The Payment Matters Most
I switched on the radio sitting by the window. The signal crackled and hissed, and I turned the tuning dial, hunting for a clear frequency. Before long, I caught one.
News about the Oerdechika Uprising, stale as last week's bread. I turned the dial again, and while I was still searching for another frequency, one of the men suddenly spoke up.
"Ah, so they caught the ringleader. Sounds like the uprising's completely over."
"So it would seem."
"We had an important business contact out there, you know, and the whole time we couldn't get anywhere near the place because of the fighting. Ah well. Anyway, back to why we're here."
He seemed to be quite the chatterbox. Judging by how this man sat alone while the other two shared a sofa, he was evidently the highest-ranking of the three—which made his loose lips all the more notable.
"Just bad luck, I suppose."
"That's what I keep telling myself. Now that things are finally turning around, I'm taking comfort in that."
The man smiled, wiping the sweat from his balding forehead with a handkerchief, seemingly in genuinely good spirits. I gave him a sidelong glance and kept adjusting the frequency. At last, past the ear-grating static, I found a channel playing instrumental music and set the volume to something unobtrusive.
Then I settled onto the sofa across from the man.
Well then. Time to talk business.
Katejina had dealt with quite a few different mafias. So which outfit did today's visitors belong to?
They were faces I didn't recognize, at least. In Katejina's previous body, I'd run a small 'establishment,' and back then the Castro Family had been one of my principal customers—the territory had been theirs to manage. Because of that, I prided myself on knowing most of their faces.
The men who had come today were not among them.
Which made it highly likely they belonged to some other organization.
But which one?
Their purpose was obvious enough that there was no sense in dancing around it, so I asked outright.
"What sort of child do you need?"
"Same as always. One boy will do."
I turned the words over in my memory. The ones who took boys. And then it came to me.
The Ragrassa Family.
The outfit that was forever squabbling with the Castro Family. And men like that wanted a boy...
"When will you need him ready by?"
"We'll return in two days."
"He'll be ready by then."
With that, I rose from my seat, pulled the roster of children from the desk, and gave it a leisurely look-over. Casual as anything, I asked lightly:
"Where will you be taking him?"
It was a perfectly reasonable question. The man gave a faint smile at it.
"Well, that's unusual. You never seemed particularly curious before."
So she never used to ask at all, hmm.
"Oh, no particular reason. It just crossed my mind."
"Happens to everyone now and then. People aren't the same every day, are they?"
Meaning even this smiling snake of a man could change on a whim? A petty little threat, wrapped in a bow.
"Then when might we expect the payment?"
"Same as usual. Is there some urgency?"
Well, if I'm in a hurry, I'd appreciate you moving things along, wouldn't you?
"Yes. There's something I've been after, and a listing just happened to come on the market."
"In that case, I'll pay you when we collect the child this time."
"I'd be much obliged."
The man drained his cold tea in one gulp.
"That's everything, so I'll be going."
"Right away, I see."
"Yes, I have a schedule to keep."
I rose and saw the three men out. Once they were gone, I stood for a long while staring at the closed door.
"Director?"
A voice came suddenly from behind me.
Good grief, that startled me.
I turned around to find Rina standing there, bright-eyed and a little dim as always.
"Did the men leave?"
"They did indeed."
"When are they coming back?"
Rina asked it with a oddly deflated look about her.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, it's just..."
I gently stroked the head of Rina, who was fidgeting and hemming, and spoke calmly.
"It's all right. You can tell me."
"But... every time those men come, one of my friends goes away and never comes back."
That was probably true. Katejina would have handed the children over without a second thought.
"That won't be happening anymore."
"Really?"
"Really! The Director gave them a good talking-to."
Rina let out a whoop of joy and jumped in the air. I couldn't help but smile at the sight of her.
"Rina, what shall we do for fun now?"
"Will you play with me, Director?"
I nodded. Rina pondered for a moment, then said:
"A hero story! Rina loves hero stories. Read me one!"
How I loathe hero stories. But a promise is a promise—I couldn't exactly back out now.
Wait. Since when can Rina read?
"Rina, this time the Director will tell you a hero story of his own. How about that?"
"Ooh, that's good too!"
"But you can't read yet, can you?"
"Shakti unnie taught me a little. But I can't read very much."
Shakti was the second-oldest of the children, after Opindel. Where Opindel merely kept his distance from me, Shakti made no effort to hide her dislike. That girl looked to have an even harder road ahead of her than he did.
Even as I braced myself for the trouble to come, I refined in my head a brand-new 'hero story' to tell Rina.
That was when I noticed the other children peeking out from behind the door of the room, nothing but their heads showing.
Katz, Retz, and Kika. All younger than Rina. They stared fixedly at the pair of us.
"Would you like to listen too?"
At my words, they glanced at one another, then cautiously edged closer.
"Come on, let's sit at the table and have some bread while we listen."
I baked a light batch of bread and spread it with butter and jam, portioned it out onto plates, and handed one to each of the children.
"Now then..."
Just as I was about to begin the story, I caught sight of Shakti climbing the stairs. Her eyes met mine.
"Won't you come listen with us?"
When I asked with a smile, she scrunched up her face and whipped her head away.
"No thanks."
And with that she went up. The stairs creaked and groaned precariously under her. I really must get those fixed.
I needed to find a contractor quickly and call them in before one of the children got hurt. Because if a child got hurt, the hospital bill would be far more frightening than any wobbly banister.
My mental schedule shuffled its priorities.
But for now, telling the children a story was what mattered. I'd make them remember my freshly adapted version in place of the hero stories I so despised.
"Director."
Katz cut me off just as I was about to begin. Having called out to me, the boy now fidgeted in place like a puppy that badly needed to go outside.
I asked carefully, so as not to frighten him.
"What is it?"
At my question, Katz squirmed a moment longer, then spoke.
"I'm thirsty."
"Oh—just a moment."
I took a drink the children would like out of the icebox. A little fruit concentrate, heaps of sugar—an awful, unhealthy sort of juice. Still, the children liked this kind far better.
I fetched the cups and poured one for each of them. Their mouths must have gone dry from the bread, because they gulped the drink down at once.
Watching them, I began.
"Once upon a time, there lived a very kind boy."
Hoping, at least, that they would enjoy it.
Two days later, the men arrived as promised. And the moment they arrived, something struck them as strange.
"Hm. Is something being repaired?"
There were workmen swarming all over the orphanage roof, hammering away at something with great industry. The sight was unfamiliar enough that the balding man stroked his chin.
"She never bothered before."
"I suppose it had simply fallen apart too badly."
The quiet one at the back answered in a murmur.
"Is that so?"
The balding man mulled it over a moment longer, then gave a light shake of his head. The men made for the door and were about to knock on the knocker as they always did—
when the door swung open first and a boy came bounding out. The boy tilted his head at the men standing on the doorstep.
"Oh—who are you?"
"There, child, would you fetch the Director for us?"
As the man with the vacant brow said this, the boy seemed to consider something—then let out a cry of delight.
"Are you the men the Director talked about?"
"The Director talked about us?"
The boy said it with a beaming smile.
"The Director said, if a bald-headed mister shows up, go along with him."
Bald-headed.
At those words, a hairline crack appeared in the smiling face of the man whose head was, in fact, thinning badly. But he quickly smoothed it over and addressed the boy.
"Then you must be the child we arranged for. Is the Director inside?"
"She said if they come while she's out somewhere, go with them without a word."
"And did she say when she'd be back?"
The boy shook his head.
The man with the ample forehead let out a small sigh and fell deep into thought.
"Goodness me. People really will start doing things they've never done before."
The man pointed up at the workers on the roof.
"And what is all that about?"
"The Director says the place is so run-down it's unlivable, so she's having it ripped out and fixed up top to bottom."
"Funny. She was saying she needed money in a hurry, and here she is spending it on something else entirely."
So saying, the man glanced back at his two quiet companions. One of them gave a nod; the other said nothing at all.
"Ah, whatever. As long as we collect the goods, the rest is no business of ours. The payment... we'll just have to give it next time, won't we."
The broad-browed man pressed his homburg down even deeper, as if to cover it all up. Not that this made the baldness any less real, or hid his own shortcoming in the slightest.
In any case, the man crouched down to bring his eyes level with the boy's. Then, wearing the same faint, practiced smile as always, he asked:
"What's your name, little one?"
The boy answered with a grin.
"I'm Bill!"
"Bill, is it. Well then, shall we be off?"
The man held out a hand to 'him.' The wrinkled palm carried a curious smell of gunpowder. And 'he' took that hand without a moment's hesitation, and set off down the road.