There was a security guard standing in a hallway near the security doors, but from the look of him, he wouldn't have moved an inch if someone started screaming inside. Tristan made sure to position himself in a way that made Big Rocket's figure hide Tristan's face from the guard.
Inside the private room itself, everything was set for relaxation: a mini-bar with drinks, a pair of comfy red leather couches, and a TV with a game console attached. Tristan also immediately sensed that there were no cameras in the room.
Tristan would've been tempted to check the console out if he was there to relax.
Instead, he just walked to a couch and sat in, relaxed yet exuding an air of power like a boss would. Without showing it, Tristan looked around the room and Big Rocket again, making sure that there were no other recording devices.
But unless the room was purposefully bugged beforehand, it was all clean.
Big Rocket locked the latch on the door behind them and immediately pointed an accusing finger at Tristan and spat out words faster than a machine gun spat out bullets.
"Who are you, really?! Who are you? Don't tell me shit like that you are with 'them'—your face is way too white! Your face is whiter than my dear ma's milk!"
"I'm not with them. But you are." Tristan leaned his head on the couch's cushions. "And now somebody else knows."
The more relaxed Tristan acted, the more terror filled Big Rocket's mind. Tristan could read the panicked questions in the depth of the Black man's eyes: 'Did this man come to kill me? To blackmail me? What kind of dirt does he have? What kind of people does he represent?'
"Don't sit with that smug face, asshole!" Big Rocket snapped, slapping himself on the thigh. He began pacing around the room like a cornered animal. "Don't play around, answer the damn questions! People like ya are all stretching things out like pulling some poor cat's tail!"
'That man gets really loud and chatty when scared... I shouldn't overdo it with fear, or he might shout my ears off.'
"Very well. It's simple. I know you carry drugs over the border for Cuatro Angulos. What I want is to tell you how, how much, where from, and why. In exchange for my silence, of course." Tristan made a meaningful pause. "I'm not your enemy, Rafael—I'm only an enemy of Angulos.
But I doubt you are a friend of theirs yourself."
"I apologize. But you aren't the only person harmed by this cartel. The organization I belong to is their enemy. We fought in the past, and will definitely fight again in the future," Tristan said solemnly.
He didn't say it outright, but from the tone of his voice, one could easily imagine that he might've lost a lot in that war. And though Big Rocket was tense, this made him just a slightest bit sympathetic.
Then Tristan smirked, and the solemn moment was gone.
"If my organization can destroy their drug business, it will be like cutting off their boss's balls. And if the cartel is destroyed, you can be free, too, Rafael."
Big Rocket, his real name Rafael, swallowed anxiously. The man stood on a precipice of an abyss, where Tristan's immense charisma pulled him. But he didn't know if anyone would catch him down below.
But behind Rafael were familiar fears, and he chose to bet on the abyss.
[Ding!]
[You have earned a modicum of trust of a person of very high status. Reward: your PP increased by 1000!]
"Your organization must be big for you to claim that you can do something like this, Hayes. And to get you an invitation to this party."
Tristan's smirk widened, both from the system notification and from Rafael's words. He noticed that Rafael's Spanish accent got less pronounced when he was calmer.
"It's big enough, and will be bigger."
"I will tell you what I can, then. But I have no proof!"
"That's alright, I'm not a legal court. As long as your words are true, say them."
And Rafael did so.