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墨書 Inktalez
"We need to find this person," Fatty said to me. "He is the boss here, named Hu Chunting, also known as Jackal. He knows all the transaction records in this area, especially the Big Deal. There can't be many who are aware of it. It's difficult to gather information from the lower levels without raising suspicion and alerting them. It would be better to go directly after this person. Although it's riskier, the advantage is that if we succeed, we will definitely obtain accurate information."
A big shot controlling arms smuggling across the Laos-Myanmar-Vietnam region would surely have bodyguards and followers with him. The implication in Fatty's words was that he intended to confront him directly, which made my scalp tingle. Just moments ago, I had been stirred by the sight of a beautiful woman, but now that feeling was instantly frozen. I realized that Fatty only came up with these reckless ideas; aside from risking everything, he had no other options.
I tentatively asked, "Just the three of us—can we handle him? Don't give me that nonsense about how three of us can take on an enhanced squad; I don't believe he goes out without bodyguards."
"Look at your lack of ambition," Fatty retorted, seizing the opportunity to mock me. "Of course, I wouldn't let us walk into a death trap. Why do you think I bought this telescope? It's to keep an eye on him. No matter who he is, there will always be a moment when he lets his guard down. I refuse to believe he has someone with him when he goes to the bathroom, takes a shower, or entertains women. We will eventually have our chance; this requires patience."
I could see some logic in what he said, but I still worried that his recklessness might lead to irreversible consequences. This international crime syndicate involved in arms smuggling and drug trafficking was different from local thugs like the Nine-Headed Bird; perhaps they could retreat back to their home country where we couldn't reach them, but provoking them raised serious questions about whether we could escape unscathed. The journey from here to the China-Laos border was not short; they certainly had the capability to mobilize paramilitary forces to hunt down anyone daring enough to offend them.
I reminded Fatty, "Don't act rashly here; they are far stronger than us in terms of weaponry and numbers. If we can settle things with money, let's do it."
Fatty huffed, "The problem is we don't have any money."
I replied, "Don't you still have some?"
"This little bit of money is only enough for small-time arms dealers; General Nguyen's crew deals with Big Deals worth millions—they wouldn't even look at my few tens of thousands." Fatty grumbled. He looked at me again and added, "You’re right about one thing: I've changed quite a bit over these years. To me, laws and order are nothing but bullshit. Respect for life? I don’t even care about my own life; how could I care about others? After returning home for half a year, I thought I had regained some humanity, but coming out this time made me realize I'm still the same."
"Qiangzi," he continued, "I'm even more worried about this than you are. Sometimes at night, nightmares wake me up—visions of comrades dying beside me and opponents I've killed: Asians, whites, blacks—some with gaping holes in their heads, others missing half their skulls or with intestines spilling everywhere—all rushing at me like vengeful spirits. Whenever I wake from these dreams, do you know what I want to do? Kill! I want to kill. It seems that only by killing can I find some relief. Thank you for your words; if I ever act irrationally again, remind me like this—many times I can't see that line and need someone to point it out; only you can do that."
After finishing his heavy words, Fatty leaned back against his chair and let out a sigh of relief.
His words were weighty, yet my heart suddenly felt lighter. It was significant that he could recognize these issues. Perhaps he needed a psychologist; his willingness to acknowledge his problems and accept my guidance showed that he was quite rational. I reached out and patted his shoulder, signaling that I understood him and would stand by him through tough times.
Before any better plans emerged, I decided to follow Fatty's suggestion. However, I proposed a more advanced action plan: with Jackal as our primary target, we would focus on him and keep an eye on everyone who had contact with him. The main purpose of this approach was to distinguish between the guests in the courtyard of the hotel and those associated with Jackal, ensuring that we wouldn't mistake anyone when it came time to act.
With our surveillance target clearly defined, Fatty and I began taking turns watching the courtyard across from us. There was one condition: when sunlight hit our windowsill, we couldn't extend the telescope outside to avoid reflections. As Fatty put it, if they noticed someone watching them, this place would be turned into a beehive in the next second. Fortunately, we were on the rooftop, which had a large overhanging eave that mostly served to block out the sun.
This telescope came equipped with a camera, allowing us to take pictures of our targets at any time. By nightfall, the wall opposite my bed was plastered with photographs. At that moment, Fatty and I temporarily set aside the telescope and stared blankly at dozens of different photos. None of them featured Jackal. It wasn't that we had his photo but hadn't taken another; rather, Jackal simply hadn't shown up.
This situation wasn't unusual; after all, Jackal was the boss here, and it made sense that he kept a low profile. However, this meant we couldn't distinguish who among the people in the courtyard were Jackal's bodyguards and who were regular staff members. Of course, it was easy to identify hotel guests based on their clothing and behavior; it was almost immediately apparent.
After briefly categorizing the photos of guests and staff, both of us felt hungry after working for most of the day. Fatty went downstairs to order food while I resumed my watch through the telescope. I estimated that I would be holed up in this room until we left; there was no way around it—due to language barriers, going out felt like being deaf.
We worked late into the night without seeing our main target, so we both went to bed empty-handed. The next morning, sunlight streaming through our window prevented any surveillance, so I enjoyed a good sleep and didn't wake up until noon. Fatty was sleeping in the living room outside; when I opened my eyes, I found him already leaning over the windowsill watching across.
Upon hearing me wake up, Fatty said, "Breakfast."
Perhaps feeling that term was inaccurate, he glanced at the glaring light and corrected himself: "Your first meal is on the table outside."
I stretched lazily and jumped out of bed. It was warm enough here that I didn't put on any extra clothes; I just slipped on some flip-flops and headed outside. On the table lay a bag of bread and a few slices of ham.
After eating, I returned to the bedroom and asked Fatty, "Any progress today?"
Still focused on the telescope without moving an inch, he replied, "Same as before—some new faces showed up, but no sign of Jackal. This isn't a sustainable approach; I have a new idea—what do you think?"
I said, "Let’s hear it." Fatty pulled his head away from the telescope and turned back to point at the photos on the wall: "I plan to start with them."
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