Transmigrated in Banshee Town

Job drove straight to the Four Seasons Hotel. As soon as he stopped the Jeep at the entrance, a valet quickly approached and took the keys with professional precision. Without wasting time, they both entered the lobby and, after a brief check-in, secured two adjoining rooms.

Ethan stopped by the hotel shop and bought more suitable clothes for the weather: a pair of shorts, light t-shirts, floral shirts, and some comfortable sandals.

Once in his room, he took a quick shower and changed clothes. Refreshed and clean, he crossed over to Job's room to make the call that would connect them with Smurf. After a few minutes of conversation, they arranged the meeting.

They decided to take a taxi to the contact's house. The Jeep would remain parked — they didn't want to risk being tracked through the vehicle.

Maybe due to the proximity to the sea, most of the houses in the area were large, with spacious lots. Many had pools and patios, and the streets were lined with palm trees swaying in the breeze. After climbing a hill, the vehicle stopped in front of an iron gate.

The house was L-shaped. From the entrance, which had space for two cars, it was hard to tell how big it really was, but it clearly wasn't small.

They both got out of the taxi. After paying, Job walked up to the intercom and pressed the button. A few seconds later, the gate began to open slowly.

—Let's go —said Job, taking the lead.

Ethan followed behind, looking around carefully.

The gate led to a garage. Around the front yard were several vehicles: cars, boats, ATVs, and beach bikes. One thing was clear— their robberies were quite profitable.

—Job, darling, I'm so glad you're here.

A woman with short hair, white capri pants, and a tight red V-neck shirt that left very little to the imagination approached them. Smurf radiated a mix of elegance and danger, like a natural-born leader used to being in control.

She hugged Job and kissed him on the cheek. Ethan watched her closely; she looked to be in her late forties or early fifties. She still carried some of her old charm and had clearly been a beauty in her youth.

But time is relentless. Even though she took care of herself, the wrinkles on her face were noticeable.

—This your friend, right?

—Hey, just call me Ethan —he said, stepping forward and extending his hand—. You're Smurf, right? You mind if I call you that?

—Of course not, everyone around here does.

Smurf looked at him with a glint of amusement in her eyes. She lowered her arms, which looked ready for a hug, and instead shook his hand, raising an eyebrow as she glanced at Job.

—Looks like you've got good taste, Job... at least when it comes to handsome friends, huh?

Ethan gave a short cough, not bothering to explain. Job chuckled softly.

At that moment, three muscular men stood behind Smurf, all with a firm and confident presence. Ethan's gaze landed on the man with short brown hair wearing a gray shirt. He had a similar air to Hood, though less rough around the edges.

Compared to Hood, this guy seemed a bit more approachable.

—This is my son, Baz —Smurf said, gesturing toward him.

Baz stepped forward, smiled, and shook Ethan's hand.

—Hey, I'm Baz.

—Nice to meet you —Ethan replied.

Baz then gave Job a nod.

Next came Craig —tall, with his hair tied back.

—I'm Craig —he said in a calm voice.

Ethan nodded.

Finally, Deran appeared, the youngest, with a beard and messy hair.

—And this is Deran —Smurf said—. My youngest.

Deran raised a hand in greeting.

It was the first time Job had seen Smurf in a long while, but he'd never met her family. So, for all of them, this was the first time working together. Still, Ethan noticed a trace of distrust in Baz's eyes. It made sense — for a crime family as close-knit as this one, based on blood ties, being cautious with outsiders was only natural.

—Let's head inside, I'll get you something to drink —Smurf said, walking toward the house.

Everyone followed her inside. The layout was unusual. From the floor-to-ceiling sliding windows next to the living room, you could see the backyard pool.

On a nearby table, several bundles of cash were scattered carelessly over the kitchen island. They looked impressive, but the bills were mostly small denominations.

In the living room, a circle of sofas lined the walls, with a large wooden table in the center. As soon as they sat down, Craig pulled a small bag of white powder from a drawer, sat on the floor, and began dividing it into lines on the table, snorting it without a care in the world.

Ethan glanced at Job, a little confused, but Job just shrugged.

After snorting, Craig offered them the powder using a rolled-up bill. Ethan and Job both shook their heads. Craig just smiled and leaned back comfortably.

Ethan lit a cigarette and stayed quiet, watching as the others chatted casually. A few minutes later, Smurf returned from the kitchen carrying a tray full of margaritas and gently placed it on the table, serving a glass to each of them.

As she leaned forward, her cleavage was clearly exposed.

Her sons didn't seem fazed by their mother's flirtatious nature, so Ethan also chose to ignore it, keeping his eyes steady.

—Thanks —he said, taking a cocktail and sipping it calmly. He'd never had one before, but to his surprise, he liked it.

After taking a sip of his drink, Job turned to Smurf and asked:

—Were you able to get what I asked for?

—Of course. My contact in Tijuana will have the gear ready when we cross the border —she replied, sitting on the couch—. With the short notice you gave me, this was the best I could do.

Baz pulled a small black fabric bag from under the table, pressed it against the surface, and slid it over to Job. He took it, unzipped it, and checked the contents: two Colt M1911 pistols and two packs of ammunition.

That's why, when Job called, he'd asked Smurf to get some weapons. Walking around unarmed was too risky. Ethan took one of the pistols, disassembled it on the table, and examined each piece carefully.

Once he confirmed everything was in good condition, he quickly reassembled it. The move caught Baz and Craig's attention.

Baz set his beer bottle on the table and asked with a grin:

—So Ethan, mind if I ask what you did before this?

—I was a cop —Ethan replied casually.

He pointed the pistol at Baz and pulled the trigger; the dry click echoed in the room. He loaded the weapon with a satisfied look, tucked it into the back of his waistband, and covered it with his floral shirt. Baz and the others went quiet for a moment. Deran, noticing Ethan's serious expression, burst into laughter, while Smurf smiled.

—Well, I wasn't expecting Job to have such an entertaining friend. I like you, kid. I think we'll get along just fine —Smurf said with a grin, glancing at her sons.

Ethan didn't reply. Sometimes, telling the truth was less believable than a well-crafted lie.

Job, watching the scene unfold, couldn't wait any longer and said seriously:

Here is the translated version of your text into English, keeping the format with dashes and reviewing pronouns, grammar, and sentence flow:

Smurf nodded and looked to the side. Deran scratched his beard and stood up with a sigh. He walked to a corner, pulled the curtains aside, turned on the speakers, and put on some music.

Once that was done, Smurf spoke with a firm tone:

—A couple of months ago, during one of our jobs, we ran into serious trouble —she began, her voice heavy, jaw tight like a trap about to snap—. It was with a Mexican group, a criminal cell that calls themselves Los Sangrientos. They operate along the Tijuana–Mexicali border, moving merchandise for the cartel. But until recently, they'd never dared to cross into our territory.

—Something went terribly wrong that night… we got ambushed —she clenched her fists, holding back a fury still burning beneath the surface—. Craig took a bullet to the chest. Survived by a miracle. And Pope… Pope ended up in jail. He got caught trying to get us out of there.

She raised her gaze, locking eyes with Job with the intensity of someone who'd already made up their mind.

—We can't just sit back. Not after that. Not after what they did to my sons. We have to hit them back.

—I understand —said Job firmly. He didn't like getting involved in personal revenge, but he was desperate for money.

—The group that crossed the border and ran back to Mexico… —Smurf continued, walking with deliberate calm toward a rusty metal drawer in the corner of the room. She opened it with a screech and pulled out a thick yellow envelope, tossing it to Job.

Job caught the envelope midair. Inside were a few photographs.

—I've got friends over there too —added Baz, calm and composed, the one with contacts across the border—. They call themselves Los Sangrientos. Their leader goes by the name Skinny. That bastard runs the entire corridor from Tijuana to Mexicali. He's into everything: kidnapping, drug trafficking, guns, people… executions. Full-service criminal.

Smurf paused, lowering her voice slightly.

—If those bastards dared to cross over, it's because they think no one will touch them in Mexico.

Job opened the envelope and pulled out the stack of photographs.

Ethan picked one up. It showed a bald Mexican man with tattoos on his neck and arms. A typical cholo, wearing a sleeveless shirt and loose pants. He was laughing loudly as he walked, surrounded by armed men following close behind.

—Is this Skinny? —asked Ethan, flipping the photo.

—Yeah —Smurf said darkly.

—So why do you need me? —Job asked, setting the photo down and pointing at the man.

Smurf took a sip from her cocktail and cleared her throat:

—This place here is Hong Kong in Tijuana —she said, pointing to a picture of a neon-lit, three-story building—. A well-known strip club in the area. They also use it as their base. The first and second floors are just a front: strippers and booze for tourists. But the upper levels… that's where the real business happens.

She leaned in, lowering her voice.

—Security's tight —said Smurf—. Cameras in every corner. 24-hour surveillance. No one gets in without approval.

—You want me to get into their system —Job stated firmly.

—Exactly —Smurf replied without hesitation.

Baz lit a cigarette, frowning.

—Skinny's no fool —Smurf said seriously—. He's made major changes to the place. Our people barely managed to move through the first two floors. What's upstairs… that's another world. Without proper intel, going up there would be suicide.

Ethan smoked calmly, silently observing everyone in the room.

Smurf was clearly the leader—sharp and in control. Baz seemed like the planner. Craig and Deran were the muscle, no questions asked. A small crew… but tight and efficient.

—And what do we get out of this? —Ethan asked bluntly.

Baz and the others exchanged glances. It was a fair question.

Smurf uncrossed her legs, pursed her lips, and responded:

—That place is their hideout, their command center —she said firmly—. According to my intel, that's where they keep the money before laundering it downstairs in the club. They do everything in cash.

She paused, her gaze serious.

—I'll cover all the expenses. If the mission goes well, you both get one-third of the profits each.

Ethan nodded. It was a more than reasonable offer. Smurf stood, walked to a cabinet, pulled out a travel bag, and placed it in front of Job with a solid thump.

—There's two hundred grand in here. Consider it a gesture of good faith.

Baz shifted uncomfortably, but Smurf shot him a look that silenced him. Deran and Craig stayed quiet too. That money had come from years of work. Seeing it handed out like this wasn't easy—but this time it was about payback.

Job removed his sunglasses, opened the bag, and flipped through the bills.

—Alright. We have a deal. I'll start working right away —he said, shaking Smurf's hand.

—Ding.

Ethan, holding a glass of wine, felt a faint buzz in his head. He took a sip. Even if the hideout turned up empty, that $200k was already theirs.

Of course, if the job paid off, that advance would be deducted.

—When are we going to Mexico? —asked Craig, loosening his ponytail.

—I still need to prep some things and buy gear —replied Job, glancing at Ethan—. What do you say we rest tonight and leave tomorrow afternoon?

It was clear now he had no way out.

Ethan smiled and nodded. After all, they'd already taken the money.

Smurf smiled too:

—Perfect. Ethan, why don't you stick around? Baz and the boys know how to throw a party. You'll have fun. There are always pretty girls dropping by.

—Sure, why not —Ethan said with a grin.

If Job trusted this woman, so would he—for now. Besides, he had no desire to return to their boring hotel. After saying goodbye, Job picked up the pistol, the money bag, and left to take care of details.

Ethan, seeing the group still had business to discuss, grabbed his wine and walked over to a lounge chair by the pool.

Just as Job accepted the job, a familiar hum echoed in his head. A system that showed up when it felt like it—last time it had appeared during the fight with Chayton. Always unpredictable.

He sat down, closed his eyes for a moment, and focused.

A transparent light screen appeared before him:

🎯 Mission: Help the Cody family take down the Mexican criminal cell led by El Skinny 💀, a violent gang gaining ground on the coast.

🏆 Reward: Special Ability – Radar

Accept