Blind Spots (4)
“You’ve made the right call.”
Having read my intentions, Kyung-tae lit up and made his pitch. “Why not reinvest every last bit of the cash we just scored? Nothing impresses like dropping serious money with no strings attached. It’ll keep the admiral from digging his own grave out of desperation, too. And showing off your stature? That’s just the cherry on top.”
Strip away that last bit of fluff, and Kyung-tae’s insight nailed something I hadn’t even considered. The admiral’s troops—the ones he fretted over endlessly—were no doubt shedding their uniforms one by one right now, pushed to the brink of ruin. What about their families’ livelihoods? The admiral could snap at any moment, acting rashly and dooming himself. Twenty-two million pesos and three hundred eighty thousand dollars in bills would pin him down like a paperweight.
“I must oppose.” Suyeon spoke in a measured tone. “It goes without saying, but people change when big money’s in their hands. Even if the admiral’s a rare exception, handing him a fortune without any effort up front will inflate his expectations for future payouts sky-high.”
Fair point.
“But getting him to handle millions in a single deal will take time. Any frustration from that could make him impatient again—or listless. It’s different from the chief, whose goal was just to secure investment.”
In other words, like a drug addict’s threshold. Money’s addictiveness and harm weren’t just metaphors; they rivaled narcotics in reality.
Kyung-tae smacked his lips. “Hmm, yeah, you’ve got a point there, noona. So we dial back the investment? Say, a hundred grand. Nah, that’s too stingy.”
“Does it have to be an investment at all?” I offered.
“Just keeping him steadily supplied with work should curb any reckless moves. He’ll be too swamped handling orders to chase other schemes. And since this is all new to him, the mental drain alone will wear him out for a while.”
In any field, rookies lacked that mental leeway. Even if everything went perfectly, the admiral would harbor some unease. Fear of informants and audits. Doubt in his own choices. Digest my orders while wrestling that psychological toll, and still have bandwidth to dig elsewhere? If so, he was a born entrepreneur.
“What he needs is escalating achievement. Quench his immediate thirst with advances per deal, not a lump-sum investment. Along the way, if we consistently offer good terms, he’ll naturally recognize our goodwill once he knows the market. Trust builds that way—and it’s never too late.”
Thinking of good terms sparked a solid plan. Back in mid-October, the second Friday, the White Chief called to express his thanks. His tribe had finally crested the plague’s peak. The sacrifices were heavy, but they could rise again. Then came his addendum.
“Chairman. You are a true friend to our Desert People and the four other tribes. Even if you won’t vouch for us, we will vouch for you. Friendship is all we know. This comes not from the casino, but in the tribes’ name—so you will always be our most honored guest on the five tribes’ lands.”
I saw the vague promise bear fruit right away, in my first post-call money laundering. The casino waived fees. It left me a bit troubled. This wasn’t how I wanted repayment.
They could afford the immediate hit out of gratitude, but it was a sacrifice amid their economic crisis. The more unpaid favors piled up, the heavier the unspoken burden grew—diluting thanks until it vanished.
I called the chief immediately, insisting on at least half fees. Couldn’t bare my soul, so I spun a reason. “You’re still in a tough spot. Feels wrong enjoying your services for free as a friend. Friends wanna give everything; merchants want waivers—so half seems fair.”
His voice, hoarse with yet another thank-you as he accepted my packaged courtesy, sank lower than ever.
My plan built on that foundation. “We’ll invest in the Desert People.”
“Pardon?”
Unlike flustered Kyung-tae, Suyeon—eyes down, blinking—lifted her gaze seconds later and nodded. “Excellent idea.”
Kyung-tae looked even more baffled. No clue why North American natives entered the chat. Had to explain anyway. Suyeon couldn’t read my mind either. My scheme might miss her grasp, or vice versa.
“As you know, the Desert People’s reservation spans the U.S. and Mexico. Some live on Mexican soil. I’ll fund startups for a few businesses there. Officially, to launder and route pesos. Diamond Casino only handles dollars now.”
This peso channel would leverage the natives’ U.S. sovereignty, casino network ties, the White Chief’s know-how, and rock-bottom fees—giving me unbeatable edge. The admiral wouldn’t find better.
Kyung-tae asked, “Uh, so what’s the other goal?”
“Think why I’ve favored the natives. Tough times ahead—they’ll need fugitives slipping abroad. Mexican kin there would be a huge asset.”
“Ahh……”
The Desert People smuggled Central Americans into the U.S. thanks to their foothold there. For reverse flow, needed minimal Mexican infrastructure and capital.
“Fugitives won’t linger, of course. Mexico’s America’s front yard. Next leg? Well, unless we’re disastrously unlucky, the admiral’s sea route might prove newly useful.”
“Could connect like that.”
The admiral craved cash, no reason to refuse passengers. Once he saw my sincerity, no gouging either. I’d secure manpower more safely.
Leaving admiring Kyung-tae, I turned to Suyeon. “Any gaps in this plan?”
“One minor issue.”
“What?”
“His supply items and volume are limited now. To keep him busy, we’d buy everything he offers—mostly 5.56mm NATO rounds, as you know. Already overstocked, it’ll turn toxic long-term.”
Hm. Not so minor on reflection. Scaling him up meant handling more.
Suyeon’s small-caliber high-velocity (5.56mm NATO) was the West’s standard military round, highest demand historically. But I’d foreseen a shift in personal firearms paradigms. Facing ever-stronger primitive magic Awakened meant upping base lethality against humans.
The world was waking up. El Maestro’s emergence was a revelation: slack off, pay dearly later. Mainstream small arms’ turf would shrink fast.
Awakened in just flesh and guns? Maybe.
Tougher bones alone wouldn’t stop rifle rounds. Halfway hardy bodies trapped bullets inside, dumping all kinetic energy internally—worse damage. Fragmentation would shred muscle and organs more.
Anyway, overstocked now. Limited secure storage made piling up demand-sure decliners tricky. Scaling storage demanded big investment.
Not impossible, just pricier than expected.
Kyung-tae shrugged. “More warehouses ain’t a loss. Sell those drones alone for ten mil minimum. If your plan pans out, pocket change.”
Drones meant Black Prince-acquired micro-recon PD-100s. UK gear, upgraded like U.S.—China or Russia would pay tenfold for hacking, jamming, reverse-engineering. Kyung-tae’s ten mil was conservative. Top spoils after coke.
Suyeon nodded agreement. “Not opposing. Just advising: storage is cost and risk. Consider it before deciding.”
More warehouses, longer tails. More sites and subs meant slip-ups somewhere.
Stroking his chin, Kyung-tae snapped his fingers at me. “Might be overthinking.”
“How so?”
“Demand forecast could be wrong. Y’know, all these pirate newbies hitting the seas.”
“Supply them?”
No outlets for rookies yet. Pre-‘small biz’ risk-takers, too sketchy. Plus, worsening seas hurt our smuggling. Trained crews had limits against hordes. Stricter inspections loomed.
I furrowed my brow; he waved frantically. “Nah! No way. How to even find ’em? Intel agencies’d swarm. Worse seas hit our ops…… All cons, bigger than the ship. Could sink us.”
“Then sell to anti-pirate side?”
“Yep. Pirates can’t lug body armor or tanks—5.56’ll punch fine. PMCs focused on sea security, or broke island nations with crumbling law and economy? Prime buyers.”
“But that’s not our market. 5.56 prices’ll crash regular channels; PMCs and islands use those.”
“Yeah, true.”
“……”
Pirates were booming, per Kyung-tae. Recession from pandemic, plus surging primitive Awakened, fueled global piracy.
Superhumans rowing rowboats at 20 knots, swimming 100km, diving sans gear for minutes—patrols couldn’t cope. Scatter underwater on sight; hard to catch or kill. Patrols lucky not to lose ships. Already happened.
Tokyo Olympics swim doping scandals foreshadowed it. Today’s Awakened crushed last year’s champs. Six months on, gap widens.
PMC sea security boomed; islands bled from raids. Natural progression.
But as noted, unrelated demand. Global militaries dumping surplus ammo would tank small-caliber prices—below raw costs. Disposal cheaper.
Overstock? Dump at sea. Or bribes.
Dumping below market on legit channels? Dumb. Black market circulation bred risk costs. Obsessed with books, hoarding trash? Won’t last.
Not chasing profit anyway; spoils covered years’ budget.
Suyeon looked up from notes. “Buyers exist. Dump on Papua New Guinea tribal warlords to spark fights, expand African channels, or Indonesian bosses. But all too niche—wastes our capacity now.”
“Agreed.”
No penny-pinching sidelines over core tasks. Priority: sub pen expansion. Building schematic lines from blueprints now. Post-build, scout sites, gear, suppliers.
Interim slack—not full rest, but looser schedule for recharge. Pace yourself on long hauls. Especially treacherous paths thick with obstacles and beasts.