Conjurer of Cappuccinos

[Cafe Aurores, 66 Lumina Lane | 1320 Central time, Day 1]

Mendez chuckled.

Not because of a bad joke Becks had told him on the way to Cafe Aurores as he did on their earlier trips.

It's the bullet wound he'd suffered earlier on Sui's flat.

He'd forgotten about it during all the excitement that ensued--he'd gone into an adrenaline-fueled sensation that smothered the hot pain searing through his body.

But now, the pain-numbing effect has died down. And now he needs some patching up.

"Why not just go to the damn ICU?" asked Becks as he parked just outside the cafe.

"Well first and foremost Cafe Aurores' in-house doctor is free," said Mendez as he exited Becks' Toyota 86 still clutching the wound on his waist. "Besides, thought you said you're not carrying my ass to hospital earlier."

"What, is it that hard to call an Uber these days?" snapped Becks. "Also, whaddya mean by 'in-house doctor'?"

As if on cue, the cafe's door swung open from the inside.

Morgan Cassidy.

"Rock!" she gasped as soon as she saw the limping Mendez, triggering her to hurry to his aid. "Where the hell have you been?!"

"Fruits of my labor," answered Mendez. "Called the cops yet?"

"Gone five minutes ago. Took your trigger-happy friend in," she replied as she assessed Mendez' wound by lifting up his shirt .

She exhaled in relief. It would appear that the bullet grazed Mendez' left waist, sparing him of a serious bullet wound, similar to what happened to his shoulder earlier.

However, Morgan's relief turned into anguish. Not anguish like a mom finding out about her son's straight F grades, but more like a mom finding out about her son tripping into a curbside mud puddle while wearing a brand new shirt. Or in this case, blood.

"You're washing this yourself, you know that?" she demanded, gesturing on his now-bloodstained white shirt. She then marched towards the cafe entrance. "I'm getting something for the wound."

"Was hoping you wouldn't say that," said Mendez in reference to Morgan's laundry verdict. After seeing Morgan noticing Becks' existence, Mendez went to introduce Becks to his co-worker. "Picked up a friend along the way. Trey Becks, Morgan Cassidy. Morgan, Becks."

The two shook hands.

"Pleasure," greeted Morgan with a warm smile.

"'Sup," greeted Becks with a subdued grin. "Yeah, he mentioned about you earlier. Did you know he pointed a gun at my head?"

"Well, did you do it to him first?" Morgan clapped back. As if not expecting a response, she continued her stride into the cafe.

As Mendez walked past Becks towards the cafe, he gave a pat on his shoulder. "Nice try," he said.

Entering the cafe, Mendez noticed that Morgan had managed to clean up most of the mess he'd caused earlier. The floor had been mopped clean of blood, the tables had been arranged accordingly to surround the bloody carnage that had happened earlier, and the barista counter had been straightened out with cutleries being returned to their correct boxes. On the other hand Mendez can still see the shattered-but-standing glass window the assassin shot through earlier, its intricate web of cracks leading to one bottlecap-sized hole in the lower right part. Then again there's no way Morgan could've taken care of that broken glass in two hours; she's going to need a replacement. Still, Mendez noticed that Morgan still managed to sweep out the glass pieces that fell to the cafe floor. Impressive.

By the time Mendez and Becks stepped into the cafe, Morgan had already disappeared into the kitchen behind the barista counter. The two men decided to pick their seats in front of the counter near the spot where Mendez fought the assassin, which is now labeled with a 'Caution: Wet Floor' sign. Mendez sat down Wedelton's laptop on the table.

"Shi~t, rough morning?" mused Becks as he took notice of the shattered window. "Not something you'd expect when you open for the day, huh? That Morgan is something else."

Naturally, the cafe is closed for the day. The damage done to the front glass and the cafe interior required extra attention, attention that can't be given during opening hours. The cafe might be good for business tomorrow, but as for the day, it is best to just close down.

"Made some new friends, what can I say?" shrugged Mendez. "Here's hoping I can financially recover from this."

Not one second after Mendez finished his sentence, Morgan appeared at the table holding a large roll of bandage on her right hand. "Mind taking that jacket off, Rock?"

The cafe owner treated Mendez' wounds with tender but swift hands--as if she'd done this many times before. There was not a single nervous twitch on her fingers as she wrapped the bandage around Mendez' waist.

"You a doctor?" asked Becks to Morgan soon as he noticed.

"A nurse," answered Morgan. "Five years in San Laureola General."

"The biggest hospital in town? That's huge," Becks responded. "Why'd you quit?"

"Caught TB from a patient one day," explained Morgan. "Benched for nine months, worst nine months of my life. During those nine months I learned how to brew coffee, and long story short, here I am."

"So you won't be working in ICUs no more?" asked Becks again.

"I mean, I'd love to make a comeback someday," replied Morgan. "Don't get me wrong, treating the sick is a noble cause and I cherish every moment of it. But when I found about coffee, there's this... drive, you know? It's different and I knew, even back then, it's different than anything else I've ever experienced in my life. Once I'd learned how to brew a good hot pot of coffee, I knew that this is it; it's gonna be my life from that day forward."

The good old passion drives her forward, agreed Becks as he nodded at Morgan's answer. But there's something else.

"And how did this prick fit in the picture?" asked Becks as he gestured towards Mendez, which prompted an instant--but jokey--middle finger from Mendez. "Surely you can do better than this guy, even back then?"

"On the contrary, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him," replied Morgan as she finished treating Mendez. "And yes, I know who he was. Believe me, there was a bit of drama when that truth came out.

"But at the end of the day, I guess who he is speaks a lot louder than who he was, you know?" continued Morgan. "Rock put some money in the cafe, took care of supplies and staffing, and dragged me out of a dark place back before the cafe was a thing. I guess this is the least I can do."

After listening to Morgan's testimony, Becks nodded in admiration as he looked towards Mendez, who in turn smiled smugly at Becks. There was a sprinkle of sarcasm in Becks' awe, after all.

"Now, what can I get you boys?" asked Morgan as she pulled out an notepad out of her pocket. She then addressed Becks. "Don't worry Trey, it's on the house."

"The usual please," ordered Mendez.

"Matcha latte for Rock," mumbled Morgan as she jotted down his order, "and what about you, Trey?"

Becks cleared his throat. "Any chance I can get an Irish cream coffee here?"

Morgan let out a quiet ooh as she wrote down Becks' order. "A man of refined taste, I see."

Becks turned to Mendez, expecting a surprised reaction on his unusually specific order of beverage. Not that he made it up, he did enjoy a sweet brew splashed with a little bit of cocoa and Irish cream liqueur courtesy of his older brother.

But nope. Instead of catching him off-guard, Mendez smiled at Becks.

"Let me guess," he said. "You like Baileys?"

"Yeah."

"Eh well, good choice." responded Mendez in admiration instead of surprise.

The next best thing I guess, thought Becks.

As the two men waited for their order, Mendez flipped open Wedelton's laptop.

"What's the password? Scheherazade, isn't it?" verified Mendez as he typed on the keyboard.

"Yeah, but it's--"

Incorrect password.

Two attempts later with Becks dictating each of the characters to Mendez, they got in.

"You know, you should be an investigator someday. That keystroke-reading skills might come in handy," said Mendez as he dug into the laptop's files.

"You think so?" asked Becks.

"I know so," answered Mendez. "Means you're perceptive. Back in the day, it was the perceptive ones that gave us the most problems. Government agents, detectives, rival gang members, politicians, even a random security guard in a facility we're supposed to break into. They see more than most, and my line of work relies on being unseen."

"Speaking of," asked Becks again, as if on cue. "What exactly is--was--Blackpoint?"

In response Mendez rotated the laptop and pushed it towards Becks' side of the table, allowing Becks to see the images depicting Blackpoint's activities.

"Simply put, one of the world's biggest mercenary organizations," explained Mendez as Becks came across a photo depicting Blackpoint mercenaries in a military base. From the looks of it, he guessed Middle East. Identifying Blackpoint members is simple enough judging from the pictures: they bore a distinct insignia on their uniforms depicting an upwards-pointing ornate arrow emblazoned on a red shield.

With a press of a key, it switched scenes into a more formal picture, depicting Blackpoint members in a post-meeting picture with men wearing three-piece business suits. Probably government agents or politicians, figured Becks.

"Back in the day, we had off-the-record contracts with all members of the Five Eyes, although we also had liaison officers from the KGB, the Chinese Ministry of State Security, and the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence."

"Question," questioned Becks as he raised a hand. "What's 'Five Eyes'? Some illuminati shit?"

"Not really, though I'm not surprised if they're part of it," answered Mendez. "It's basically the intelligence alliance containing the intelligence agencies of--hold up,"--paused Mendez as he tried to remember the countries--"Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the UK, and the US."

Next, a photo of a weapons cache: assault rifles, pistols, shotguns, and rocket launchers. "One of the agreements we had with all the agencies contracted to us is that we get to salvage weapons found on field operations to sell later on, as well as sourcing our own from arms companies."

"Hold up, wouldn't that cause--howdoyoucallit--clash of interests between them countries you working with?" questioned Becks again. "Like, what if you sold guns to freedom fighters trying to take down a government controlled by the Russians, for instance?"

"Well in that case we play both sides," explained Mendez. "The two factions get to keep the war going for longer, their leaders can lobby on how important that war is for them and how important it is to get more money for their cause, they get more funding, they get to keep the status quo or whatever that's called, and we get more money. Win-win."

"Hah, damn," exclaimed Becks in amusement.

Next, another field operation photo. This time in a tropical setting, probably in South East Asia.

"Unless of course, rogue cells that operate outside of these guys' interests. That's when we're called in for the wetwork."

"Rogue cells as in terrorists, right?"

"Uh-uh," nodded Mendez. "Lunatics destroying CIA, MI6, and KGB assets in one day. Killing people in international settlements. Walking into a plaza with a suicide bomb strapped to his chest claiming he was sent by the Mossad when he wasn't. Not exactly good for business, you get what I'm saying?"

Next, field operations photo in a snowy environment.

"These guys wouldn't just send any of their own to hunt down these cells. Too much risk. Too much politics. But we, my friend, are expendable. We fail, total deniability. We succeed, payday. The dirtiest operations, the messiest extractions, the tightest of lips. We can get through it all. Both in capability and clearance."

"When no one knows you, you're a terrorist," concluded Becks. "But when everyone knows you, you're an asset."

"Exactly."

Next, the bizarrely disturbing human trafficking photos. Becks had seen similar photos back at Wedelton's office, but they still strike him as shocking all the same. Mendez caught Becks' appalled reaction like the one he did back in Duke & Hopkins, which told him the kinds of photos Becks was seeing.

"Until recently of course, when they thought it was a good idea to get into skin trade," said Mendez, disgusted tones boiling underneath his voice. "I mean if you're in it for the money then the money is good but..."

"What?"

"Bottom line, fuck them."

"Ah."

Not five seconds after Becks' acknowledgement, their drinks came. Mendez with his hot chartreuse-colored liquid on a small cup, while Becks has his tall glass of cold light brown beverage with cream on top. Becks handed Mendez the laptop back as Morgan set his drink on his side of the table, his eyes slightly widening at the sight of his tall glass.

"Cassidy," he said as he addressed Morgan, "you're alright."

"You flatter me. It just so happens that Rock likes those Irish liqueur as well, that's why we have extra stock," explained Morgan as she set Mendez' drink. Once she's done, she took a small step back. "Enjoy our drinks, boys."

Morgan received a thanks from Mendez. Becks, a nod.

Back to the scheming.

"Now that history lesson's out of the way," said Becks as he punched his straw through the cream topping, "What's next for us?"

"What's next for us would be what's next for them," answered Mendez as he browsed through the laptop's files. "They make a move, we intercept. Get some of that juicy info while we're at it."

"... and? There's gotta be an endgame to your scheme."

"Once we got all that, where they are holed up, what they are up to and whatnot, we work from the bottom," explained Mendez as he took a sip. "Start from the street-level dealers, the shotcallers, the lieutenants, and finally, the head honcho."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just go for the head? Ice the big boss and call it a day, know what I'm saying?"

"Ah yes, two problems with that," elaborated Mendez as he took another sip. "First, when you cut off just the head, two more shall take its place. When the big guy's dead, his cronies would've been dispersed forming their own mini-syndicates, making them harder to deal with. And I'm not doing more legwork than I have to. Got a cafe to run, you know?

"Secondly, we don't know if the head honchos are in town. Keep in mind that this is an international crime syndicate we're dealing with here, so the big guys could've been operating out of Jakarta for all I know. We make enough noise here, that should fetch their attention..."

"... and draw them here to deal with things in person," finished Becks. "That's tight."

"Speaking of tight," said Mendez as he rotated the laptop to Becks' way, "our next lead."

Becks scanned the 'lead'. An email from Wedelton to, presumably, an associate.

It read:

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RECIPIENTS: ( Foy Maguire) (Oakley) [Sent 1 day ago]

SUBJECT: rdv

club tmrw 1800

jw

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Becks looked up from the laptop screen. "Alright, we got time and place. But how do we know they're actually hangin'?" he asked.

"The subject," Mendez pointed out. "'rdv' means rendezvous. They're meeting up. Could be a chance to squeeze out something. But you said you know the place?"

"Hell, I know who this 'Foy' dude is, that's why I know where they're hangin'," answered Becks as he took a sip. "This Foy guy runs a fight club down at the warehouse down by the docks. Sometimes I drop by for a round or two, that's why I know the place."

Mendez nodded in admiration. "You know the man?"

"Not personally, but yeah, I got a pretty good idea on who he is," replied Becks. "Never knew his last name's Maguire, though."

"Then that's where we're going next," said Mendez as he finished off his cup and clutched the laptop. Noticing Becks was only halfway through his drink, he asked "You wanna take it on the go or...?"

In response to Mendez' question, Becks took a humongous gulp and downed the rest of his drink in a single breath. "Nah, I'm good. On the house, right?" he said once he's done.

"On the house indeed," replied Mendez as he pushed his chair into the table. "You sure it's the jab lab at the docks?"

"What's a ja--" half-asked Becks before realizing what Mendez meant. What a peculiar set of words. "Should be right. I mean, if we're wrong, you said that Sui boy will come through, right?"

"Eh, good point. But I'm not sitting around waiting for him to knock either," said Mendez while waving goodbye at Morgan, who's collecting their cups. He then turned to Becks. "We go now?"

Becks left Morgan a friendly nod as he followed Mendez out of the cafe. "Yeah, we go now."

"Alright then," said Mendez. "Let's jam."