The air was thick with hormones, mixed with the stench of vomit and fermenting garbage. Indecent advertising slogans and moans sounded in the neon hues; amid the revelry, Lin Miao only caught one scent.
The smell of lost hope, of living in a drunken stupor.
The pachinko parlor doors were open 24/7, and inside, dozens of pinball machines clicked and clacked incessantly. Every machine was occupied, the gamblers' eyes fixated on the screens as if every steel ball they launched synchronized with their souls and heartbeats, then plummeted into hell together.
Lin Miao didn't spare them a glance, heading straight for the backdoor by the counter. A burly sumo stood blocking the entrance, looking down to scrutinize the man who was a head shorter than him, rumbling in Japanese.
"Name?"
Lin Miao took a business card from his chest pocket, holding it between two fingers. His brain implant could translate most common languages, but for obscure ones, he needed to find and install separate voice packs.
"Lin Miao, I have an appointment."
The sumo reached for the card, but Lin Miao immediately put it back in his pocket, giving nothing away. His tone carried arrogance and disdain, not even bothering to look at him further.
The sumo was visibly displeased, making no move to step aside until a mature, elderly female voice sounded from behind.
"Let the guest in."
Only then did he reluctantly move aside.
He lifted the curtain, revealing a room decorated in a Japanese style, with wooden screens and Japanese wall paintings on either side. It wasn't extravagantly furnished—just a wooden desk, a sofa, and two or three pots with porcelain and potted plants. Though inside a pachinko parlor, this small room exuded a quiet elegance.
The faint incense was bathed in the dim light of the desk lamp, casting a hazy mist. Lin Miao saw an elderly woman brewing tea. Her hair was gray, and she wore round-frame glasses, looking somewhat aged.
But assuming she was an ordinary old woman would be a grave mistake; exposed under her collar was a large tattoo, a mark unique to the higher-ups of the Tiger Claw Gang.
All five of her husbands had been in the Tiger Claw's upper echelons, and she was no different.
"Kang Jie was neglectful of the guest, my apologies."
She slid a full teacup toward Lin Miao, who nonchalantly pulled up a chair and sat down with no reservation. Regarding the tea, he only lifted it for a light sip and then promptly set it back down, a slight frown lining his brow, dismissing it without a second glance.
In business, especially negotiation, never show weakness or bow your head.
This behavior did not escape Wagako's notice.
"It seems the guest is not satisfied with my tea leaves."
But Lin Miao merely smiled, crossing his fingers on his lap, speaking calmly,
"Tea can be consumed anytime, but business, if missed, becomes troublesome."
Wagako sipped her tea before remarking, "I've not seen you in Night City before. May I ask who you are?"
Throughout, her gaze never wavered from Lin Miao's face for even half a step.
"Lin Miao, with Future Horizon Office. If you haven't heard of it, that's fine. If our cooperation goes well, you should hear about us often afterward."
Seeing this, Wagako stopped beating around the bush, frankly asking, "Mr. Lin, I want to know how much of that product you have in hand—is it clean... extracted thoroughly?"
"The first batch, 500 kilograms, very clean. No one will be able to trace them to their origin."
"How am I to believe you? From what I know, none of Night City's hotels or suppliers have reported any thefts, and I've never heard of someone like you, Mr. Lin."
"When did I ever say that my goods and I originated from Night City?" Lin Miao's tone remained calm, his expression unchanged. "Besides, if there's doubt, you can verify the goods now, but when it comes to business, fairness is key."
Not from Night City... first batch… doesn't that imply more to come... and large-scale smuggling isn't something just anyone can pull off.
Wagako felt uncertain, as she had indeed tried to check the origin of this batch, but recently had heard nothing about any frozen goods convoy being hijacked. Moreover, the chicken—how to put it—was of unexpectedly high quality as if freshly slaughtered after thawing, devoid of any company inspection marks, nor was it from the Voodoo Gang.
She retrieved a chip from beneath the table and pushed it toward Lin Miao, smiling as she said, "Here's the deal, Mr. Lin. To show my sincerity, the market price for 500 kilograms, I'm offering 50,000 as the first payment, with full payment after verifying the goods."
Wagako certainly understood what Lin Miao meant by fairness—money, give it, and if the goods turn out faulty, Lin Miao won't leave the pachinko parlor alive today.
500 kilograms of chicken certainly isn't worth just 50,000 euros, as the market price would at least exceed 200,000. But this is the black market; intermediaries need greasing, and the lion's share. Giving Lin Miao 50,000 is reasonable, less could be offered to mercenaries, something like 30,000, even down to 20,000 would suffice.
50,000 euros for 500 pounds of ordinary chicken—any savvy person in reality wouldn't fall for such a ruse, but in Night City... damn it, it's possible.
But...
"100,000, not a penny less."
A hint of displeasure crossed Lin Miao's face, his mouth twitched downward slightly.
"Miss Wagako, you and I both know this batch is worth far more than that."
Clack.
The sound of a pistol being cocked came from behind, a hard object pressing against Lin Miao's head.
"Mr. Lin, it's probably your first time dealing with a middleman in Night City, isn't it?"