Chapter 498 - 327: A Ghost?

Chapter 498: Chapter 327: A Ghost?

Especially when it’s free and stolen from someone else.

That sense of transgression really hit the spot.

It was tastier than the barbecue joint from yesterday, and better than the hotel restaurant too.

Free food just tastes better. Plus, this street stall was genuinely good.

The tattooed man swallowed the taco in his mouth and said, "We’ll settle in cash again. Kuluoqi says if this goes smoothly, we’ll add another ten bags next time. But don’t worry, the pay will be better too."

After speaking, he casually reached for the metal tray, but his hand came up empty.

He glanced down, grabbed another one from the side, and kept eating.

Five minutes later, the tattooed man’s phone rang.

He pulled it out, saw who was calling, and stood up. Walking over to the side of the road, he answered and exchanged a few brief words.

Seeing his chance, Li Wei grabbed two more.

Fernando was lost in his worries, with no appetite whatsoever. He couldn’t even bring himself to stuff the taco in his hand into his mouth.

The tattooed man walked back, glanced at him, and chuckled. "Fernando, what do you think? This taco spot is pretty good, huh?"

"Huh? What?" Fernando, taken aback, forced a smile. "Oh, yeah. It’s really good."

"Auntie Malin’s grilled meat is the best," the tattooed man said, jutting his chin toward the large woman. "Auntie Malin, bring us another twelve."

"No, no," Fernando said, waving his hand. "I can’t finish that many."

"Come on, with an appetite like yours?" The tattooed man sat down beside him and picked up another taco. "Could we get fattier beef rib strips this time, Auntie Malin?"

Fernando glanced at the taco in his hand, from which he’d only taken two bites. He had no idea how the tattooed man had concluded that he had a big appetite.

Soon, the second plate of tacos arrived.

This time, the large woman used fattier beef rib strips. The chopped meat was richer in grease, and as it was spread on the corn tortillas, you could even see the juices soaking into the shells.

The tattooed man grabbed one, sucking his fingers as he ate. "Anyway, back to business. If the next run goes smoothly, Kuchilo wants to up the quantity by another ten bags."

He hadn’t even finished his sentence when his phone rang again.

"Fuck," he muttered, glancing at the caller ID. He got up impatiently and walked a few meters away to the side of the road, lowering his voice as he answered the call.

Judging from his tone, it sounded like one of his subordinates had screwed something up again.

"...Can’t you fucking count? You’re calling me because you’re short three bags? Go ask Romeo if they’re done loading. Don’t bother me with every little piece of shit..."

Li Wei’s ears caught the tattooed man’s conversation, but his hands were far from idle.

While Fernando was staring blankly at his phone and the tattooed man had his back turned during the call, he unhurriedly picked another taco from the plate and popped it into his mouth.

’Mm, you have to hand it to the locals, they know what’s good. The beef rib strips are definitely better than the ground beef from before.’ The grease melted on his tongue, and Li Wei savored every bite.

Then a second.

A third.

A fourth.

Li Wei sat beside Fernando, eating with perfect composure. He controlled the speed of his chewing, making sure not to produce any loud sounds.

The sound of the Monterey night wind and distant traffic provided the perfect background noise.

After finishing the taco in his hand, Fernando picked up another one for show, then went back to staring into space.

When the tattooed man came back, muttering curses as he hung up the phone, he glanced at the plate—

Of the twelve tacos, only three were left.

"Whoa," he said, giving Fernando a surprised look as he sat down with a grin. "Fernando, did you skip dinner? You must be starving."

Fernando looked up, a little dazed, and glanced at him.

"Uh... I’m fine. I already ate dinner," he said.

"Looks like Auntie Malin’s cooking won you over. I didn’t know you could eat so much." The tattooed man wolfed down one of the last tacos, chewed for a moment, then lifted his chin toward the large woman. "Auntie Malin! Another plate! I’m starving!"

He didn’t know about Fernando, but he himself really hadn’t eaten dinner and was about to die of hunger.

’Damn Fernando eats like a pig. How can he still pack it away after having dinner? Sheesh.’

The third plate of tacos was served quickly.

This time, he was smarter. He guarded his food possessively, scarfing down three in a flash and holding a fourth in his hand.

Before he could take a bite of the fourth one, his phone rang again.

"Dammit..." He looked at the screen, and his expression soured.

Clearly, the "little piece of shit" from before hadn’t been resolved.

He stood up again, walked to a corner, and called the number back.

"You listen to me. I’m heading over now. If I get there and find out this is your fuck-up, believe me, I will—"

What followed was a stream of local curses and slang, mixed with so many abbreviations that Li Wei couldn’t understand most of it.

However, he gathered the gist of it: the count at one of the loading points was off, and the tattooed man had to go deal with it personally.

This actually saved him some trouble. He had originally just planned on finding an opportunity to interrogate the tattooed man to find out the location of their base.

Now, things were even simpler. He could just have the guy be his chauffeur.

While spewing curses, the tattooed man glanced over at Fernando. After confirming he wasn’t sneaking any food, he turned his back again.

Li Wei glanced at Fernando and saw that he had also taken out his phone and was scrolling through it absentmindedly.

Eight tacos were left on the third plate.

Li Wei unhurriedly began his work.

He even squeezed a little lime juice for himself. The last few had been a bit greasy, and the lime was perfect for cutting through the richness.

One... two... three... four...

Just as he was savoring the last bite of his seventh taco, the tattooed man on the other end of the phone cursed in frustration. "None of you move. I’m coming over myself," he snapped before hanging up and turning back.

The moment he saw the plate, he froze.

There had been eight left just a moment ago. Now there was only one.

And Fernando, that fat pig, was still scrolling through his phone, pretending he hadn’t noticed a thing.

His face darkened completely. He walked over, sat down, and just stared at Fernando.

But Fernando was completely engrossed in his phone, oblivious to the tattooed man’s glare.

The tattooed man stared at him for a full thirty seconds before he finally couldn’t hold back any longer.

"Fernando."

"Huh?"

"Were you that hungry today?" the tattooed man asked. "You could have just told me if you hadn’t eaten."

"Huh?" Fernando turned his head, looking at the tattooed man in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"If you’re going to eat, just eat. Why do it behind my back?" the tattooed man said. "What, you think I can’t afford to pay?"

"No!" Fernando cried out. "I... I only ate one! I haven’t even finished my second!"

’This idiot’s gone crazy,’ Fernando thought instinctively. ’It’s just a few plates of tacos. They’re not even expensive. Why is he blaming me?’

"Three plates, thirty-six tacos total. I ate less than ten of them," the tattooed man said, his expression grim. "If you ate them, just say so. Why lie to me?"

"I didn’t—"

"Then where the fuck did the other twenty-plus tacos go?" the tattooed man snapped. "Did they fly away? Eaten by a ghost?"

"How should I know!" Fernando snapped back. "You’re the one who ate them! You—"

Before he could finish, the tattooed man slapped Fernando across the face, knocking him right off the plastic stool and onto the ground.

"Don’t think you can mess with me. Is it fun playing games with me?" The tattooed man grabbed Fernando by the collar, hauled him up from the ground, and said menacingly, "Next Monday. Got it?"

"G-Got it," Fernando stammered, holding his already swelling cheek.

The tattooed man let go. Fernando stumbled back a couple of steps, his back hitting a pillar of the corrugated metal awning.

The tattooed man’s stomach rumbled. He hesitated for a moment, then decided not to waste any more time. Business was more important.

’Dammit, now I’m even more pissed off. Just looking at this fatass infuriates me.’

"You stay and pay the bill!"

He shot Fernando a glare and strode away from the taco stand, his stomach rumbling all the while.

He got into the pickup truck parked on the side of the road and started the engine.

"Fucking... asshole," Fernando muttered as he watched the tattooed man walk away, clutching the side of his face, which was already swelling up. "If you were going to dine and dash, you should’ve just said so. Acting like you can’t fucking afford it."

"Thirty-six USD."

"How much?" Fernando was dumbfounded. "You’re charging thirty-six USD for thirty-six small tacos? What do you think this is, a Michelin restaurant in New York? You want to add a 20% service fee, too?"

"Thirty-six USD. I don’t take Pesos," Auntie Malin said flatly. "You don’t have to pay, if you don’t want to."

Fernando thought it over seriously and decided to pay up. Judging by her relationship with the tattooed man, he knew nothing good would come from offending this woman.

"Dammit... I only ate one..." he muttered, paying reluctantly. "And I got slapped for it."

...

The pickup’s engine roared as it sped off into the night.

The tattooed man gripped the steering wheel with one hand and held his phone with the other, still cursing and yelling into it.

"I’m telling you one last time, you fucking count them properly. If you’re short a single bag, I’m holding you responsible—"

His voice carried up through the truck’s metal roof, intermittent on the night wind.

And on the roof of the truck, an invisible Knight wearing a Batman mask was lying on the luggage rack, one leg crossed over the other, picking his teeth with a makeshift toothpick he’d snapped off a twig from the roadside.

’The beef fibers are a little tough. A few got stuck in my teeth. Gotta get ’em out.’

The city lights of Monterey grew sparse in his field of view.

The high-rises gave way to low-slung houses, which in turn became scattered tin sheds and perimeter walls. Eventually, even the walls vanished, replaced by barren scrubland and the occasional flash of a barbed-wire fence.

The four-lane highway narrowed to a two-lane road, and the streetlights disappeared, leaving only the pickup’s own headlights to illuminate the darkness.

"Romeo, I’m ten minutes out," the tattooed man said, making another call. "Have them bring the merchandise out and line it up. I’m going to count it myself. Ask the factory if they shorted the load. How many vehicles are heading out today?"

"Four? Alright, we’ll talk when I get there."

After hanging up, the tattooed man finally fell silent. All that could be heard was the rumbling of his stomach.

He really was starving. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he rummaged through the glove compartment with the other and pulled out half a bag of stale plain tortilla chips. He began chewing on them, the chips crunching loudly.

"Damn Fernando..."

The pickup drove a little further, then slowed and made a turn.

In a clearing covered with weeds and gravel, an abandoned gas station sat squat under the moonlight.

Four or five dark-colored pickups and vans were lined up in the clearing, their engines still running. About twenty men were scattered around the open space.

The pickup screeched to a halt in front of them as the tattooed man slammed on the brakes.

He jumped out of the truck impatiently and yelled at the crowd, "Fuck, who’s got something to eat?"