Chapter 96: Say Hi for Me

TL: LittlePeach

Countless tourists came to Naples chasing the dazzling romance of the Mediterranean.

Most of them came and went without ever learning that this place was the heart of Europe's drug market, but a few tourists knew it well and stayed to make use of it.

For starters, drugs in Naples were cheaper than anywhere else.

Cheap prices meant demand never dried up, and brokers from all over the world naturally flocked in.

It was a vicious cycle that endlessly fed itself.

'He's Mafia, no question about it. So his job is collecting the drug money?'

Even in that moment, my mind stayed cold and settled, calmly working out what the man was.

He'd come back to his car with a small bag, and stuffed inside its bulging frame were wads of crumpled cash.

Men like him were collectors, gathering the day's proceeds every single day to keep the low-level foot soldiers from skimming the takings.

A man who handled the family's money directly would obviously be a fairly senior officer within the organization.

Vrooooom.

Soon enough, as if fleeing the commotion nearby, the convertible sped out of the apartment complex.

"...."

I didn't chase after him right away.

When I lifted my phone to check, I could see the tracker's position moving in real time.

The location refresh lag was about ten seconds.

Plenty of margin to take my time.

"Fuck! And today's batch was primo, too!"

"What the hell happened?"

"No idea! Something about getting hit somewhere?"

Meanwhile, all around me, plenty of other people were piling into cars and streaming out of the apartment complex.

Before long, vrooooom.

I started my own engine and stepped on the gas.

In the rearview mirror, there were still four more apartment blocks I hadn't finished turning over, but it couldn't be helped.

'Just got lucky, Campione.'

I had more important business now.

*****

The GPS tracker came to a stop in front of a quiet family-style restaurant on the outskirts of Naples, an old place that looked like it catered mostly to locals.

'Doesn't look like a Mafia branch office.'

I parked in a corner spot, then took a walk around the area just in case.

No one who looked like a Mafia soldier, no suspicious types keeping watch, just an ordinary restaurant.

Inside, the quiet dining room held a number of tables separated by partitions.

And there, occupying one of them, was the hit-and-run driver I'd been looking for.

"What wine would you like, sir?"

"Anything from Piedmont."

"Very good, sir."

After finishing his order with the waiter, he headed to the restroom to wash his hands.

Judging by the table setting, he was clearly here to meet someone.

'Seems like an ordinary restaurant.... Better not cause a scene inside, then.'

I wasn't about to let my one little revenge cause an accident nobody deserved.

Besides, I was curious who he meant to meet in a quiet place like this.

Ding.

First, I pulled my phone from my pocket and switched on the voice recorder.

Then, crossing past the hit-and-run driver's table, I casually tucked the phone in among the potted plants beside it.

I settled into a seat within easy earshot of their conversation, and a waiter welcomed me with a menu.

I skimmed the menu and jabbed a finger at something at random.

"Very good, sir."

The waiter had barely left with my order when the hit-and-run driver came out of the restroom and returned to his seat.

A good while later, I heard the restaurant door open.

From beyond the partition came the hit-and-run driver's voice, offering a courteous greeting.

"Welcome, Secretary Pak. Thank you for coming all this way again today."

“It has been a while, Franco.”

"It certainly has. Far too long, sir. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you."

So the hit-and-run driver's name was Franco.

'Secretary Pak?'

And his guest, remarkably enough, was an Asian man who went by the surname Park.

Thump.

There was a dull sound, like something heavy being set on the table.

"The proceeds collected through today. Here, count it and see for yourself."

"Come now. Between us, is there truly a need to count it here and now? The Republic is most pleased with the Narancia Family's performance."

The answer rolled right out into my lap.

The title of secretary, and now the word "Republic".

'A North Korean secretary.'

Franco's dinner companion was a secretary attached to a North Korean embassy.

North Korea kept an embassy in Italy too, so odds were high he belonged to the Embassy in Italy.

Just yesterday I'd run an operation against the North Korean minister posted in the UK, and now a secretary from the embassy in Italy had popped up out of nowhere.

My brow furrowed all on its own.

"Thank you for your trust. Demand is so heavy that the stock you handed over is already scraping bottom. When does the next shipment come in? Even I'm getting antsy."

"As it happens, I am scheduled to visit Pyongyang next week. And I intend to bring back double the usual quantity."

"Do you mean that?"

The world really does work in strange ways.

I'd come chasing revenge for my Vespa, and here I was watching a drug deal go down live.

Franco, whom I'd tailed thinking he was a simple hit-and-run driver, turned out to be the drug boss of the Narancia Family, the clan famous for moving hundred-percent-pure product inside the Scampia apartment complex.

I'd wondered how that was even possible. Sure enough, North Korea was tangled up in it.

"It means the Republic trusts my abilities as well, and the Narancia Family deserves much of the credit. Thanks to you, my arms are in for an unexpected workout."

"It truly pains me that I cannot carry that pouch for you. I guarantee you, in all of Italy there isn't another organization that could move that much volume in one go except our Narancia Family."

"Is the credit the family's alone? It is because the product our Republic turns out is simply that excellent."

"Of course. North Korean product is second to none anywhere in the world, isn't it? I hope you know how immensely proud our entire family is to be the exclusive distributor of goods of that caliber."

"Most gratifying. Come, let us drink."

Clink.

Beyond the partition, their wineglasses met with a cheerful ring.

Plates soon filled their table, and the two of them enjoyed their meal, trading everyday small talk like any ordinary pair of customers.

Right about then, a plate rich with the mouthwatering aroma of clams was set down in front of me too.

Slurp.

"Incidentally, I hear demand in Southeast Asia is exploding these days. Have you considered expanding your market in that direction while you're at it? We can supply as much product as you could ever need."

"Oh, funny you should mention that. Word is that market's an absolute gold mine right now, so we're planning to open a new branch in Malaysia soon ourselves. Once we punch a route through, profits will jump to several times what they are now."

"Now that is welcome news indeed. I shall look forward to it."

Business talk, murmuring back and forth.

I left my plate untouched, every nerve trained on the table across the partition.

Before long, as they leisurely finished off their plates.

"That was a fine meal. My thanks."

"Allow me to see you out."

Business concluded, the two men rose from their seats.

Secretary Pak led the way out of the restaurant, Franco following behind.

And then, all of a sudden.

"Hm?"

Maybe he'd felt my gaze, because Franco showed signs of glancing back over his shoulder.

Sluuuuurp!

"Mmm! Hao chi, hao chi!"

I hastily grabbed my fork and launched into some frantic noodle slurping over my half-cold pasta.

Franco, who hadn't realized there was another customer, flinched at the sight of me, but the vulgar spectacle of noodle slurping made his brow crumple in disgust all on its own.

Slurp!

Sluuuuurp!

“Ahhh. Italian noodles hao chi!”

"...To think tourists are finding their way out to this quiet spot now. This restaurant's reputation is finished."

Franco seemed wary of me for a moment, then clicked his tongue and turned away.

He must have assumed I couldn't understand him if he muttered in Italian.

"Tsk. Next time, we book somewhere else."

Openly scowling, he walked out of the restaurant as though he couldn't stand to look at me a second longer.

Watching Franco's retreating back out of the corner of my eye, I stopped slurping.

Luckily, he seemed to have mistaken me for an ordinary Chinese tourist.

Anyway.

'All I did was follow a hit-and-run driver.'

And now something bizarre had come rolling right to my doorstep again.

*****

The sea at Posillipo was beautiful indeed.

It was a wealthy enclave known mostly to locals, where the sea breeze drifted up from beneath sheer-cut cliffs to dampen the cheeks.

There was no need to dive into the water to feel it.

'Some lunatic supposedly tore up the Scampia apartments, but it's perfectly peaceful and quiet out here.'

Even now, the Campione federation was engulfed in chaos.

Campione kept six strongholds inside the Scampia apartment complex.

Word had come down that no fewer than two of them had been attacked out of nowhere, some thirty soldiers wiped out.

Who the attacker was; whether it was an inside job or an outside one.

The clans caught up in the incident were combing through the evidence with bloodshot eyes, but fortunately, the Narancia Family sat outside the path of the chaos.

Their drug business was, as ever, cruising along like a yacht with a sea wind at its back.

"Mmm. The smell of the sea."

That salt tang on the air again.

Franco eased off the speed, one hand on the wheel.

Buying a villa near these Posillipo cliffs someday was one of Franco's oldest dreams.

So whenever he had the chance, he took his car for a leisurely run along this clifftop coastal road.

If only he could die in his old age gazing out at the sea of Posillipo....

'An expensive dream, sure.'

He was smiling contentedly, gazing down at the emerald sea spread beneath the cliffs, when it happened.

CRASH!

"Guh?"

A colossal impact slammed in all at once, and Franco felt the back of his skull go numb.

His backside lifted clean off the seat, and for an instant a ghastly weightlessness wrapped his whole body.

Crash-bang-bang-bang!

"Aaaaaaargh!"

Roll, roll, roll.

The world quite literally spun end over end.

Rough asphalt and blue sky took turns filling his vision, and inside the fast-rolling car, Franco screamed and curled into himself.

Mercifully, the seatbelt cinched tight and pinned his body firmly in place.

The world went on flipping and clattering for a good while longer. And then, a moment later...

Pssssssshhh.

"Hah. Haah, khak...."

With the world hanging upside down, Franco dangled in midair, mind blank.

Blood rushed to his head, warping his vision red.

"Wh-what the?"

Franco rolled his trembling eyes to check outside.

Through the shattered window, he spotted a sedan that had stopped and was just sitting there, idle.

It didn't take long for him to realize that the sedan had rammed him, sent him rolling over and over, and finally left his car flipped on its roof.

"...Aaaaaargh! Which bastard did this?!"

It was enough to make his blood boil.

Bad enough that yesterday afternoon he'd crumpled his front bumper plowing into some cheap scooter, and now the whole car had gone tumbling!

"Fuck! You asshole! Who are you?! What son of a bitch did this?! I'll shoot you dead right now!"

Hanging upside down, shaking all over, Franco rummaged through the glove box.

He had snatched up the pistol that tumbled out and was scrambling to release his seatbelt when it happened.

THOOM!

"Huh... hurk?"

The sedan that had sat motionless since the collision stepped on the gas again, closing in and shoving the convertible forward.

With him still trapped inside!

Vrooooom.

Screeeeeeech!

The limp, sprawled convertible dragged across the asphalt.

Sparks jumped where metal ground against road, flicking against Franco's cheeks.

"Aaaaargh! F-fuck! Stop, you son of a bitch!"

Bang, ba-bang! Bang!

Franco leveled the pistol and yanked the trigger in desperation.

The bullets smashed into the sedan's windshield and lodged there, but the car never once slowed.

Clunk!

"N-no!"

The shoved chassis crunched up and over the road's curbstone.

His convertible was inching outward, moments from tumbling over the cliff edge.

Screech.

Only then did the car stop.

"Haah, haah...."

Half-hanging in open air, the chassis rocked precariously.

Franco froze, not daring to breathe.

No matter how he reached for the seatbelt release, his hands shook too hard to muster any strength.

That was when it came.

"Hey."

A low voice drifted in through the broken window.

A voice he'd never heard in his life.

"Say hi to my Vespa for me."

"...Wh-what?"

"If you happen to run into her, that is. That cute little thing's probably up in heaven by now."

Franco's terror-stricken eyes wavered.

He couldn't understand a word this lunatic was saying.

His mind had gone blank white, and unbearable terror flooded in to fill it.

"V-Vespa?"

“My Vespa. The one you wrecked yesterday.”

"...Ah?"

"Yeah. That Vespa."

In that instant, yesterday's events flashed through Franco's mind like a dying man's reel.

Perhaps satisfied by the stupid look on his face, the other man said nothing more.

Vroom!

"N-no! Wait, waaaaait!"

"So long."

Screeeeech!

Clunk!

Since ancient times, the Greeks had believed that the white foam rising with the waves was the white mane created by the galloping horses that served Poseidon, god of the sea.

Watching the endless white foam of the waves crashing against the sheer cliffs race ceaselessly across the sea, there truly seemed no better way to describe the sight.

Sploosh!

Even the bright red car, which looked as though it could never blend with such a scene, was lovingly embraced by the sea that accepted all things.

And then, as if nothing had happened, it turned snow-white once more.

Whoosh.

Whooosh.

The sea at Posillipo was beautiful indeed.

*****

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