The walk from Central Station to María's dockside took me through the bars and restaurants of the barrio of Estrella. The scent reminded me of my first nights in the city as a wide-eyed nineteen-year-old, the air blowing cool from the port through the streets, carrying the sounds of the city's party-going public along with it.
Most of my old haunts from summer school three years earlier still looked the same, like I'd been transported back to those innocent days of being a teenager in a strange country. Those days before Sigma had ruined me. Ruined me more, anyways.
The thrum of bars and clubs petered out as I walked north toward the quiet of the night-time port. Bright, welcoming restaurant terraces were slowly replaced by glum warehouses and derelict office space as I ventured deeper into Estrella. Alleyways became darker, shadows became longer, but I didn't let a single sliver of doubt enter my mind. Meters away from my destination, I couldn't afford to back out at the last moment.
The familiar smell of dust and dining was left behind, and the tang of fuel oil began to charge the air as I got closer to the water. The towering cranes and containers on the wharves came into view in the darkness, backlit by the wash of dark blue still on the horizon, and the winking lights of the ships in the bay.
The Lyons breweries and offices, with their private jetties and walkways interconnecting the wharves, rose outta the darkness as I stepped deeper into the dockside, the Lyons name floodlit like a giant artificial moon that cast long shadows onto the wharves below it. I wondered if Constance Lyons was working late in some stylish cream-colored office somewhere high above the brewery wharves, looking down on me as I walked into danger.
A few steps deeper into the port, and there it was. The champagne pink paintwork of La Rosa was illuminated by the rosy pinpricks of lights strung along the hull. Gamblers and drinkers milled back and forth along the concrete ramp that led to the entrance doors.
It looked deceptively easy to get past La Rosa's security amid the hubbub of a Friday night's gambling. Maybe I could sneak in. But I'd always been taken to La Rosa in a Sigma car, Security escorting me inside, no words exchanged with doormen, no challenges, no obstructions. I'd never actually seen how patrons were scrutinized by La Rosa Security. I was gonna have to play it by ear.
Be so careful, Zeph.
Guests were checking in at a lectern stood at the entrance, a suited-up security steroid-head checking off names on a tablet, and signing in guests who hadn't reserved a place.
Game-face on, I strutted up the ramp trying to affect the same air of effortless confidence that I'd seen in Noah. I swanned toward the lectern behind a couple making their way up the stairs to the top deck's bar.
"Welcome to La Rosa, Sir. Do you have a reservation?" The security guard watched me attentively; I was much younger than most of the patrons and I wondered if he was trying to figure out if I was fourteen or forty.
"No, I'm visiting Maria for a night and thought I'd take in the entertainment."
"Excellent, Sir. We can sign you in a as a guest patron. What is your name, Sir?"
I couldn't fucking believe that this was so easy.
Fake name, Zeph!
"Son Heung-min," I said, hoping that the CEO of L.K. wouldn't ever come to Maria and find his identity stolen by a Korean piano teacher bent on a night's gambling. It wasn't really my fault; Son Heung-min ssi had been the first confident Korean asshole who'd sprung to mind.
The guard smiled in apology at the Asian name, and pulled his tablet from the lectern to let me swipe out my fake-ass identity.
"Enjoy your evening, Sir." He turned to a couple in line behind me.
YOU ARE READING
The Sigma Asset 🏳️🌈 (bxb)║AMBYS WINNER 2022
Mystery / Thriller**AMBYS 2022 WINNER** He'll never play piano again. That's what virtuoso pianist Zephyr has vowed to himself after escaping Sigma, the sprawling criminal organisation that once held him--and still holds his friends--captive in California's mega-city...
