Flashback

Several days have passed. The young man walking towards the heavyweights a cigar in hand, always true to himself, never again had problems in this prison. A boring routine every day practised in peace, to his great satisfaction. He even earned a nice little nickname: The Silent Shoe Robber.

Before, they called him Lightning Shoe Robber. In tribute to his incredible speed. But during these few days, our dear friend has never even whispered a word. Even when a cell guard threatened him with a stick to answer him. So his comrades decided to change Lightning to Silent.

After a good lifting, Silent Shoe Robber is preparing to return to his cell.

The boy continues his routine of sitting down to reflect on his situation, as usual.

He observes around him; in the bed on top of his, a drug dealer snores loudly; in the cell opposite his, a newcomer kid who killed his mother is being raped by a brute; in the cell next to it, a barbaric fight between three men is taking place; one of them is at the door of death and the other is a guard futilely wanting to take control of the situation. The supervisors roam in the corridors, most of them acting as if they do not see or hear anything. A freshly admitted brute passes in front of his cell while giving him a vicious glare under the general acclamation of the other animals in cages.

The young man finishes his observation by looking at his own hands. They are stained with mud and dirt, but through his eyes, he cannot see the dirt as it is hidden under thick, gooey blood.

He suddenly recalls a scene in the past.

"Who is it?"

A lady finishes her drink in a bar that has been closed for a few hours already. She is addressing the man surrounded by empty bottles and the bartender who keeps supplying those bottles.

"The snitch." The woman with the black square haircut decides to specify.

"Robert made his choice. The police promised to protect his family from the Bangkok Mafia if he confessed." The bartender informs the woman.

At this information, she frowns in ponder.

"It's weird, he knows we cannot do much against the Thai Mafia right now, why would he think the police would be any better?" she ends up saying.

"Desperation. It's all about saving time, everything is futile at this stage, Robert is very close to dying, but he has a little girl and a woman who loves him, that's what will kill us all." The bartender rolls a drink towards a silent man in the corner while apathetically answering the woman.

The man with tattoos running across his shoulders and back does not speak, but he stopped drinking and the ripples in his black eyes would incite dread in any man's heart.

"Yo! Are you not going to say anything?." The bartender notices him and calls out.

"You deaf boy?" his eyebrow raises and a mocking look surfaces, he continues:

"This time, I'm counting on you to kill the supplier of these f*ckers. Robert is not aware that the Ministry of foreign affairs has been corrupted, we still have a chance to get back the mallet and flee to Korea. If we f*ck this one up, B-Zee will cut off all of our heads. " He continues to look at him insistently as if he wants to be sure the other guy understood his words.

The alcoholic man turns his eyes to his direction. The bartender finally takes notice of his murderous look and suddenly a cold sweat grabs the muscular bartender.

"How funny." And yet not the slightest smile to accompany his statement. The woman, who has accompanied him for several years in this business, understands what he means by "funny".

If the Boss gets upset, the only ones who will lose their heads will be them. There is no human who currently can threaten the man in front of her, if not her brother, who died five years ago.

• _ •

Three days later, the FBI stumbles upon a gory scene. A man with a cheap pistol in his hand is smiling sneakily in the middle of a bloodbath. Among the mutilated bodies, one can find several main members of the Mafia Krung thep also called Bangkok.

The man symbolically wore a white shirt that day, which is now wet with blood and painted red and brown. Half of his face is stained with odorous liquid, and in the darkness of the room, the head held by smooth black hair that is typical in Asians in the hand of the murderer is almost imperceptible. Observing that there are no sharp objects in the vicinity, it must be believed that this smiling demon tore this head with his bare hands.

The most dangerous man in the United States should have been sentenced to death at court, but a state traitor will be corrupted by a Russian foreigner and the man will finally get away with life imprisonment in a normal prison situated in San Diego.

Three huge blows on the bars of his cell wake him up from his reveries.

"Time to eat, get out."

Who knows how many hours he has been sitting on his bed. But he is strangely not hungry.

Coming out of his cage, he walks under the mad barks of the guards towards the canteen, placing himself calmly in line with the others. In his head, he is planning the death of 97% of the people in this penitentiary and his freedom in Mexico.

His food in hand, the man goes to sit on an empty table. The thing they shamelessly dare to call a dinner does not help his lack of appetite. He takes his glass of water and brings it to his lips to drink when a light attracts his precious attention.

Suspicious, he examines the cup carefully and stirs the water in his glass. Seeing there is nothing, he slightly calms down and relaxes his tense muscles.

Checking his water one last time, he notices a little light in the center of his water. The shape of the light becomes gradually more distinct. A bright white hand surrounded by chains similar to a tattoo he had made 5 years ago appears, leaving him momentarily gaping.

The last thing he remembers is the pathetic sound of his strangled throat, the freshness of the wind on his frozen body and the horrible smell of a mountain of moldy bodies under his back.