A Deal with the Devil

A Dangerous Reunion

The warehouse sagged like a carcass, its rusted ribs groaning under the weight of Jakarta’s humid night. Bintang kicked aside a shattered syringe, the flicker of his flashlight carving jagged shadows across graffiti-stained walls. Sebastian lingered at his shoulder, a Glock half-drawn, his breath fogging the air thick with mildew and motor oil. Somewhere above, pigeons rustled in the rafters, their coos echoing like muffled warnings.

At the far end of the room, a figure slouched in a pool of jaundiced light from a dying street lamp. Kurniawan—once a Nine Dragons lieutenant, now a specter—stubbed out a cigarette on the arm of his wheelchair. Burn scars clawed up his neck, and his left eye was a milky void, but his remaining one gleamed with the sharpness of a knife edge.

Bintang crossed his arms. “You look like hell.”

Kurniawan Rasping laughed. “Hell’s warmer. Sit. Unless you’re afraid of ghosts.”