Eternity: Oh, your employer seems to have real class. Might he be interested in authentic miniature Hormuz pearls?
Eternity: Crushed into powder, mixed into your bedtime milk, they ensure sweet dreams every night.
She slips into the banquet with her eloquent charm and a dress that fits the occasion, weaving through tonight's guests like a darting blue fish in the ocean.
Only to be jostled by the arrival of an ungainly shark and his remora.
Eternity: Be careful, child, you've just bumped into a lady.
Eternity: Hmm? Is that you two?
They proceed as planned, the two friends feigning distraction, while the leader sneaks in.
Becket: H-Hi, Miss Eternity!
Eternity: What in the world are you two doing here?
Becket: It's a long story, a long, long story. Hollick, Hollick, where are you?!
Eternity: Hey, watch it, you're spilling your drink.
Hollick is a one-man buffet table, carrying an assortment of good food in his hands, mouth, and even under his arms.
His clothes are already so dotted with food stains. He more resembles a modern art piece than a guest at an elegant dinner.
Hollick: Mhm, coming, coming!
Becket: ...
Becket barely stifles a laugh, trying as best as he can to keep his mind on the mission.
Becket: Take it easy on the grub, bro. Don't make us the center of attention so soon!
Hollick: Becket! They've got lobsters! Little hotdogs! Suckling pig! I've never eaten so good!
Hollick: All freakin' mine!
Banquet Guest: How unsightly. Who let them in?
Becket: We got invites, miss. We're Mr. Antony's plus-ones.
Becket: Dude, ease up on the munching!
Hollick: You can't just cut off a man's mealtime!
Becket: I frickin' told ya to stop eating. You got cocktail in your ears? If people see us like this, we'll shame Boss Antony!
Hollick: Antony's a bum.
Becket: What? Bum? Say the boss is a bum one? More time, I dare ya!
Hollick: If we can't stuff our faces, then what's the point sticking with him, huh?!
Hollick: I can't get my fill?
Hollick: Then nobody's gonna!
Hollick's voice booms intentionally, capturing the attention of all the gathered elite of the city.
And that of the security guards ostensibly here to maintain order at the banquet.
Eternity: Ah! My Leipzig Larks!
The poor little cake topples over along with the innocent table as Hollick inflames the scene.
Banquet Guest: What in the world?!
Henchman: Someone's causing trouble in the banquet hall. Send a few guys to check it out, but let's keep this low-key.
J: Nicely done!
All eyes converge on the chaotic scene unfolding, while an agile figure takes the chance to slip past the guards and ascends up to the second floor.
...
Henchman: Hey, what's going on down there?
J: We're going to need a few more hands. Some big dude's stirring up trouble. Can't keep him down.
Bewildered by his sheer confidence, the giant rushes down the stairs to join the scene. Everything's going smoother than expected.
J feigns a calm step as he moves unhurriedly through the rooms, arriving at a lavishly decorated door.
J: This looks like the place ...
The infiltrator slips in after a single glance backward.
He closes the door and opens a window, his instincts telling him to leave an escape route handy.
J: Damn! Antony didn't clue me in on what these things are supposed to look like!
Paper, paper, and more paper, filled with incomprehensible writing.
The words swirl in his head.
J: What is all this stuff?
He recognizes some words on the pages, at least most of them, but when strung into sentences, everything seems to jumble into nonsense.
J: Guess I just take it all, and let someone with half a brain figure it out.
He's about to stuff his clothes full of every piece of paper he can find when he's interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.
J tries to return the "trash" to its place as neatly as he can, closing the drawer as he plans to bolt for the window.
But then, he remembers the bug. Evidence, yes, evidence, he needs to eavesdrop on something worthwhile before leaving.
The footsteps draw nearer. In his haste, he looks around, finding refuge in a large wooden cabinet.
It's a tight fit. He has to scrunch up just to get the door closed in time.
???: Close that window.
Hung San: Who was on this door?
Henchman: Taff, boss. That brat. I'll make sure to teach him a lesson.
???: Let it go for now. It seems like nothing's out of place. We can't afford an unnecessary mess.
???: How are things going with the new complex?
Hung San: Everything's on track.
Hung San's familiar voice is as smooth as ironed paper. He's confident—cocky, even. Assured that everything is going as planned.
Agent R: Our employer does not wish his name to appear in any negative news reports, you understand.
J's pocket bug silently records their words, as J struggles to hold himself still in his awkward position.
Agent R: We must put more pressure on the rest of these mongrel shops.
Hung San: We plan to do just that.
Agent R: Once the new complex opens, that side of the business will be under your direction.
Agent R: Leave two men here. We can't afford any unnecessary risks. The rest of you can go down and eat, but keep a low profile.
Hung San: You heard him. You, you—you two stay, everyone else out!
Henchman: Got it, boss.
As most of the guards leave, there is a noticeable shift in the mood of the room.
Agent R: You've been sloppy lately.
Agent R: You were instructed to handle things gracefully. Instead, what do I hear? Fighting on the streets, kidnappings?
Agent R: You're acting like a street gang!
Hearing this, J stifles a laugh from his hiding spot.
He seems to truly believe in the hype of the name, the Tung Ch'ing Chamber of Commerce. But it's a gang, no different than any other.
Hung San: Say what you will, we've nearly completed our work. The finished contracts are in that cabinet, and we saved our employer more than a little money.
His voice dripped with greed and violence. Those "savings" came wrenched out of people's livelihoods.
Hung San: Allow me to get them for you.
Footsteps inch closer to the cabinet door. There's no easy way out of this. He's got one chance, and it's coming fast.
J: Closer, closer ...
He clutches his knife. He can hear the metal's anxious tremor, just like the pounding of his own heart.
J: Got a present for ya.
...
...!
Agent R: What's that racket?
A sudden, loud disturbance seems to grab the attention of both men, and the cabinet door remains closed.
Hung San: No need for concern. We have more than enough security downstairs to handle any situation.
Henchman: I'll go take a look, boss.
Henchman: Let's go, bro. Time for a little workout!
As the bodyguards are about to leave, the mysterious agent rubs his forehead, then waves his hand to stop them.
Agent R: Stay put, if as you say, there are enough men downstairs, I need you here. And leave the cabinet alone, Hung San. I don't have time to read through every scribble. I only need to know it's done.
Hung San: As you wish. But it is as I said, everything is taken care of.
Agent R: Sure, sure. But are things being done properly? That is my concern—It already seems we've attracted unnecessary attention.
Following his eyeline, Hung San looks out the window to a gathering mass of logo-covered white vans. Reporters by the dozen.
Hung San: Reporters? That shouldn't be. We paid to keep their attention elsewhere.
Agent R: ...
Agent R: I can't stay. Take care of our guests.
J breathes a sigh of relief as Hung San's feet move away from the cabinet.
Agent R: Go down to the first floor. Make sure things run smoothly.
In a hurried fashion, the men and their bodyguards leave the room. As the lights switch out, J cautiously emerges from his hiding spot.
J: That all?
The pages are filled with dense legalese and text that far surpass J's comprehension.
It might as well be a phone book to him, just another thing to practice cutting with his knife.
J: Whatever the hell these things say, they're mine now.
He pockets the documents, tucking them into his clothes, and moves to leave through the door. Only to find himself face-to-face with a returning guard.
Henchman: Who're you?!
Henchman: Somebody's here!
J: Sorry, buddy!
A punch lands squarely on his nose, followed swiftly by a second to the chin.
Taking down one guard might only require two unexpected punches, but dealing with three or five more won't be so simple.
J: That dude's head's like a rock.
He shakes off the sting in his hands.
His paths left and right are blocked by rushing guards, leaving only one way out.
The room behind him, back to the window—now unfortunately closed.
J: Later, fellas!
He crashes shoulder-first into the window, tumbling down to the grass below. Thankfully, this time he isn't quite so far up. He dusts himself off, and proudly flips the bird toward the window sill.
But before he makes his clean get-away, a bottle of wine spills down on him from above.
J: Damn!
The sheriff is waiting by the phone booth, as they agreed.
J: Blackhand!
J braces against the hood of a car stalled in traffic, leaping over expensive vehicles and leaving a trail of blaring horns in his wake as he arrives.
Sheriff Blackhand: Seven forty-three. You're quick. I'll give you that, kid.
Sheriff Blackhand: Doused again, though, at least this time you don't smell as bad.
J: Some documents, the bug ... Is that it?
The sheriff flips through the documents, a smile spreading across his rugged face.
J: So what's all this scribble?
Sheriff Blackhand: Hmm. Beneficiaries.
Sheriff Blackhand: Stuff that could really ruin someone, but it's best to keep that bullet in the chamber for now.
The sheriff pockets the papers and leans into his radio to notify his superiors.
Sheriff Blackhand: We've got the evidence on him. Can we move in?
The sheriff waits for a brief reply over the static.
J: Is that your boss? They trustworthy?
Sheriff Blackhand: It's always good to have a heavy hitter in your corner.
Sheriff Blackhand: I owe you one, J.
J: So, then you'll cut everyone loose? The ones in the slammer and the bums your guys ran off. Give 'em a break.
Sheriff Blackhand: If and only if we can wrap up tonight's show with a nice little ribbon.
J: And what about the shops that got snatched up?
Sheriff Blackhand: Not my jurisdiction, J. They're going to need lawyers, but it's a good chance they'll get them back.
Sheriff Blackhand: Apologies for interrupting the banquet, everyone.
Sheriff Blackhand: But as San Francisco's good sheriff, it's my duty to make sure we keep law and order in this fair city.
Hung San: Ah, Sheriff, perfect timing. I need you to arrest these two hooligans disrupting our banquet.
Sheriff Blackhand: Not why I'm here, chief. I'm told there's some illegal activity going on, and I'm not talking about rude dinner guests.
Sheriff Blackhand: Out of the way. We're going in.
Hung San: Please, Sheriff, many respected figures from the city are attending this event. You might want to consider your re-election campaign.
Sheriff Blackhand: Let's start with this one.
Hung San: Me? No, perhaps there's been some misunderstanding.
Hung San: Unhand me! I am not some common crook!
Sheriff Blackhand: Not a common one, that's for sure. We'll discuss your charges in detail back at the precinct.
Hung San: Hold on. Blackhand, I'm warning you! I have many connections in this city! Powerful connections!
Sheriff Blackhand: And I'm warning you, those connections are going to dry up fast with the evidence I've got on you.
As the red-faced gang leader's wrists are cuffed, he looks back to see a familiar face, with a wide and devilish grin.
Beneath the spotlights now fixed on the hotel, J spies a figure quietly leaving under the escort of bodyguards with black umbrellas, slipping into a car by the side door.
J: That must be our Agent R.
Good News Reporter: Agent R? Is that ...?
Hung San: J ...?
Hung San: ...
Hung San: You'll regret this.
J: Yeah, yeah. Enjoy the view from the slammer, oh, and say hi to all my pals. I'm sure they'll be happy to see you.
J: You guys must have a ton to talk about.
J: Since you're the one who put them in there.
The dust settles, but the hero is still hungry.
Sheriff Blackhand: J, where are you off to?
J: Man, give me a break. I haven't hit the dinner table yet! There's a room full of top-notch grub and booze going to waste!
