Holy Sinners (Sinners 2)

Mission 2: New Target

It was said to be owned by what they call Anon, from the word Anonymous, who had been reigning in the intel business for two decades now. As their name suggested, nobody knew their real identity. Some said it's not one person but a group of ex-Mafioso's who went rogue and sold intel as a business or expert hackers. Some said they were retired special forces officers from different countries. A recent buzz said she's a woman. Whoever or whatever, Anon's identity wouldn't be divulged that easily.

It's not a farfetched statement that The Triangle was the most special in the city. Even the Commission left them off their radar, or at least they say. The Triangle was no mafia, after all. Behind the bright lights and loud music, they offered specialized services for special guests.

The Commission would never destroy the things they need. And they required Anon's services, a faceless identity who made a fortune selling and researching information. Pricey correct information that couldn't be found on public records.

I bypassed the line, ignored the annoyed waiting patrons, and whispered to the bouncer for the code. "I'm here for the call."

Another man with him led me to the back of the establishment. We passed by figures lurking in the shadows as guards that protected the building.

"Guest," he said to the man peeping on the hole from the inside. It was part of a coded conversation, to prevent wiretap recordings if ever.

Despite being a regular, they never slipped their tight watch. I surrendered my gun and knives. They also scanned and searched me for any weapons. Cleared, I was brought up to the winding halls of a VIP room. It was small, twice the size of a public phone booth, with a single couch and a table. The walls were made up of dark glass. There was an old telephone at the center of a small table.

I was all too familiar with the method. I came here for information about my past, all unanswered every time, a rare occurrence for Anon.

The phone rang after a few minutes.

[Language?] an electrically distorted voice asked.

"English."

[And what alias may I call you, dear guest?]

"This time, you suggest."

[Let's call you Rose, after my favorite flower, yet your hair has a lovelier shade.]

It's not a surprise. CCTVs were strategically placed to cover every angle. Not a sound from the outside could be heard and vice versa.

[How may I of service, Rose?]

"Tell me anything about Peter Adam Charleswin. Member of the Southern Mafia."

As usual, the call ended temporarily. Whoever the person on the other end was working his magic, maybe browsing through files, memory, and databases, any kind of source to give me what I want.

The phone rang, and I was told of the things that I already knew. Even the time Adam Orleonne was last seen in Beaumondville City.

"I already know all of that."

[He was initially named Peter Adam Charleswin. Did you also know he is a son of Arthur Orleonne? That's why he renamed himself Adam Orleonne, using his father's name to rebuild the mafia as the rumors say.]

"I do. How did you know that?"

[Anon knows everything, Rose.]

"Not everything," I corrected, referring to my past.

[Touché. Do you have other inquiries?]

"Yes." I placed the photo from the Red Light District. "This is me. Can you tell me anything about this picture?"