As soon as I finished my business with the chief editor, I immediately made my way towards the end of the street of Calle Cabildo where I'm supposed to meet two contacts of mine. Of all the places they could pick to meet, they chose a small panciteria. A PANCITERIA, of all places! Dios mio!

Disappointing, to say the least, as it's just beside La Cathedral Cafe, where the view is undoubtedly more scenic and the ambiance is more suited to our exchange. But...well, beggars can't be choosers. These two young gentlemen are by far the best source of information that I have right now regarding the goings-on in the 'business' district of Tondo, for they are the only ones daring enough to venture that far into the belly of the beast. For some seemingly tame students from a higher institution, their work is quite impressive. It was actually thanks to them that I got my hands on the manifest of the shipment of goods relating to the recent heist made by the tulisanes. Where they get their information, I will never know. However, I'm glad that I have these young men on my payroll. Because without them, my articles would never gain traction in the market and Diario de Manila would not bask in the prestige it enjoys today.

I approached a small stall situated just beside La Cathedral that matched the description Quintino gave me. The entrance is rather wide, and is adorned with two, red oval-shaped paper lanterns with familiar Oriental characters written on them. The front of the store is rather strange for a panciteria, because the only thing that separates the outside from the inside of the store is not a door, but a long strip of banner-like curtains that hung near the entrance, covering the upper half of it. The lower half of it, however, is visible from the outside and you can see a long stool set in front of a table counter - and from where I stand, I spy a pair of pantalones that's all too familiar for me not to recognize.

I casually entered the premises of this 'panciteria', and lo and behold, before me is a young man slurping noodles from a large, black bowl using a pair of palillos (chopsticks). An elderly man wearing a white traditional robe stood behind the counter, tidying up his table.

"I have never seen anyone as sloppy as you with palillos." I remarked as I took a seat a few paces beside him.

"Will you cut me some slack, Vidañez? This is my first time! I'm trying my best! Unlike you, you've stayed in countries like Japan long enough to know how to use these damn sticks! I've never had experience with these cursed utensils!" Quintino complained in a frustrated tone, trying to put his meal into his mouth in an awkward pincer.

"Then use a spoon for goodness's sake! You eat like a damn child!" I parried. "You're ruining the ramen!"

"Ra....what? That's a weird way to say 'lomi'." Quintino commented.

"That's not lomi, you oaf. You do realize that you're eating in a Japanese noodle stand?" I rebuked.

"Japanese? Nonsense! There are no Japanese in Intramuros!" Quintino countered. "This is a panciteria owned by an old Chinese entrepreneur. Francisco and I have been frequenting this store for years. We know the owner! I mean, he doesn't speak a word of Tagalog or Castillan, but he usually acknowledges us with nods of familiarity."

"I've been in Japan long enough to know that this place is indeed Japanese, Quintino." I argued.

"Then I suppose, since you know some Nihongo, you can converse with the owner, then?" Quintino challenged, wearing a smug smile on his face.

"You really don't believe me, do you? I'll show you then." I muttered softly as I turned to the owner. "Obaa-san (Uncle)."

"Hai? (Yes?)" he responded neutrally. Apparently, this is what his customers think his name is.

"Sumimasen. Kore wa ikuradesu ka? (Excuse me. How much is this?)" I asked politely, as I pointed at Quintino's meal.

The man's face brightened and with a smile he replied. "Ahah! Siiiko peso. Siiiko! (Perhaps he was saying five pesos? Rather cheap, I'd say)"

My mouth curled into a sly smile, staring at Quintino triumphantly and then returned my attention to the owner, telling him to prepare me one of those noodles.

"All right, all right. You have made your point. Let's get on with business, shall we?" Quintino sighed, putting his palillos on top of the bowl. "Oh, by the way, before I start, I have to tell you something."

"What's that?"

"How long have I been working for you, Vidañez?" he abruptly asked.

Surprised by this unusual question, I hesitantly answered, "Two years, I think? Why did you ask?"

"Ahh. Yes...two years." he repeated. "You know, I have been wondering...Francisco and I have been feeding you information - very valuable information, mind you - for two years, scouring parts of Manila that some men dare not go. And..."

"All right. Here we go..." I muttered to myself.

"Hear me out, Vidańez! Hear me out! Please." pleaded the young man.

I was silent for a second or two, trying to consider my options. For sure, this wretch is going to tell me one of his fantastic reasons on why he has to charge me more. But then again, the information I need to progress my case is in the hands of this gentleman.

Basically, I have no choice but to hear what he has to say.

"All right. Let's hear it." I replied lazily.

"So, as I was saying, we've been scouring Manila for you for two years now. And...you know, our 'operational costs' have been rising recently due to the pestilence here in Intramuros, so I was wondering-"

"A pay raise, is that it?" I interrupted.

"Exactly." he affirmed.

"Quintino, for the last five months, you've been consistently raising your prices by twenty pesos each month." I ranted, all the while the owner of the stall placing my order on the table. "Does Francisco even know about thi...w-where is Francisco, by the way?"

"He, uhh...I don't know, actually." he replied. "I told him to meet me here the other night when I ran into him during the attack. I'm...I'm worried about him."

"Why so? What happened?" I asked, curious about this tidbit of information.

"He...the night of the attack, I told him to run away. He said he was going to look for Dr. Mercado-"

"Dr. Emilio Mercado? The physician from Calle Sta. Lucia?" I interrupted.

"The very same." Quintino confirmed. "And I haven't heard from Francisco lately. I pray to God he hasn't bitten the dust yet. So...you see, Vidañez, this is the kind of risk we put ourselves in every time we run errands for you. I think raising our prices is more than justified, don't you agree?"

"Perhaps." I hesitantly conceded. "And how much of an increase are you proposing?"

"Well...twenty pesos shou-"

"Deal. Two hundred and twenty pesos for your information, then!" I immediately agreed.

"That...that was quick." Quintino replied, startled by my abrupt response.

"So..." I precluded. "...what do you have for me, Quintino?"

"I was expecting you to make a counter-offer, but...okay." the young man commented, who then pulled a folded envelope from underneath his coat, placed it on the table and slid it towards me.

"What's this?" I asked, intrigued by the piece of paper as I picked it up and examined it.

"Francisco relayed that to me a week ago." Quintino explained as he took out a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it with a match. "On one of his...'sessions' in one of the cockpits in Tondo, he spied upon one of the bettors, and chanced upon that piece of paper which you may well be interested in. Go ahead. Open it."

Curious as to what this young man is telling me, I did as he asked, and opened the small brown envelope and unfolded the letter inside it and began reading its contents.

"It's typewritten." I remarked.

"That's a very good observation." Quintino sarcastically replied. " Read the contents, you'd be very surprised."

I went over the first few lines, and to my surprise, the sentences that I read really piqued my interest.

"Señor Li, it has come to my attention that the supply of opium isn't as steady as promised. Our markets in San Diego and Sta. Mesa are growing weary as the time passes, as the supply that was promised is not delivered. I expect you to make a rectification of the situation.

T.P"

"T.P? Who is that?" I asked my contact.

"I'm just as clueless as you, Vidańez." Quintino replied, shrugging his shoulders. " But the message...it seems to be from someone operating a narcotics ring. If the narcotics ring is a nest of vipers, this T.P. must be the head of one of those vipers, if you know what I'm saying."

"I see. Anything else you would like to share?" I inquired some more.

"It's rather irrelevant to the case that you're pursuing, but...I think you'd want to look into this one." Quintino hesitantly suggested. "Do you remember the initiative that was rolled out last February?"

"The calamity fund because of the flu? Yes, I remember that. That's the one where-"

"Where the Captain-General Montes approved the fifty peso handout per household here in Intramuros, yes." he interrupted.

"What about it?" I asked.

"You see...two weeks ago, my grandmother went to one of the offices where they give these handouts, and...I noticed something suspicious about the documents that they have signed."

"This looks interesting." I leaned in to listen. "Tell me more."

"I reckon you've seen the papers being handed out to the people of Intramuros to be signed, yes? One with two segments?"

"Yes, one acknowledging that the clerk processed the request and the other acknowledging that the amount stated was received. And?"

"I asked my grandmother why the second segment was already signed, to which she replied that the clerk in charge told her to do so."

"And did she receive the money?" I asked.

"That's what concerns me. The clerk told her that day that she will get the money the next week. It's been almost four months, and nothing came. The clerk kept denying that he ever said that and that she already received her money."

Needless to say, I was shocked and quite furious at what I heard. "What the actual...unbelievable. Este lugar se va a la mierda (This place is going to shit).Those cunning hijos de puta, they have the audacity to steal from an old woman...puta de madre!" I cursed, pounding the counter with my fist.

"We can't bring it to court because of my grandmother's signature on the last segment. There are many others who were tricked into signing the last segment as well and made complaints about this, but nobody from the government would listen."

"They won't. That's because they all have a part in this. From clerks up to the gobernadorcillo - they all have the piece of the pie. What's the name of the clerk?" I asked, gritting my teeth and barely containing my rage.

"Dario Manansala." he answered. "Why did you ask?"

"Oh, nothing." I replied. "Thank you for sharing this, Quintino."