"Time of death, 12:56 PM. Cause of death still unknown."

"...cause of death still unknown..."

"...death still unknown..."

"...still unknown..."

"...unknown..."

"...unknown..."

My mind returns to reality as the sound of the calming rain outside the tavern surged back, gradually filling my ears with the rich sound of falling droplets. It's already afternoon, and the hostess that was supposed to help me for today's work is late again, so I am alone tending the premises, wiping the tables with the rag I have at hand. Although I find myself having to do more work than I'm supposed to, I don't have much reason to complain. I like the divine serenity of being alone indoors on a rainy day as I work. It makes the job less tiring and more bearable and it allows for a certain degree of clumsiness that is not forgivable whenever I'm accompanied by other people during my work hours, as my mind tends to wander on things - especially on the events of the past. And I have this one memory in particular that keeps bothering me so much...

That Spanish doctor...he knew that Parico was having a heart attack at the time. But...he declared the cause of death as unknown at that moment. Why? Lately, I've been having this growing suspicion that the doctor that looked into Parico was not subscribed to the idea that the victim died of natural causes, and thus, I've been finding myself visiting the local embalsamador (embalmer) that took care of the body before it was transported back to Manila, making inquiries about the findings of the Spanish doctor on the body every now and then. Although, even after he finally certified in the official death certificate that Parico indeed died of natural causes, I'm still bothered by the incident. It's as if my gut feeling is telling me that this doctor is digging further into the case than what I'd like and I have to do something about it. He asked me that night what drink I gave the victim when he was struggling to breathe, as if he was somewhat suspicious of my involvement in the incident. I want to tell Placido about it, but...I'm somewhat torn because I know what he will do if I did. The doctor, though a Club member, has nothing to do with this and just happened to be added to the mix of this terrible mess. I don't want to be a tool in the taking of the life of an innocent bystander. But on the other hand, if the doctor found out about the poison I used in assassinating the victim, I might be putting myself and the organization in jeopardy if I don't do anything.

I am so confused.

My train of thought was suddenly interrupted when I heard a knock on the door, and behind the glass panels fitted on the upper half of the door, a figure of a frail man wearing a salakot can be seen standing behind it.

"...Peralta." I muttered to myself as I left the rag on top of one of the tables I am cleaning. "Sandali lang! (Just a moment!)" I announced as I walked towards the entrance to unlock the door.

And behold, Peralta is standing at the door wearing his usual rustic apparel, soaking in the rain. There was something different about his demeanor. His eyes look more...active and observant.

"Tinay, we need to talk. Inside, if you may. Are you alone?" he asked.

"Uhh...yes. I am. Why? And why do you look so nervous? Did something happe-"

I was interrupted in my speech when my eye caught sight of a familiar face standing beside Peralta, taking shelter from the rain. He's so familiar in fact, that I knew in an instant that he isn't supposed to be here.

"What in the-!"

The young man's eyes widened in shock as he turns to face me.

"Whoa! What in the-?!" he cried out. "What the fu-"

I immediately pulled Peralta by the arm and dragged him inside the tavern and slammed the door shut.

"Peralta, can I ask you something?" I muttered softly, giving him a sharp stare as I crossed my arms.

"Yes...I know." he confidently replied, as if acknowledging what I'm alluding to. "That's what I want to talk about today, actually."

I let out a huge sigh as muffled words and incessant knocks tried to call out to me, asking me to let the source of the sound in.

"Look, I don't know what happened during that job in Intramuros Peralta, but can you kindly explain...why the hell is my idiot brother with you here in Batangas?!" I complained as stormed inside the counter, slamming the door open.

"It's a long story...with a ridiculous amount of convenient circumstances." he replied curtly.

"I don't care! Why is he with you?!" I responded, massaging my forehead in frustration. "Susmarya! I need a drink."

I then reached for a glass below the counter and an almost-empty bottle of amontillado from the rack of wines and placed them on the countertop, filling the glass with every drop that I can extract from the bottle and emptying the glass in one gulp.

"Are you all right now?" Peralta asked nonchalantly as I put the empty glass on top of the counter.

"Barely." I scoffed.

"I encountered your brother wandering in an empty road on the eve of the attack. I didn't recognize who he was at first until he was near enough for us to see each other's faces. He's lucky I didn't immediately shoot him."

"But why is he here?" I reiterated.

"He saw my face, Tinay. I can't allow him to run around unsupervised. He'll compromise me." he explained.

"Oh, for goodness's sake, Peralta! He's just a student. And who would believe a lone witness, anyway?!"

"He said he's working as an informant for a journalist from Intramuros. I cannot risk it." Peralta said softly.

"What?! How in the world..."

"I learned from your brother that he's collecting information about the goings-on in Tondo's underground societies. He even cited the existence of the Chinese syndicates. That's not something an 'outsider' would normally know." Peralta continued.

"Wha-...how?!" I whispered. "Isn't the majority of our clientele located in Tondo? Then that means..."

"Exactly." Peralta interjected. "Your brother is feeding intelligence to a journalist who may be investigating on our activities. So, do you now understand the risk that he poses?"

I paused for a few seconds before answering, trying to absorb everything that has transpired.

"I see." I conceded. "So, what shall we do?"

"Well, I need to keep a close eye on him, and I can't look after that boy if I'm always sent to faraway places. I was assigned by Don Penitente as a correspondent to Dr. Basilio and I cannot be in multiple places at once..."

"So what do you propose then?" I asked.

"Convince him to join us. Vouch for him as a Virgo contractor so that I can take him on my assignments." he suggested.

"The scouts?! Are you mad?! Look Peralta, I know you have done great things for our family back in the day and I will be forever grateful for that. But...this is asking too much. This is my brother we are talking about. I took this job so that I can provide him the chance for a normal and successful life; for him to be able to eat his daily bread without having to worry about a knife pointed at his back. I chose this life so that when the time comes, he won't have to - and now you're suggesting that I should introduce him to the very thing that I want to save him from?!"

"Either someone keeps an eye on Francisco or I shoot him so he shuts up for good. You do realize that I serve as Don Penitente's cochero and escort during his public appearances and I can't gamble the possibility of being identified and put our organization at risk. Besides, your brother seems to be doing well for himself on such jobs considering he managed to track down the secretive Chinese syndicates." he parried.

"Pish! One of his tall tales!" I protested. "He's a devilish liar and you have just fallen for one of his tricks."

"Oh, he's a trickster, all right." he commented. "You underestimate your brother too much. He is surprisingly cunning for his age. He was able to convince the two Supervisors handling my contract that he was my informant for the job in Intramuros. Your claims are not far-fetched."

"Just when I thought this couldn't get any worse." I ejaculated in shock.

"Yes...I know. I'm sorry. I didn't expect things to turn out that way. He sold his story very well, and I can attest to his skill, judging by the way he handles himself that he's been through these sorts of tangles before. During the debriefing, I told the Supervisors that he was my associate, expecting them to think nothing of him and move on. I was wrong - and they did inquire about his affiliation with me to confirm. At that moment, my hands were tied. I needed to make up a story fast. If I acted out of character or admitted that he was not associated with me whatsoever, he would have been dead on the spot. But the sly bastard is quick on his toes and was able to manufacture a narrative to save himself in the nick of time. He even thought of using a fake name in the heat of the moment. The young man is very clever and resourceful, I'll give him that."

"Being a homeless orphan for 3 years makes you that way." I commented. "Damn it. So there's no other way for him to walk away from this one, is it?"

"No, Cristina. If I let him walk away, the Supervisors would eventually catch up with the act. They'll kill him." he answered firmly.

"What if I ship him out to Hong Kong? Surely, he'll be sa-"

"No. Don't." Peralta sternly interrupted. "Don Penitente has connections with the Chinese and British authorities in Hong Kong. They'll know what you're trying to do. You might even put yourself in danger."

"...I see..." I acknowledged, letting out a sigh.

"I suppose you two should discuss this. I'll be outside." Peralta announced as he made for the door and opened it for Francisco, who was leaning on the entrance wall waiting.

"I think you and your sister need to talk." Peralta said to Francisco as he made his way outside.

At this, Francisco stepped inside the tavern as he closed the door behind him. The look of shock and wonder is clearly painted on his face as he stared at me.

"So...this is where you work? A tavern, huh?" he asked as his hands glide over the surface of the chairs and tables.

"Yes." I thriftly replied. "Care to explain how you ended up here?"

"Why don't you ask your mercenary friend back there?" he retorted in a slightly hostile tone. "Associating with syndicates...unbelievable. So this is what you meant when you said you're 'travelling to Batangas to find work'?"

"We are not a syndica-"

"You're not fooling anybody here, ate." he interrupted. "I know who he is and what he is doing. I heard what you two were discussing about. I've met those...Supervisors. You're vigilantes, aren't you? Why did you lie to me?"

Vigilantes? Is that the story Peralta sold to my brother?

...At least he isn't aware of the true inner workings of this organization. He has been looking up to me as a role model since we were children. I don't want to lose my brother's respect. Not now.

"Perhaps this isn't the most honorable work, but do you honestly think that I can finance your schooling by working an honest job? And besides, do you realize the service we do for the lower levels of our society?"

"How? By murdering people and delivering 'justice' without the due process of the law? I know that you're trying to crack down on the opium trade ever since it became rampant, and I can understand that. But the people that your friend El Partidista...or Peralta, as you fondly call him, are mostly innocent people. These Spanish individuals have families. Good people. Why are they dragged in a war they're not a part of?" he replied in disgust.

"If you're suggesting that I am killing indiscriminately in the name of some false sense of justice, then by now you should have been dead." Peralta interrupted as he barged in, calmly walking towards my brother, who then briefly glanced at me and gave me a quick nod. "I don't take death as lightly as you might think. We've had scouts investigating on their dealings for months and the evidence they found was more than enough to convict them."

"Well, then why did you decide to kill them? Is that your idea of solving this drug epidemic?" my brother challenged.

"Do you honestly believe that turning these people in to the court of law will solve anything? Have you not learned from your father-"

"Who the fuck do you think you are, talking as if you knew him?! I barely even know you!"

Peralta was about to respond when I slightly raised my hand, gesturing him to not speak. "It's all right, Peralta. I'll take it from here."

I then quickly turned to my brother. "Kiko...do you remember the week before our father died? How frantic he was that day...?"

"Yes...he was trying to secure some documents in a rusted strongbox. I vividly remember it being seized by soldiers when the government repossessed our property. Why are you bringing this up now?" he answered, his brows knitted in confusion.

I made a short pause. "Have you never considered why they let us keep some of our valuables during the repossession, but insisted on that strongbox, which essentially had no monetary value?"

"Why? What is in that strongbox?" my brother asked.

"Letters of correspondence between the Americans and a certain Captain-General, detailing an agreement to secretly turn over the entire country in exchange for a very large sum of money." Peralta interrupted as he reentered the tavern. "Your father tried to expose Aquino for the traitor that he is by trying to release the evidence to the press. But as you can see, the very people he was trying to save had no qualms in stabbing him in the back...and all of that...for fucking money."

"What?!" my brother gasped. "But the official reports said-!"

"That he was killed by some drunkard passing by the barracks? You honestly believe their bullshit?! He was killed by the very people he considered as comrades!" Peralta replied in a strong hostile tone.

My brother fell silent.

"No investigation was made in the wake of his death. Not a single one in the barracks was even detained for questioning. And you honestly believe that following due process in this land works? I'm not quite sure whether your head is just rusted from disuse or you're just outright stupid."

Judging by the look on my brother's face, Peralta's words have been quite the revelation...and understandably so, as he was not old enough to understand the intricacies of everything that's happened at the time.

"I served under your father's command when he was still alive, and I can attest to how deplorable the headlines in the newspapers were after his death. You see, true justice was never achieved in this country when its agents bound themselves to the rule of law when their enemies are not. Have you never asked yourself why, despite the massive raids done against opium traders, their enterprises remain operational? You are young, and the youth tend to be idealistic. But a word of advice, kid. For your own good, don't let it go to your head. The world is not run by the rule of law. It is run by money...and the power that comes with it."

"But we could change that." my brother countered.

"Maybe..." Peralta replied. "But how are you going to achieve that kind of change when you deny yourself the tools that level the playing field – the very tools your very enemies use to gain the upper hand?"

Peralta then paced past my brother, who was frozen in place after all the things he had heard thus far.

"After your father's death, I broke into the barracks when I learnt of what the Guardia Civil did to your family's property. I was the one who leaked the documents to Vidañes, who then wrote and published the famed exposé. Kid...I joined this organization not because of the money, but because I believed in what your father died for. Your father died a martyr, but truth be told, him playing by the rules only caused a dent against the monster he is trying to slay, but as his friend, I intend to finish what your father started so that he can rest knowing that his death wasn't for nothing. I firmly believe that the only person who can control our destiny is ourselves. But somehow, I'm starting to think that our encounter in that street that night was not an accident. You are your father's son, and it has always been your father's desire pass on his beliefs to you and to continue his fight. Where Lieutenant Francisco Perez failed, the son bearing the same name shall succeed. You know how painful the feeling is knowing that your father's reputation was tarnished for fighting a righteous cause. Nobody else has to go through such a nightmare, and by joining us, you have the power to help end such a thing. We wage an unrighteous war to fight a righteous cause. You are an excellent scout. Our organization could use a man of your talents."

"And what if I refuse your offer?" my brother responded.

My heart suddenly skipped a beat, as I know that Peralta's resolve is strong and would not back out from his word. I let out a soft gasp as I anticipate Peralta's response.

"If that is your final decision, then so be it. But know that I shall not be deterred from my mission." he replied as he drew his revolver and pointed it towards my brother's head. "I am willing to die for my beliefs. Are you willing to die for yours?"

Slowly, Peralta primed the firing pin. From where I stood, I can hear my brother's short gasps for air as he froze in fear. I felt a surge of adrenaline course through my veins. Out of instinct, I went in and stood between Peralta and my brother.

"You shall not harm my brother, Peralta. If you're going to kill him, you're going to have to go through me." I warned him.

"You think that will stop me from killing him?" he challenged.

"You wouldn't want Penitente as your enemy, would you?" I retorted, my lips curling into a smug smile.

Peralta stood still, hesitant to shoot. Apparently, the implications of his actions had just dawned on him, knowing how close I am with Placido. Peralta may be a cold-blooded killer, but he isn't stupid. He knows that killing me will send Placido into a bloodlust and would not hesitate to use every bit of resource he has to hunt him down.

Peralta fell silent for a moment, and after a few seconds of contemplation, his lips opened into a grin. "You are a smart one, Cristina. However, your words are nothing but empty threats. Like I said, I am willing to die for my beliefs."

His hands began to squeeze on the trigger. And like a lamb being led to the slaughter, I bowed my head and closed my eyes in anticipation of his bullet piercing through my heart. However, at the last second, I heard a voice scream from behind me...his tone all too familiar.

"Stop! I give in! I will join you. Just...please, don't kill my sister!" the voice yelled. I opened my eyes to turn around, and here I see Francisco, weeping on the floor like a deranged hag who lost her children. "Please, don't kill my sister. I'll do whatever you want." he begged.

"Well, that settles it, then." Peralta replied, withdrawing his weapon and stowing it away in his holster. "You have chosen well, kid. Now, I want you to go to the office near the back of this tavern. I need to talk to your sister."

Without hesitation, Francisco gathered himself, dragging his feet on the floor as he sobbed, and proceeded to do as Peralta commanded. As soon as my brother entered the room, Peralta broke into a soft, maniacal giggle.

"Do you find something amusing?" I ranted. "You almost killed me, you bastard!"

"No, not at all. You did your part well, Cristina. I wasn't even sure if it was going to work. Congratulations!" he replied with an amused tone, chuckling.

"So that was a ploy all along?! And an untested theory to add! Your sick sense of humor is disgusting, Peralta. You're crazy!" I complained.

"Well, I never intended to kill you from the beginning, Cristina. But, you see, I have learned many things in my line of work, and there's one really interesting thing I found out about love and death. People tend to sacrifice anything and everything to not lose the one that matters most to them."

Like a miracle, my rage subsided instantaneously upon hearing Peralta's explanation. It was as if his words brought light to the wisdom of his old age, and it was only then I began to understand why Placido has put so much faith in this man. My brother, who is a tough nut to crack, was forced into submission without him even hurting a hair on my brother's head. He understands how people think, and this is probably why my father respected him so much.

"Well, that's about it. I'm gonna have to talk to your brother and brief him on the details of his assignment. I need to travel to Manila in two weeks. I trust that you know what to do with Placido until then?"

"Yes." I replied. "I'll get it done."