THIRTY SIX

DEVON

Frank Street, New York. It was a less bustling street during the daytime than at night due to being a residential area. The driver pulled the car over; I alighted, carefully studying the desolated street before walking towards a coffee shop on the side.

Two of my men followed closely. Inside the coffee shop, three men were in the corner: one was sitting, while the rest were all standing. The one sitting was a middle-aged man, about forty years old. He looked very handsome and was probably a woman killer during his younger days.

He wore a peaceful expression on his face. The two men, one black and the other Chinese, were standing. The black guy was heavily built, while the Chinese guy was only average.

The man looked up and smiled cheerfully when he saw me. He had a very amiable expression, which was actually a facade; in reality, he was a very scheming businessman and could go to lengths to achieve his