Chapter 237 - Which Is Scarier?

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Favela.

The word for Brazil’s impoverished neighborhoods, much like hillside shantytowns elsewhere or slums in America.

One of them, Paraisópolis, was an enormous favela with over three hundred thousand confirmed residents, notorious in São Paulo for all manner of reasons.

Countless shacks and illegal buildings piled haphazardly atop one another like toy blocks. Armed gangsters openly prowling the streets. Hollow-eyed paupers sprawled on the pavement with only the sky for a blanket.

Such sights were everyday occurrences here—sights that would have made Rose, the Blue Dragon Princess, want to unleash a carpet bombing with mountains of donations for bombs.

“Hey, I hear business is good these days. How about paying a little more protection money, then?”

“Suck my d***, Officer. Even when business is good, the boss takes it all. You think I’ve got money to feed your greedy ass?”

“No need to be so stingy with a business partner.”

“Business partner, my ass. You’re a parasite bleeding criminals dry.”

“A parasite with a gun and authority, though.”

The fact that this was Paraisópolis was precisely why Jair could openly accept money in the middle of the street.

That was true of most places in Brazil, but here in particular, the ties between corrupt cops and gangs were hardly something to hide. In fact, it was better to flaunt them.

That kept idiots from getting any funny ideas.

Of course, the gangs took care of those idiots themselves, whether by putting a bullet in the back of their heads or selling even their families into prostitution, but filing them as missing was still a nuisance.

It was an even bigger nuisance if those missing people included foreigners or high-ranking figures.

“Huh? Officer, what’s that?”

“What’s what... huh?”

That was why Jair blinked at the sight of a vehicle driving fearlessly into Paraisópolis, where most cars dared not venture for fear of being stolen, and planting itself squarely in the middle of the narrow road.

‘A truck? No, an armored vehicle? It looks a little too luxurious for that, though...’

His bewilderment at the strange, massive vehicle, unlike anything he had ever seen, lasted only a moment. Then his expression stiffened.

“... Isn’t that the Quetzalcoatl logo?”

“What?”

The gangsters recoiled at the mere mention of Quetzalcoatl.

As they watched warily, a black-haired young man with an insolent look in his eyes climbed out of the truck’s driver’s seat.

After a quick glance around, the young man walked to the rear of the truck and tapped on it.

“Please come out, mistress.”

WHIRRR.

Immediately afterward, the back of the truck lowered automatically to form a staircase. Inside, a metal door as thick as a vault door opened, revealing a woman.

Neatly arranged green hair. Layer upon layer of clothing. Gloves covering both hands.

She was a woman of sickly beauty, with a noble air that was plainly out of place in a slum like this.

The instant the paupers sprawled along the street saw Maia’s green hair, they sprang up in alarm and scattered in every direction, terror on their faces.

But Maia paid no attention to their reactions. She merely regarded Limon coldly as he greeted her with a cheerful smile.

“... You said it had been so long that you weren’t sure you could manage, yet your driving is quite remarkable.”

“I had some excellent driving lessons in the past.”

Whether driving military trucks through relentless shellfire during the world war really counted as lessons was debatable, but Limon answered shamelessly.

After all, neither then nor now had he been hit by a shell or gotten into a traffic accident.

Maia frowned at him briefly before finally clicking her tongue and asking a question.

“Did Arbella tell you why I came here?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must know what you are to do now.”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

Limon answered without hesitation, then continued with perfect nonchalance as Maia stared steadily at him.

“Surely I can’t guess at orders I haven’t received and act on my own?”

His orders had been to drive the truck here, not to anticipate Maia’s intentions and take action of his own accord.

Maia snorted at his attitude, which Arbella would have praised as befitting a professional slave.

“Then I shall give you an order. Somewhere in this slum is a gang boss named Antonio. Find him and capture him alive.”

“... You want me to find someone I’ve never seen in a place this large?”

Find one single person—and a gang boss, at that—in this sprawling slum of more than three hundred thousand people?

Even the grandson of some famous detective or a São Paulo native would have balked at that order. It was tantamount to finding a needle on a sandy beach.

But Maia did not so much as twitch an eyebrow. She merely twisted her lips slightly.

“Can you not do it?”

Her expression held cold mockery, as if to ask whether he could not manage even this much after selling himself for such an exorbitant price.

Limon narrowed his eyes at her.

‘I see. You want to see what I can do?’

He laughed inwardly. He could see at once that Maia was giving him this order because she wanted to watch him fight.

It was a troublesome tactic. If he fought with anything even resembling a sword, she would recognize his identity immediately.

But rather than reject the obvious provocation, Limon smiled and replied, “I didn’t say I couldn’t.”

“Then do it.”

“If that is your command.”

Like a lazy yet faithful slave, Limon gave a slight nod and immediately set to work.

He strode toward the gang members who, unlike the fleeing paupers, had stayed put to save face.

Startled by his sudden approach, they reflexively aimed their guns at him, but Limon casually posed a question without the slightest tension.

“Hey, who’s your boss?”

“O que (What)?”

“Quem é o teu patrão (I said, who’s your boss).”

The question was so unexpected that the gangsters could only stare at him in bewilderment, unable to answer.

Limon decided to help them understand.

“Fine, let me ask another way. Any chance you know where a bastard named Antonio is?”

“... Why?”

The gangsters’ faces immediately hardened.

Seeing their unmistakable tension, quite different from their earlier vague wariness, Limon grinned and spoke.

“Bingo.”

“What?”

“I thought I’d have to knock quite a few heads together to catch that Antonio bastard. Didn’t expect to find his lackeys right off the bat.”

“You son of a...!”

As Limon grinned and said he had simply followed a hunch and gotten lucky, one gangster reflexively pulled his pistol’s trigger.

CLICK!

But the gun never fired. Limon had already seized it and engaged the safety.

“Shooting without warning over a single question... You bastards don’t see people as people, do you?”

Looking straight into the eyes of the gangster desperately struggling to wrench his pistol free, Limon smiled coldly.

“Then there’s no need to treat you like people either, is there?”

CRUNCH!

“Aaaaargh!”

“You f***ing bastard!”

“Die!”

The gangster collapsed, screaming from the pain of his fingers being crushed like brittle stalks.

At the sight of their companion, the others’ eyes rolled back in rage, and they immediately tried to shoot Limon.

It was typical gang behavior: they gave not the slightest thought to what would happen if they opened fire with their comrades standing both in front of and behind them.

But they were too late. By the time the gangsters were aiming at Limon, he was already snatching the pistol their broken-fingered companion had dropped out of the air.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Urgh!” “Ugh?” “Aaargh!”

A spinning muzzle, ear-splitting reports, and brief screams.

It all happened in an instant. Gripping the pistol, Limon merely bent his arm and pulled the trigger three times without aiming or even turning his head.

With those three shots, the gangsters’ guns were shattered or knocked away, and they crumpled to the ground, bloodied or clutching broken arms.

Having subdued four gangsters in the blink of an eye, Limon spun the pistol in his hand and was about to tuck it beside his belt when he suddenly stopped.

“... Tsk. Old habits really do die hard.”

‘Honestly, that Billy gave me some bad habits too.’

Perhaps it was because he had not held a gun in so long. He briefly clicked his tongue at having fallen back into the habits of his days wandering the wilderness with that good-for-nothing disciple.

In the end, lacking a holster, he simply tucked the pistol into his waistband and crouched before the gangsters groaning on the ground.

Then, propping his chin on both hands, he spoke with a bored expression.

“You should’ve answered when I asked nicely. Then none of this unpleasantness would’ve happened.”

“Y-you bastard!”

THWACK!

“Let’s skip the insults about my family, the promises of revenge, and the questions about whether I’m afraid of the consequences. I’ve heard that routine so many times it bores me.”

Before one gangster could finish responding, Limon smashed him in the face, sending his teeth spilling out like kernels of corn, then turned his head.

Looking in turn at the remaining three gangsters, who stared at him with a mixture of fury and terror, he smiled coldly.

“All right, from now on, I’m accepting just one person, first come, first served. Which of you bastards will willingly spill where your boss is?”

“Suck my d—hurk!”

“Just you wa—urk!”

“Wait! We don’t know where the boss i... Gwaaagh!”

“Sadly, all three are eliminated.”

One took a blow to the solar plexus, another had his head slammed into the ground, and the last was struck across the back of the neck.

With all four gangsters finally unconscious, Limon rose as though he had never expected much from them in the first place.

Then he glanced to the side with a grin.

“You’ve suddenly become our grand prize winner. Congratulations, Officer.”

“M-me? Why me?”

The cop had remained practically stupefied ever since Limon approached. Only now, upon being addressed, did his face fill with alarm.

Looking at Jair, Limon spoke with perfect nonchalance.

“I told you. I’m taking just one person who’ll tell me about the boss, first come, first served.”

“You’re including me in that?”

“Why? Did you think you were exempt?”

If he had pocketed money more precious than blood, didn’t that make him practically a brother to the gangsters?

As Limon sneered and pointed at the wad of money still clutched in his hand, Jair went deathly pale.

“N-no. I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t?”

“That’s right! A foreigner like you wouldn’t know, but around here, you won’t survive if you so much as open your mouth about Antonio!”

Jair clenched his teeth. If it came out that he had revealed Antonio’s whereabouts, not only he but his entire extended family would suffer horrific retaliation.

He would sooner die than talk. All the more so because he had at least a vague idea of who stood behind Antonio.

“Oh, really? Then there’s nothing I can do.”

“Then...!”

“... Is that what you thought I’d say?”

Limon’s expression turned icy as he regarded Jair. That terrified face alone told him the corrupt cop had been involved, directly or indirectly, in such ‘retaliation’ time and again.

And so he spoke mockingly.

“Officer, want to hear something interesting?”

“Whatever you threaten me with, it’s no use! I’ll never talk!”

“Really? Even if I tell you whose orders I’m following in looking for that bastard?”

“...!”

At those words, Jair involuntarily went deathly pale.

Only then did he realize that, here in Brazil, there were only two kinds of people who could brazenly beat down gangsters: lunatics with a death wish, or psychopaths backed by someone scarier than the gangs.

And one look at the truck bearing Quetzalcoatl’s logo and the green-haired beauty watching from behind with her arms crossed made it obvious which answer was correct.

“Tell me, which scares you more: a threat from the Green Dragon Clan, or retaliation from a gang?”

A horrific life.

A horrific death.

Which of the two did he prefer?

Watching Limon ask with a gentle smile, Jair could do nothing but despair.