CHAPTER 24: CHAPTER 24

Ace walked through the city streets, the crumpled Ace of Spades card burning a hole in his pocket. The threat – "PAY UP. OR NEXT TIME WE WILL BURN IT." – echoed in his mind. Fear mixed with cold anger. Deke had invaded his space, his hard-won sanctuary. He wouldn’t let that slide.

He needed proof of Deke’s crimes, just like the System demanded. Proof could protect him. Proof could expose Deke. Proof could be leverage. He needed a way to record conversations. He needed a voice recorder.

He took a bus across town, far from Deke’s usual territory. He found a small electronics store tucked between a bakery and a shoe repair shop. Inside, he browsed the shelves. He found a small, basic voice recorder. It looked simple: a black plastic rectangle with a microphone hole, a record button, a stop button, and a small speaker. It used a standard SD memory card and ran on two AAA batteries. The price tag read $29.99. It wasn’t fancy, but it was cheap and discreet.

"Will this pick up voices clearly?" Ace asked the shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes.

"Clear enough for basic stuff," she said. "Just hold it close to whoever’s talking. Don’t expect spy movie quality, but it’ll do the job." She sold him the recorder, an SD card, and a four-pack of batteries for a total of $42.

Ace paid with his cash. New Cash Total: $571.35 - $42 = $529.35. He walked out, the small recorder feeling heavy with possibility in his hand. Step one: get the tool.

Back at the Nite Owl, Ace locked himself in Room 7. He inserted the SD card and batteries into the recorder. He practiced using it, recording himself counting and playing it back. The sound was tinny but understandable. It would work. He slipped it into his jacket pocket, the record button easily accessible. He was ready.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the message from Evelyn "Silva agreed to talk. Meet him at The Rusty Anchor tonight at 8 PM. Be careful, he’s nervous."

This was it. His first real move against Deke. Ace took a deep breath. "Okay," he whispered. "Let’s do this."

The Rusty Anchor was a weathered wooden building down by the docks. The air smelled like saltwater, fish, and engine oil. Neon beer signs glowed in the dirty windows. Ace pushed open the heavy door. Inside, it was dimly lit and mostly empty. A few old men sat at the bar nursing drinks. A jukebox played quiet country music in the corner.

Ace spotted Marco Silva immediately. He was a large man with tired eyes, wiping down the bar with a rag. He looked up as Ace approached, his expression guarded.

"Are you Ace?" Silva asked, his voice low.

Ace nodded. "Yeah, that’s me. Evelyn arranged this meeting."

Silva glanced around the empty bar to make sure no one else was listening. Then he jerked his head toward a back booth, partly hidden in shadow.

"Back there," he whispered. "Keep your voice down. We don’t want anyone overhearing."

Ace slid into the booth. Silva followed, sitting opposite him. He leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "Evelyn says you got trouble with Deke. And that you know about my... situation."

"I know Deke is squeezing you for protection money," Ace said carefully. "I know he’s doing it to others too. And I know he’s desperate because he owes a lot of money to someone named Victor Ramos."

Silva’s eyes widened slightly. He looked impressed and more interested. "You actually know about Ramos?" he said, his voice tinged with surprise. "Yeah, Deke’s in deep trouble. Lately, he’s been coming around here twice a week, demanding more cash than usual. He says Ramos is breathing down his neck, pushing him hard for every dollar."

Silva rubbed his face, exhaustion evident in his features. "I can’t keep paying him, kid. This place barely makes enough to cover the bills as it is. But if I stop giving Deke the money..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The fear in his eyes said everything — the consequences would be bad. Real bad.

"I want to stop Deke too," Ace said firmly. "He’s threatening me. He trashed my workspace. I think we can help each other."

"How?" Silva asked, skepticism creeping into his voice. "You look like you just got outta high school. No offense."

"None taken," Ace said calmly, meeting Silva’s skeptical gaze. "I don’t plan to fight Deke head-on. That would be reckless. What I want to do is expose him—get solid proof of what he’s doing. Proof that he can’t deny or ignore." He subtly touched the recorder hidden in his pocket through the fabric of his jacket but kept it off for now. He needed Silva’s permission before using it. "If I could get proof of Deke threatening you, demanding money... that kind of evidence could go to the police. Or maybe even make its way to Ramos himself," Ace explained, watching Silva’s reaction carefully. "Show Ramos that Deke’s been harassing people instead of paying him back. That kind of evidence could change everything."

Silva stared at him for a long moment, the idea clearly intriguing him but the fear still holding him back. "Proof? You mean, like a recording?" he asked, his voice low. "Do you think you can get close enough? Deke’s incredibly paranoid. He doesn’t trust anyone."

"I can try," Ace said. "But I need your help. If you’re willing to talk, while I record it, about what Deke does, how much he demands, when he comes... that would be a start. Just you talking to me here, in your bar, safe and private."

Silva was quiet for a long moment, staring down at the worn tabletop as if gathering his thoughts. Then he finally looked up, meeting Ace’s eyes. There was fear in his gaze, but beneath it simmered a deep, quiet anger.

"He came here yesterday" Silva began, his voice low and tense. "First, he took two hundred dollars from me. Then he made it clear — if I don’t have three hundred ready next time, he’s going to ’rearrange my nice bottles,’" he said bitterly, motioning toward the shelves of liquor behind the bar.

He shook his head and continued, "He told me his boss, Ramos, needs to be paid and that my bar is his personal ATM."

Ace slowly slid his hand into his jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the recorder. He hadn’t started it yet; he wanted Silva’s permission first.

"Marco," Ace said gently, "would you be willing to say that again? Speak clearly this time, while I record it, so we have it on the record?"

Silva took a deep breath. He looked around the empty bar again, then nodded firmly. "Yeah, okay. Let’s do that."

Ace pressed the record button inside his pocket, feeling the faint click as it activated. He leaned forward slightly and said calmly, "Tell me everything you remember about Deke’s visit yesterday, Marco."

Silva leaned forward, lowering his voice but speaking with clear determination. "Darius Vance, people call him Deke, he came into The Rusty Anchor yesterday evening. He demanded two hundred dollars from me. He said it was protection money. I gave it to him because honestly, I was scared. He threatened to smash my liquor bottles if I didn’t have three hundred dollars ready for him next time he comes, which is usually Thursday night. He said he needed the money to pay back his boss, Victor Ramos. He said my bar was his personal ATM for Ramos." Silva stopped. "That enough?"

Ace nodded, relief washing over him. "That’s perfect. Thank you, Marco." He pressed the stop button. "This is a good start. Real proof."

Silva looked slightly shaken but also defiant. "What now? What do we do with it?"

Ace took a deep breath, his tone growing serious. "Now, I need more than just your word. I need proof of Deke himself making those threats—something that can’t be denied. I have to catch him in the act. That’s the hard part."

Silva looked thoughtful. "He usually comes alone for the pickups. I think he figures he doesn’t need any muscle to intimidate little old me. Like I told you, it’s Thursdays — around 8:30 in the evening. That’s after the dinner rush dies down but before the late drinkers come in. He likes the place quiet."

Ace nodded carefully, filing away the details in his mind: Thursday. 8:30 PM. The Rusty Anchor.

He hesitated for a moment before asking, "Could I... be here? Hidden somewhere when he comes? Maybe try to record him then?"

Silva paled slightly. "Kid, that’s dangerous. If he finds you..."

"I know," Ace said. "But it’s the best shot. I can hide. I just need to be close enough for this," he tapped his pocket where the recorder was "to pick up his voice."

Silva hesitated, then sighed. "Alright. Thursday. Be here by 8:00. I’ll hide you in the storage closet behind the bar. There’s a small vent; you might be able to hear everything okay from in there. But if anything goes wrong, you’re on your own. I can’t protect you from Deke."

"I understand," Ace said. "Thank you. This really helps."

Silva gave a curt nod. "Just make it count, kid." He stood up, his movements stiff with tension. "I’ve got to get back to work." As he walked back toward the bar, his shoulders remained tight, carrying the burden of the risk they were taking.

Ace slipped out of the booth. He had Silva’s testimony. He had a plan to get Deke’s own words. Proof was within reach.