SWEET DECEPTION

As Junta arrived at the venue, he noticed that there was a checkpoint set up at the entrance, where a team of burly security guards were checking everyone's identity. Junta's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with possibilities. This was a high-security event, and it seemed that Victor Crane's people were taking no chances.

Junta had anticipated this, and he had prepared a fake ID that would make even the most seasoned secret agent proud. He took a deep breath, adjusted his waiter's uniform, and joined the line of people waiting to be checked.

As he waited, Junta observed the security guards, taking note of their procedures and protocols. They were thorough, checking IDs, patting down guests, and scanning them with metal detectors.

When it was Junta's turn, he smiled confidently and handed over his fake ID. The guard looked at it carefully, then glanced at Junta's face, comparing it to the photo. After a moment, he nodded and handed the ID back to Junta.

"Alright, you're clear," the guard said, waving Junta through.

Junta breathed a silent sigh of relief as he walked into the venue. He knew that he had just cleared a major hurdle, and he was ready to get to work.

As he made his way through the crowded room, Junta took in the sights and sounds of the party. The music was loud, and the guests were all dressed to the nines, sipping champagne and laughing. Junta's eyes scanned the room, taking in the layout and the security presence.

He spotted The Bull standing by the bar, a towering figure with a thick beard and a menacing scowl. Junta's eyes locked onto him, his mind racing with possibilities.

Junta made his way over to The Bull, trying to look confident and non-threatening. "Can I get you another drink, sir?" he asked, trying to sound suave.

The Bull looked at him, his eyes narrowing. "What kind of drink?" he growled.

Junta smiled. "The kind that comes in a glass, sir. Would you like a whiskey on the rocks?"

The Bull raised an eyebrow. "You're a cheeky one, aren't you?"

Junta smiled, trying to keep his cool. "Just trying to bring a little humor to the party, sir."

The Bull chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. "I like your style, waiter. You're hired... for the night, at least."

As Junta served The Bull, he tried to strike up a conversation, all the while keeping in mind that he was talking to a cold-hearted killer. "So, sir, how do you know the host?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

The Bull smiled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Let's just say I have a... professional relationship with Victor Crane," he said.

Junta's ears perked up at the mention of Victor Crane's name. This was what he had been waiting for.

"What kind of professional relationship?" Junta asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

The Bull leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Let's just say that I take care of certain... problems for Victor. Problems that require a certain... touch."

Junta's mind was racing with possibilities. He knew that he had to tread carefully, but he also knew that he had to get as much information as possible.

As the night wore on, Junta continued to serve drinks and gather information. He learned that Victor Crane was planning something big, but The Bull didn't reveal any specifics.

However, Junta did notice that The Bull seemed to be waiting for something, or someone. He kept glancing at his watch, and his eyes would flicker towards the entrance every few minutes.

Junta heard a faint sound of a camera shuttering behind him, a brief glimpse of irritation appeared on his face but then it disappeared as quick as it came

Junta's instincts told him that something was about to go down. He just didn't know what.

As the party began to wind down, Junta knew that he had to make his move. He couldn't let The Bull get away without getting some more information out of him.

"Thanks for the chat, sir," Junta said, trying to sound casual. "It's been a pleasure serving you tonight."

The Bull nodded, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Likewise, waiter," he said. "You're a man of many talents. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

Victor Crane glanced at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He was waiting for the signal that his men had successfully extracted the pest from the crowd. He had been planning this moment for weeks, and tonight was finally the night he would get his revenge.

As he scanned the room, his eyes landed on the waiter who had been serving him all night. The man had been efficient and charming, but Victor couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about him. He seemed...different. Victor's instincts were rarely wrong, and he couldn't help but wonder if the waiter was more than just a coincidence.

Just then, his phone buzzed with a text from his men. They had the pest secured and were on their way to the designated location. Victor smiled to himself, feeling a sense of satisfaction. This was going to be a good night.

He excused himself from the party and made his way to the location, a abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. As he arrived, he saw the woman, Amira, sitting in a chair, her camera hanging around her neck. She looked defiant, but Victor could see the fear in her eyes.

"Good evening, Journalist Amira," Victor said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I see you're still snooping around, trying to uncover the truth. But tonight, you're going to learn a valuable lesson about crossing me."

Amira spat at his feet. "You're a monster, Victor. And you'll pay for what you've been doing to the people."

Victor smiled, unfazed. "You'll find that I'm not someone to be trifled with, Amira. And tonight, you're going to pay for your insolence."

As he raised his gun, Amira's eyes widened in fear. But before Victor could pull the trigger, he heard the sound of his men being taken down one by one. He turned to see his security detail being subdued, non-lethally, by a group of skilled operatives.

And then, he saw him - the waiter. Standing behind him, a gun pointed directly at his head.

Victor's eyes widened in shock. "I knew something was off about you," he growled.

The waiter smiled, a cold glint in his eye. "You should have listened to your instincts, Victor. You're not the only one who knows how to play games."

Victor tried to struggle, but the waiter's grip was firm. He realized too late that he had underestimated his opponent, and now he was at his mercy.