Chapter 41: The Overstepping IRS
Room 1808, Master Bedroom
The cold tile floor sent a chill down Tequila's spine.
When did this happen? Who attacked me?
His mind raced, but the only part of his body he could move was his eyes. His entire body felt like lead, unable to budge even an inch.
How is this possible?
As an Organization assassin, he had undergone rigorous training. Poison resistance was among the most basic skills drilled into him. He'd ingested countless toxins over the years, building up immunity. He shouldn't have been taken down so easily.
The biting chill of fear was even more intense than the coldness of the tile floor against his back. He stared wide-eyed at the door, cold sweat gradually forming on his forehead.
The doorknob began to turn slowly.
For the first time, Tequila found the simple act of a door opening to be agonizingly long and painful, filled with both helplessness and curiosity.
Who could it be?
He should have never come back to this temporary residence.
As his thoughts raced, the door was pushed open completely, and a tall, slender figure walked in.
Because of the angle at which he'd fallen, Tequila could only see up to the intruder's chest. He tried desperately to look up, but his body refused to respond. Even with his pupils strained to the corners of his eyes, he still couldn't see the face.
"Ugh... uh... uh... uh..."
The drug was similar to a powerful anesthetic. Once inhaled, not only his body but even his tongue was completely immobilized. These whimpering sounds were the result of Tequila's considerable effort.
"Are you asking who I am?"
The man stopped directly in front of him, his shiny black leather shoes only centimeters from Tequila's eyes, as if he were about to stomp on his face.
More whimpers escaped, followed by wildly rolling eyeballs.
The movement of those eyeballs was clearly up and down—a nod?
"Since you've asked so sincerely, I'll mercifully tell you." Natsukawa squatted down, casually spinning his fabricated story as he flashed a smile at Tequila. "I'm actually an IRS tax investigator from the United States!"
He continued with mock seriousness, "According to my investigation, all the drugs exported to the US through your hands have no tax records. This has seriously damaged the economic prosperity of America and affected the continued rise of our national GDP. Although the US is a free country, freedom belongs only to taxpayers."
"Now I'll give you two choices: one is to pay all the fines for tax evasion and become a law-abiding taxpayer, and the other is to go to federal prison. You choose."
The bedroom fell silent.
Natsukawa waited patiently for Tequila's answer.
A minute passed.
"Very well, giving me attitude, are we?"
Then, without ceremony, Tequila was lifted up.
Limp as a lamb, without any resistance.
Whimpering like a pig waiting to be slaughtered.
At this moment, even a child could easily handle Tequila.
Being hoisted up like a sack of rice, Tequila felt utterly humiliated, his eyes blazing with impotent fury.
At least give me the antidote first so I can answer! You can't understand my whining anyway!
He, a top assassin from the Black Organization, had been defeated by this guy.
And the IRS? How absurd! Even FBI agent Shuichi Akai couldn't catch him, yet he'd fallen to a tax investigator?
And this was Japan! Did the Japanese government approve this cross-border arrest of an alleged tax evader?
Half an Hour Later
Still in Franky's interrogation room.
The room still reeked of stale urine, showing that Franky's cleaning had been sloppy at best. He should have at least sprayed some air freshener.
Natsukawa tossed Tequila onto the chair, securing him with handcuffs and leg irons, even adding a neck collar for good measure.
The neck collar was connected to the ceiling by a two-meter-long iron chain.
As someone familiar with the Organization's methods, Natsukawa felt he couldn't just use ordinary restraints. He had to show the proper respect due to a codename member.
Soon, Franky brought over a glass of clear liquid.
This wasn't spring water or cheap liquor—it was the antidote.
Pinching Tequila's mouth open, Natsukawa administered the antidote and waited a few more minutes. Gradually, Tequila regained control over his limbs.
His previously limp body returned to normal, supported once again by his spine.
Even sitting down, his over six-foot-three height allowed him to nearly match Franky's eye level.
"Damn it!"
Franky gritted his teeth as he walked out of the interrogation room. He was convinced Tequila was deliberately trying to annoy him, suddenly sitting up straight just to emphasize their height difference.
"Alright, tell me about your organization. Don't force me to take more drastic action."
Natsukawa pulled up a chair and lit a cigarette in front of Tequila. Every puff he blew landed directly in Tequila's face, exuding a strong intimidating aura.
Tequila remained silent.
He sat upright, his silence now reaching an advanced level. As a top-tier assassin trained in counter-interrogation techniques, he wasn't afraid of Natsukawa at all.
Go ahead. I'm not afraid.
Even with the drug cleared from his system and only a transparent tongue guard preventing him from biting down, he was still confident he could endure the most horrific torture.
Natsukawa glanced coldly at the one-way mirror. Soon, the interrogation room door opened, and Franky entered carrying a heavy bag.
Clang! The bag hit the floor, glass bottles clattering inside.
After setting it down, Franky spat dismissively before leaving.
"Sorry, that guy holds grudges. He can't stand people who are as tall sitting down as he is standing up."
With that explanation, Natsukawa pulled out a bottle of Mexican tequila and waved it in front of his prisoner.
"Hmph! Trying to get me drunk and extract information about the Organization? Impossible. I've undergone rigorous training. No matter the alcohol content, even if I'm completely wasted, I won't divulge anything. Forget about it."
Natsukawa admired Tequila's composure and loyalty to the Organization.
Had Karasuma Renya developed some kind of brainwashing serum before creating APTX4869?
"Do you even know who you're serving? Why are you so devoted?" Natsukawa asked while uncapping a bottle of tequila and forcing it down Tequila's throat.
The bottle was quickly emptied with loud gulping sounds.
"Heh... heh heh... useless. Completely useless."
Tequila's speech became slurred, a few drops of liquor dribbling from his nostrils. His eyes were like a venomous snake's, as if trying to etch Natsukawa's face into his memory.
However, it was all futile.
Even if Natsukawa did let him go, this was just a disguise. What difference would it make if he remembered this face? At most, it would just mean another mysterious death in Beika Town.
"You're an FBI agent, right? One of Shuichi Akai's men, aren't you?" Tequila shifted his gaze, yelling at the one-way mirror. "You bastard! Heh, your girlfriend's dying, almost dead already. You'll hear the news of her death soon enough."
Judging from Tequila's reaction, he probably suspected Shuichi Akai was watching him from behind the glass.
Natsukawa gave an indifferent "oh," his expression unchanged, and twisted Tequila's cheek, pinching his mouth open as he grabbed another bottle.
"Miyano Akemi's death is no big deal. Shuichi Akai doesn't care about her."
Although he said that dismissively, Natsukawa silently filed the information away.
According to Tequila's words, the one billion yen heist was probably about to happen. If Tequila knew about the plan, it was likely already in the preparation stage.
Honestly, they'd already sent Gin a substantial shipment of gold, yet the Organization was still this greedy.
But thinking about it rationally, it made sense. The Organization was researching immortality—even a billion yen worth of gold probably wouldn't last long for that kind of research.
Sherry should be in Tokyo now, but I wonder where exactly she is.
Natsukawa leaned close to Tequila's ear and whispered, "Gin, Rum, Vermouth, information about the Boss or any other Organization members—just tell me."
After two bottles of tequila, even this tall man was starting to feel the effects.
Tequila was just his codename—it didn't mean he could actually drink that much of his namesake liquor.
Besides, even if he could hold his alcohol, he'd never seen anyone drink such strong spirits so recklessly. Not even the hardest drinkers would dare consume this much this quickly.
Drinking too fast, Tequila's stomach felt like it was on fire.
Heat and pain mingled together. The alcohol was already taking full effect, and his face slowly turned from red to a deep purple.
"You know quite a lot. Only Shuichi Akai would know this much. You must be from the FBI."
Natsukawa shook his head and placed the third bottle of tequila in front of his prisoner. "To get this information, we just need to audit the FBI director's tax returns. It's surprisingly easy. Any other questions?"
He dropped the pretense. Mentioning the FBI only brought a mocking expression to Tequila's face, making him clam up completely.
Tequila remained silent for a long moment. What Natsukawa said actually made sense.
Could he really be from the IRS?
If it really was that organization, then his arrest was truly unjust.
All the drugs he'd sold were within Japan. Although some buyers who purchased those drugs eventually exported them to the US, what did that have to do with Tequila?
"Drug exports to the US have nothing to do with me. Those are the buyers' problems. If you want to collect taxes, you should be going after them."
"You don't understand." Natsukawa shook his head with mock sympathy. "From the source to the individual sellers, no one escapes. Everyone pays, whether they want to or not."
"This is Japan!" As a Kansai native, Tequila suddenly felt his country had been insulted. Even if it was about paying taxes, shouldn't the Japanese National Tax Agency be contacting him? What kind of nonsense was this—the IRS overstepping its jurisdiction?
Natsukawa, thoroughly enjoying his IRS role-play, patted Tequila on the shoulder. "We're all part of the same global community. Or perhaps you'd like me to mention Yokosuka Naval Base in Kanagawa Prefecture? I'll allow you to rephrase your statement."
Tequila fell silent.
Damn Americans and their extraterritorial jurisdiction...
(End of Chapter 41)