Bad Luck

Frownstone was a secluded shopping district ruled by Bartwin, a small but ruthless Irish man. His name was synonymous with terror among those involved in criminal activities. No one dared to cross paths with him, as the outcome was always the same—death. On the surface, he was known as a respected and successful businessman, with a sprawling legal empire that served as a front for laundering money from his illegal operations.

One of his illicit businesses was a casino called RoundOne, located in the basement of his pharmacy store. To enter without arousing suspicion, visitors had to pass through his owned bar. There, those intending to gamble would provide a password to the barista. Not just anyone could gain access; Bartwin ensured that individuals had sufficient deposits to enter. Newcomers had an additional requirement—they needed a referral from a trusted member of the casino. If deemed worthy, the barista would provide a special recipe as a code that only the pharmacy staff could understand.

Many failed to make it past the initial selection, and those who dared to rebel would be swiftly kicked out by the intimidating bouncers, regardless of their reputation or status. That's where Ian was headed tonight, but his first task that couldn't be missed was to find someone who could recommend him. Ian knew one of them, Ted, a scoundrel who worked as an antique collector on the surface but was notorious in our world as an executioner, a hired killer.

How did Ian know him? Their relationship was complex, but in short, he was his biological father. Just this once, after 19 years, Ian would ask him to act like a parent, something he had never done before. Well, even though his initial request was to allow him to gamble.

Arriving at the intersection of Walknut District, Ian turned left towards the farthest corner building, a dead-end street. Ted's shop stood out with its brightly lit sign and gaudy decorations.

He peered inside briefly, making sure there were no other visitors. It seemed deserted, and he noticed that the counter where Ted usually appeared was also empty.

"What do you want? If you're asking for money, forget it and leave," a deep, gruff voice suddenly startled him from behind, causing him to jump.

What a lousy old man. He never had money for his son, yet he always managed to find enough to fuel his gambling habits. "Do you think I'm foolish enough to ask for your money?"

"Then what do you want? It better be worth my time."

"I simply need your recommendation to gain entry to RoundOne."

"Phew... Do you have enough money?" His hand swiftly lunged for the backpack on Ian's back, but he deftly evaded his grasp, leaving him clutching at thin air.

"Just give me the access code. The rest is none of your concern," Ian said firmly, making it clear that he should not be underestimated.

"Hey, do you think I'm a fool? My reputation will be at stake if you cause trouble there. And I don't want to provoke Bartwin, regardless of our relationship."

"Let's just say I have sufficient funds for the deposit." Ted's eyes gleamed with a cunning glint upon hearing Ian's words, but he wouldn't allow him to exploit him.

"You know they won't grant you easy passage. Especially when you're only... What? 17 years old?"

"You old fool, I'm 19 years old. Last time I checked, that's the minimum age required for entry."

"How about this? I'll provide the recommendation, but only as my companion. I'll be the one playing, while you decide the games, stakes, and rules. I'll be at your service as the financier. Bartwin is on edge after the recent police raid on his establishment. He won't readily accept newcomers, even with a recommendation." Ian pondered Ted's proposition and ultimately accepted it.

"I retain full control. You're a mere extension of my will, devoid of any agency. I do not need your advice. Just comply with my requests without excessive questioning."

"As you wish."

And so, they embarked toward Frownstone, their strides out of sync. He allowed Ted to lead the way. Ian couldn't help but notice Ted's peculiar gait, with most of his weight on his right foot.

'Is he injured? Ah, well, it's none of my concern.'

"Hey, I almost forgot. Don't stir up trouble while we're there. My reputation is at stake."

"Just worry about yourself."

"Wow, young people nowadays, they don't know how to behave."

"Wow, old people nowadays, they are shameless."

"Haha..." Ted grinned and flicked his cigarette into the trash can.

They arrived at MarkOne, Bartwin's bar.

Ted approached the attractive barista, her long wavy red hair contrasting with the white shirt she wore. Her kind smile greeted Ted, while Ian silently observed from a nearby chair.

It seemed they were both glancing at him, engaged in a conversation about him. The barista smiled and motioned for Ian to come closer.

"Submit your deposit here, and I'll provide you with a recipe that will be converted into chips for you to play with."

Ian surveyed the curious faces around me. Ted tapped his shoulder and instructed him to hand the contents of the bag to the barista. "I'd like to deposit £10,000," Ian said, passing over the money he had previously counted and placed in an envelope.

The barista glanced at the money, furrowing her brows slightly, but proceeded to write down the prescription note she received to Ted who accept it while whistling a tune.

They exited the bar and headed towards the pharmacy. Ted was in high spirits, whistling along the way. The pharmacist accepted the prescription handed over by Ted, briefly skimmed through it, and then made a phone call. Ted's expression suddenly changed, and he whispered to me, "What have you done?!"

Ian couldn't comprehend Ted's frustration until five of Bartwin's men swooped in, grabbing them forcefully. They struck Ian in the stomach, immobilized his limbs, and finally covered his head with a black cloth.