"What is happening?"
"They're just staring at each other…" Hoffa answered Peter's question as they watched the interrogation room cameras from Hoffa's office computer… another illegal thing, though at least this time it came in handy with a slight problem.
The mics didn't work, which meant they couldn't hear anything… only watch. Thank God for that, because both of them would've had a heart attack if they'd actually heard what was being said.
"Maybe… they're done." Peter spoke again as they kept staring at the screen, but nothing changed. Sirina and César were just sitting there, looking at each other without a single movement.
"Or maybe there's tension between them…" Hoffa turned toward Peter. "Why the fuck would you bring him in?!" His voice rose, almost to a shout, though he kept it controlled. He didn't want anyone to even get an idea of what the fuck was happening right now.
"What should I have done? He threatened me and my family. I'm not going to die over bullshit drugs that you and the others sell. I have no part in that."
"Why the fuck didn't you jus fucking shoot him?!" Hoffa said once again his voice raised as he stared into Peter's eyes.
He was… disappointed, no, more than that. He was fucking pissed.
A much older man, far more experienced, influential, and simply more dangerous, a capital detective, a star, a man with a beard who looks menacing to most… was going fucking scared of someone younger, baby-faced, dressed in fucking purple.
For Hoffa, it was a complete mindfuck that they were afraid. He barely believed it himself, that he was scared of something he didn't even understand, of a man they didn't know shit about. A man rumored to be a cartel member, though none of them knew whether that was true or not. Sure, he killed two officers and a gangster, but anyone can pull a trigger, anyone can shoot someone.
Yet from that single fucking event, everything spiraled into the worst possible situation.
And really… how could you blame Hoffa?
An operation that had been running for years without a single problem was now getting fucked because of some random man who showed up out of nowhere and was about to destroy the whole thing.
But there was an answer to the question and it was the difference between them.
Hoffa didn't know shit about cartels, or the underworld in general, or what they were truly capable of. He never stepped foot outside the city. He was trained here, rose here through the ranks… he never dealt with real mafia, real cartels, not those idiots who think they're big shots while selling mixed shit, not even mention his connection that helped him.
In short, Hoffa never experienced what "cartel" or "mafia" actually meant. He only knew them from training videos and movies.
But Peter, on the other hand, was from the east. He grew up in panel blocks, in the city of Resmah, thirty kilometers from the border and it wasn't a city of street gangs or small-time fuckers stabbing each other for a gram.
No. It was, and still is, the hub for the real motherfuckers… the entire eastern side of the country.
The mafia, cartels… the worst of the worst and that was where Peter started his career.
So for Peter, César was someone to be feared, no matter if it later turned out he lied or anything else. Peter had seen the cartel up close, and for him, César was that. Better to fear him than to watch your loved ones chopped the fuck up.
Sandira was an amazing game in a twisted way, and that was exactly why it was banned in the end… too much realism, too heavy a background for random NPCs and side characters, and far too much reality packed into them. Something that was shown perfectly through Hoffa, Peter, and Sirina.
A corrupt police chief who is selling drugs with gangs… marked off.
A detective who saw too many terrible deaths and was transferred for his own good… marked off, it happened in real life too.
And then Sirina, a Director of the National Security Agency… well, in real life all of them are motherfuckers. All they can be is worse or far worse… and César was about to find out the answer for it.
"Amazing." One single word that came from her after the silence. "Though I see no problem with what I have done. Indeed I am an agent, but that's it, nothing more, nothing less."
"Uh… well yeah, but you came here for something, didn't you?" César asked back.
"You have a small dick energy."
"…small dick…?" César asked back, confused by what he just heard. No, it wasn't even confusion… it was a personal, deep attack that hurt him for several reasons, one being that he was castrated on more than one occasion, and on one even it was totally cut down… it just brought up memories.
He didn't even think about the absurd way she said it out of nowhere… it caught him totally off guard.
"Yeah." She continued holding eye contact but seemingly to chill… not a single professionalism. "The small dick energy means that you're playing these games, getting that answer out of me, judging me, looking for little details to grab on, not like how the big dick ones do, coming straight at me. No, you're a nerdy small dick one."
[System: I like her more and more.]
Huh, of course you like her, she wants to bait me into a trap… how funny it is to use dick as bait…
"And what if I have a thirty-centimeter long snake which I can slap your face with?" César asked.
"I doubt that. And even if you have, the small-dick energy is still all over you." She held his gaze. "But here's the thing, little ick… I like criminals who are aggressive. I like the chaos that comes with it. Ones like you? I hate them." She shook her head slightly. "You're too genius, too smart, too careful with your words and reactions… unreadable. You can push the narrative, twist it, change it, hold the upper hand."
[System: It is better to leave.]
Nah… she's got my interest too much.
"You're the same, Sirina, but you're acting, pretending to be the victim, to be unprofessional… this whole thing is bait. The fact you walked in, the fact you're offering yourself on a plate… but I don't think I'm the person you're looking for, baby." César said, realizing… she wasn't doing dumb or lame.
"Well, baby…" She mimicked him. "Maybe there's an active investigation, where an agent has been following a little girl whose mother is a judge. Maybe, just maybe that agent saw a man… wearing a purple velvet shirt, white chinos, and black shoes, walking with that little girl and her mother." She licked her lips slightly as starred into César's eyes. "And you know… seeing a man in a purple velvet shirt, white chinos, and black shoes standing outside the chief's office, getting water… is kinda weird, isn't it?"
"Uh… well, yeah, I'd say that's weird."
[Sytsem: You are fucked.]