Meanwhile, deep into the night, in a small city, an inconspicuous cafe welcomed a short Black man with exceptionally sharp eyes.
In his hand was a 1958 copper-colored 10-franc coin that he seemed to produce out of thin air at the counter. He spoke to an elderly white man in his seventies or eighties who was polishing wine glasses. "Give me a Tequila, make it crimson," he requested in broken Chinese.
"Oh?"
The elderly man with the faltering teeth raised his head slowly, taking a long look at him with his cloudy blue eyes before suddenly breaking into a smile. "Not bad. It seems the youngsters these days are quite good," he said in Italian.
At these words, the Black man frowned slightly, but by then, the old man had already stood up shakily and walked through a nondescript door behind the counter.
"A patron left this for you," he said as he returned a moment later, trembling as he handed over a white envelope.
"...Who are you?"
