Chapter 4: Continental Hotel
The Continental Hotel, New York City. Smith and Fox entered, presenting the doorman with two Continental Hotel gold coins. Instead of lingering in the lobby, Smith immediately escorted Fox to the underground bar.
Charon, at the front desk, witnessed their departure and promptly called Manager Winston. "Manager Winston, Smith—the man you asked me to watch—has arrived with Fox and is heading to the bar," he reported.
"Understood," Winston replied.
Charon hung up, muttering, "Fortunately, I'm on-site; no need to leave the hotel."
Winston, after disconnecting, rubbed his temples. "Why are they here?" he mused. "Is the Assassin's League targeting my Continental Hotel? Or has some unfortunate soul crossed Smith again?"
As manager, Winston understood the Assassin's League. Eighteen years prior, they'd assassinated indiscriminately, but their methods had shifted. Now, they targeted individuals with extensive criminal histories. Numerous gang leaders and uncaught murderers in New York had fallen victim, with no exceptions.
The Continental Hotel and various gangs had reported this to the High Table, but only an arbitrator had been dispatched, who then departed. Winston had heard rumors that the High Table had offered the Assassin's League an elder's position during its founding, an offer that was refused.
Many Continental Hotel killers had been eliminated by the Assassin's League outside the hotel's protection. Smith Doyle, present that day, had a particularly high body count, disproportionately targeting African-Americans. However, Winston remained unconcerned as long as no killings occurred on his premises. He quickened his pace.
...
Another two gold coins secured Smith and Fox entry to the underground bar. The bar's occupants subtly observed them. While killing was prohibited within the hotel, and the bar served as an intelligence hub, every killer instinctively assessed newcomers.
Recognizing Smith Doyle, some killers showed indifference, even raising their glasses in acknowledgment. Several black killers, however, turned away, headed for the restroom, or concealed their faces with hats.
Fox noted these reactions, leaning toward Smith. "You're practically a Hunter assassin," she remarked. "See how you've frightened those black killers."
Smith chuckled. "Isn't it our duty to cleanse the world's filth?" he said. "Every kill was justified."
Fox nodded. They were all killers, hired for assassination, regardless of morality. Eliminating them all seemed appropriate. However, she knew Smith harbored a particular hatred for African-Americans. Indeed, the Assassin's League, aware of this prejudice, had never recruited any African-American members.
Smith approached the bar, requesting "Two glasses of Thundering Bourbon" from Eddie, the bartender.
After serving the whiskey, Eddie commented, "Smith, business slows every time you visit. They're probably texting other black killers to avoid the Continental for the next two days."
Smith shrugged. "I wish everyone would seek refuge here. Killing is prohibited, after all," he quipped.
Eddie offered a wry smile. Seeking refuge meant risking Smith remembering his face and finding him later.
"How can I assist you?" Eddie asked, referring to the entrance fee's dual purpose as payment and intelligence access.
Smith produced a drawing—a Dragon Ball 4 planet—and instructed Eddie to direct anyone inquiring about it to him.
Eddie examined the drawing. "A crystal ball with stars? Understood."
Fox inquired, "What's that about? And what's with this 'good show' you mentioned?"
Before Smith could respond, Winston approached, greeting them warmly. "Mr. Smith. Ms. Fox."
Smith raised his glass. "Manager Winston, long time no see." Fox echoed the greeting.
Winston snapped his fingers, summoning Eddie. "Eddie, fetch my bottle of 1972 Macallan. My treat."
Smith noted, "Winston, that Macallan isn't cheap."
Winston smiled. "Worth it. Good wine for heroes. A small price to pay."
Eddie returned with three glasses of whiskey. Smith sampled it. "Excellent vintage, though I've heard the 1926 is superior."
Winston replied, "The 1926 Macallan is exceedingly rare and expensive."
Smith nodded; the 1926 Macallan's two-million-pound price tag was well-known.
Winston continued, "Those of us running these establishments are outside the Assassin's League's purview. You won't violate my hotel's rules, will you, Smith?"
Smith shrugged. "You don't think we're here to take down the New York Continental. Your hotel's rules are quite satisfactory."
Winston smiled. "Thank you."
Fox then announced, "The Continental just posted a new mission: two million dollars. Smith, this is what you'd call lively, isn't it?"
Chapter 5: Price Increase
Winston, after thanking Smith, found a vacant booth, settled in, and began reading a newspaper.
Smith, turning to Fox, inquired, "Who's the unlucky soul with the bounty?"
Fox glanced at her message. "John Wick."
Smith smiled. "The very person I brought you to observe."
Fox was confused. "Observe? I thought you were going to collect the bounty. What's to observe about a retired assassin?"
Both were familiar with John Wick, whom Smith had introduced to Fox upon learning about the Continental Hotel. Fox held the Continental killers in low regard, viewing the Assassin's League as heroic, akin to Robin Hood. A past mission failure that resulted in a family tragedy solidified this view. Despite losing the sacred loom, they still adhered to their ideals. Continental killers, however, were simply mercenaries, fundamentally different. The Assassin's League also possessed superior strength, particularly Mr. X and Cross's exceptional marksmanship.
Smith responded to Fox's dismissive tone, "Take your time. Don't rush it."
...
Meanwhile, John Wick, having dispatched Vigour's assassins, arrived at the Continental Hotel. Carrying a suitcase and a canvas bag, he checked in with measured steps but a grim expression and a palpable aura of violence, the aftermath of a bloody night. He resembled a dormant volcano poised to erupt.
At the front desk, a recently checked-in assassin, Perkins, greeted him, "Nice to see you, John!"
"Likewise, Perkins!"
After their exchange, John checked into room 818. He watched a video of his deceased wife, then retrieved a Dragon Ball from his pocket, murmuring, "Helen, if this is true, I'll use it to resurrect you." He placed the Dragon Ball in a bag, sealed it, and wore it around his neck, believing it the safest place.
Dressed, he headed for the underground bar, paying with a Continental Hotel gold coin.
Inside, he noticed the absence of African-American killers, a rarity at the Continental. He frowned; their presence was usually more significant.
He saw Perkins, exchanging greetings. Spotting Winston in a booth, he approached.
"Hello, Winston."
Winston lowered his newspaper, smiling. "Jonathan." (John Wick's full name).
Winston removed his glasses. "If I recall correctly, you're the one who never cleans up the mess."
John Wick smiled, "That's accurate."
Winston continued, "What can I do for you?"
"Rusev Tarasov," John Wick stated.
"What about him?" Winston asked.
"I need to speak with him," John Wick replied.
Winston took a sip of his drink. "Let's talk. I'm familiar with this line of argument, Jonathan. Have you ever returned as a prodigal son?"
John Wick calmly explained his presence, "Just visiting."
Winston pressed, "Have you considered it? You dodged it once; you were too deep. You might find a way out, but you'll only go deeper."
John Wick ignored the implication, cutting him off, "Where can I find him?"
Winston responded, "You know the rules. No trouble here." He took another sip. "Have a drink, relax. Now…"
As Winston reached for his pen to write down the address, John Wick interrupted, "This is a private matter."
Winston watched him leave, shaking his head. "Returning here… does he really think anyone believes he's retired?"
John Wick sought information at the bar.
Eddie exclaimed, "Oh my god, Jonathan!"
"Hey, Eddie."
Eddie embraced John Wick. "Four years since we last met."
John Wick corrected, "More than five."
Eddie inquired about his retirement.
John Wick replied, "Very good, Eddie. Much better than I deserve."
Eddie, lowering his voice, apologized about his wife.
"Thanks," John Wick responded.
Eddie observed, "I've never seen you like this before."
"Like what?" John Wick asked.
Eddie stated, "Hairy."
John Wick sighed, "I'm retired."
Eddie smiled, "As long as you're drinking here, it means you're not." He gestured to the liquor cabinet. "Same as always?"
"Okay."
Meanwhile, at another booth, Fox checked her phone, then looked at John Wick. "Smith, this guy's price has risen to four million dollars. Four extra Continental Hotel gold coins for you."