them as, “-Vanesa Lyoko,” and, “-Syhton Lyoko,” under each read, “-a loving wife and an adoring daughter.”

Igna was soon outside the coroner’s office. He held a black briefcase. Wind of change shirked sirens. The neighbors, and the police, were on edge. Another murder hunts the town. Thereon, Igna left on foot. Promenading thru the chaotic alleys. Church, after the vexing array of makeshift passages, else walkways, he arrived at the slum. The immense presence of the subdued cliff was a sight to behold. It reigns silently, towering over the peasantry like a monarch.

“Another murder, did you hear?” came more whispers. The ‘more’ populated part of the slum, the port, and harbor, welcomed many idle men too old for work to partake in alcohol and games of chance. The game of choice is poker. The favorite bet – cigarette.

“Hey, son,” waved one older man, “-you there,” the balding man of very dark complexion narrowed his already crinkled face, “-come here,” the attention leaned on the briefcase.

Igna glanced, “-Shaker’s cottage,” read the wooden frame. An unsteady veranda held the betting older men. No windows to speak about, the place was open and grand. Movement in and out was of differing age groups. On one side were the youngins sneaking drinks and cigarettes from a young age. Another side, the elders – many wore fine clothes, and some were dressed in old formal military uniforms. ‘Veterans,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘-got time before the gang leader arrives,’ he went up to the older man, “-I’m here.”

“Good to see,” the other elders shifted and gave place for Igna at the table. The dealer, a relatively young man, squinted a side-eye at Igna and then followed into dealing cards.

.....

“Don’t get out of shape, Ben,” said another, “-you deal cards, no side eyes,” vacuous laughter enrobed the table. Both tense and relaxed, there was much happening here and in the background. Yonder rose a glimpse of a cargo ship making port. Those on the ground cried and swore. Unlucky sacks flung into the sea. The master and his servants; legal slavery.

“The briefcase,” he glimpsed the cards and threw chips, “-you come from the coroner’s office. Lost your family?”

“Yeah, my wife and daughter.”

The old man nodded respectfully, “-boy, care to hear this fellow’s story?”

“Sure?”

“Well, my name’s Tim, a retired Sergeant from the army. War is a piss of a thing. My old brain of mind remembers my failures more than my success. Like you, I once held onto that very same briefcase. My wife, I met her during a party hosted by the academy. My buddies and I went drinking, we returned to the party more than a little tipsy. I tell you, the confidence of alcohol is something not to be disregarded, for sheep turn into wolves after a sip of the devil’s nectar. I went in thinking only about having some fun with my buddies. I don’t know how and I don’t know where it started; I introduced myself to the hosts, no idea if it was smart or not. Well, that doesn’t matter. I saw my wife – she was attractive with a magnetic smile. Didn’t take long for us to strike a connection, but I tell you, what impression drunk Tim made is something I can’t correctly gauge. Wish I had asked her... my wife wasn’t my wife. I was an idiot. We dated. Three months later, war struck, and I was called into battle. I returned home after another few months. We eventually moved to the new continent. We started a nice family, I was happy and her smile was as big as ever. One day, I returned from work early. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and... you know,” he sighed, “-she cheated on me with my best friend. Lust can be all-powerful. Perhaps I should have done more to make her love me, perhaps. Well, I couldn’t be stopped. Took out my army-issued firearm and nailed them into their heads. The relief and smile I got, I tell you, the joy of eliminating my failure in life. That drunken night which I remember so annoyingly today, the scene I created and how I overthought. I understood one glaring truth, and that is to not care. They launched an investigation but no, my connections were tight. The murder was ruled as a murder-suicide. I stood on that pier like you, boy, I stood there wandering the streets unable to find salvation. You,” he leaned, “-the smell of alcohol and death. You killed my men, that is something I don’t take lightly. Tell me, boy, who are you and why did you kill my men?”

“Why did I kill your men?” he leaned into his chair and tapped the table and played on Tim’s behalf. The sudden move sucked the air out of everyone’s mouths.

“Leader of the Frontlei, else, the Frontline gang. My motivation and aspirations are none of your concern. We speak of a world where money buys and trades lives. Morality isn’t a luxury afforded to the scums of this earth,” he tapped and raised, “-just like the people around this table, there are those who make bets and others to pull,” many folded and at the end, only two remained, “-however, there’s an exception. We have a better view from the bottom than the top,” he went all-in, “-and that is Tim, adaptability.”

The opponent folded, and Igna took the chips and tapped Tim’s shoulder. “Old man, I’m no sweetheart. I know the underworld inside out. Tell me, how much for the lives I took?”

Tim paused. The table matched his pace. He flipped his card and saw nothing; Igna bluffed, ‘-that was not bluffing,’ he observed, ‘-he overwhelmed the table with his presence and mannerism alone. He influenced their action...’

“Who are you?”

“The name’s Igna Lyoko.”

“Very well, Lyoko Igna. Come with us.”

A corridor fixed inside Shaker’s cottage was home to moans and screams. One could easily guess the room’s purpose. It was without a doubt that Igna had stumbled into a place where he felt at peace. The group separated gradually until Igna found himself in an office with Tim. A heavy oak desk separated the duo.

“Not intimidated?” he paused.

“Not really,” added Igna, “-shall we get to the matter at hand?”

“You’re the killer?” Tim narrowed, “-I know you’re the killer.”

“What killer?”

“You’re a killer, not the killer?”

“Care for elaboration. Tim, we best speak in terms we can both understand.”

“... why did you kill them?”

“Self-defense.”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah.”

“Reports say you were brutal.”

“Suppose it looks that way,” he shrugged, “-taking a life or two is not out of the ordinary. Tim,” he leaned into the table, “-what’s your agenda, what is your true wish?”

A dazed look entranced the leader, the man’s form buckled, “-I want to rule over Istra. The other gangs must fall, the church ought to pay for the discrimination. The rich will suffer, I will make damn sure they pay,” he snapped from the trance and shook at the hand, “-what happened?”

“Nothing much,” Igna returned nonchalantly, “-the mystery killer’s out there. He kills without discrimination. Your men were targeted. The police’s investigation stopped due to your intervention. It blatantly says you know something. The police will crack down on Shaker’s cottage sooner or later.”

“What would you know?”

“Matter of fact,” he inched, “-I have experience. If you want the Frontlei gang to become more than a gang, you’ll have to pay tribute to the mayor. I’ve noticed no one is close to him, he keeps to the shadows contrary to the church. They’re more involved.”

“Wait, wait, wait.”

“...”

“Why should I take orders from you?”

“Because your life is at my disposal?” he blinked, “-Tim, please don’t say you live under some delusion of power. The Frontlei gang is nothing more than ruffians with a knack for violence. Sooner or later, the corrupt police force will awaken. Gangs have authority but tis limited. With the advent of the Dear Boss killer, I doubt they’ll remain still.”

“I don’t care. Whatever you say does not matter to me. I created this gang and I will make it how I see fit.”

Igna sighed, “-as you wish,” he drop two massive briefcases, “-those are the price for killing your men. Around a hundred thousand exa each. I really thought we could be partners.”

A click, *BANG,* thundered as soon as Igna turned his back. The echo traveled. “-Congratulations,” Igna smiled, “-you missed spectacularly.” The bullet landed a few millimeters from his head. “Did I tell you?” he turned, “-get in my way and the last thing you’ll have to worry about is death. The deal is off the table, leader of Frontlei gang. See you in Hell.” Footsteps ran towards the office. Igna nonchalantly walked, ‘-he has loyal followers,’ and opened Shaker’s ground floor.

The dealer threw a heavy side glance at Igna who waited in the doorway, “-what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” returned the dealer. He shuffled cards and looked up, “-are you interested in working for a greater organization?”

“Depends.”

“Find me at midnight, behind the church.”

“Which church.”

“One used by the commoners. I expect your presence, Lyoko Igna.”

‘Another intriguing character,’ he thought, ‘-maybe I should send a taunting letter to the police.’ Drawing parallels to the tale of an ancient killer, one of the more infamous demons who’d walk the earth, or in a way, the thought of an imaginative writer, Igna found himself at the inn, sitting near a deadened fireplace with the customer’s chatter gone wild.

“Dear Boss, the last job was hasty. You thought you found me. I overheard the officers bragging to the whores of Amne’ street about the well-endowed investigation. Poor ol’ sods. I had one mind to tear their hearts and smear them across the walls. My first job was a work of art, smearing that girl’s entrail – I can’t wait for another opportunity. Try to find me, dear Boss, I will wait with my arms open for the day you take me to my maker. Until then, I shall be the one who takes the living to the dead.” Signed D.B.K.

The letter stormed police headquarters like a crack of thunder. A copy was made and handed to the local press. News of the killer went viral on broadcast over the Arcanum. What seemed a localized incident grew into a worldwide sensation.

“What is this?” Jack slammed his table, “-can you tell me?”

“It’s a letter,” Tile observed, “-Jack.”

“No, it’s a death sentence. I’m being promoted to Chief investigator. There’s no way, no way, that it’s a promotion. The higher-ups have decided who to lay the blame on for incompetency. Why did the news have to be leaked? If the state gets involved, Istra will be forced into the light... we can’t let our town’s reputation be sullied,” he clenched his fist, “-call in the Extermina Gang. I have a job for them.”

“Jack, don’t tell me...”

“It’s the only way,” he inhaled, “-we have to, otherwise, the freedom the mayor found to gain will be snuffed. The emperor’s back in power, who knows when matters in Iqeavea get resolved and he focuses on us. The new continent has to remain neutral, we have to do this, Tile, we have to.”

‘Corruption’s gone through our heads. To hide lies we bury the truth in more lies. I can’t seem... rather, I can’t feel but accept the proposition,’ he looked up, “-okay, I’ll help.”

The night took the city. Darkness breeds death and despair. Such the fear facing the workers of the night – the Dear Boss Killer’s arrival rendered nightlife a game of life and death. Jazz and drinking parties hid reality – but for how long.