"Stay in touch—sure. You can have my phone number," Tristan said.
'It never hurts to have talented people as your acquaintances. They might be useful,' he thought.
"I'm glad," Angelo said without even a hint of a smile and turned toward the garden.
They stood in an awkward silence for half a minute until Tristan realized Angelo had finished the conversation.
Tristan sighed and went to the balcony door.
"Enjoy the view, Omen."
There was no reply.
The rest of the party went uneventfully, except for a minor scandal between two men, one of which found his girlfriend getting too close and personal with another on a balcony.
But at least that wasn't Tristan's problem.
***
Next day.
Tristan officially had a small vacation.
He didn't even need to ask—Derek actually approached him first and told him to get some rest in Los Angeles, while the manager would sort through all the offers and invitations sent to Tristan.
In a week, Tristan will have to return to his city and record his singles and release an album and perform on a tour and so on and so forth—pop-star routine.
He had a week left to squeeze Los Angeles like he wanted to.
"I think I want to be on my own... You know how it is—a change of circumstances, a change of faces. Maybe I will just drive around or hit a bar or two, I don't know," Tristan told Derek. "You probably won't see me often in the meantime. I might not even come at night if I party too hard, so don't worry."
Derek fought not to sigh.
"Alright... You won't take Mr. Mayar with you?"
Behind him were four of his most loyal men: Trey, Owen, Cutout and Sam, all eager to stretch their legs. They were all wearing shades and various hats to disguise their faces, which made them look somewhat like tourists.
In front of him was a man dressed like a warehouse worker, leaning on a wall near the entrance. There was an unlit cigarette in his mouth, creating the illusion that he was on a smoke break, and a gun in his pocket.
"Mr. Hayes, please, come in—alone."
A basic show of force. Tristan didn't even hesitate with a response.
"No. If you wanted me to come alone, you should've chosen a different place. Now open the gate."
Tristan spoke matter-of-factly, but with an absolute assurance that his orders will be obeyed. His voice burrowed into the guard's nervous system before it reached his consciousness.
He reached for the gate's remote before he even thought to protest! After that, all he could do was try to save face by pretending he never said anything at all.
A gate opened a fraction—wide enough for Tristan's group to enter.
Inside really was a warehouse—a massive one, with rows of containers and shelves. The main pathway was wide enough for a car to pass. When Tristan's group walked in, the gate closed behind them.
Ten meters ahead of the entrance stood a dozen men who could've passed for ordinary workers if not for the guns under their clothes. They created a semi-circle around their leader—a tall, middle-aged man with a short black beard and hair gathered in a ponytail.
Like his subordinates, he was dressed into clothes fitting for an ordinary worker–or a sailor. But he projected an aura of a leader, just like Tristan had.
The leader of Bluebirds, mostly known as Sea Devil. All Tristan found about his real name was 'Damien'.
At Tristan's approach, he grinned broadly.
"Mr. Hayes! What an honor to meet you. I hope you really didn't come to threaten me with that pitiful posse of yours," Sea Devil gestured at Tristan's crew.
Tristan walked to a comfortable talking distance and stopped.
There was nothing but confidence in his features, but inwardly...
Inwardly, he was confused as hell!
'That man... His face, his voice—why does he look EXACTLY like Asher Ilom?!'