Despite his dripping fringe of fine blond locks, slicked back and disheveled into an almost careless bun, which most certainly blocked his view, the little boy continued to waddle from puddle to puddle with the same velocity, in a coherent, elegant ballet. His white boots were stained with the yellows and traces of dog piss and other disgusting filth that plagued Windrop's sewers, but he seemed to love it; smiling wider and shouting with his arms raised in victory every time his heel hit the splash of the puddles. Him, with his little blue backpack and his visibly faded, holey Power Rangers T-shirt... He really didn't seem bothered by his pale skin, which was turning gray under the increasingly heavy raindrops. Perhaps he was a lost child, hastily searching for his parents, but eventually distracted by the puddles? Or maybe he was a crazy little mischief-maker who'd escaped from an orphanage after years of being treated so badly, he'd taken advantage of the inattention of the nuns embittered towards other women for their choices never to take big dicks and bored with singing alleluia morning, noon and night ; and the grumpy janitor, a little too arrogant _you'd think he was mounting the presidential guard _for such a lousy job; and finally squeezed through the iron bars of the tiny tunnel next to the ruined chapel he'd been watching for months. Or... Or even better! Maybe it was a child with supernatural gifts that only awakened in the rain; maybe it wasn't even a child at all, but rather some kind of dark genie who stole the appearance of a child to carry out his mission to destroy some poor soul on this so monotonous Wednesday... Well, these may sound like good guesses for a science fiction book, but it wasn't the case, well not really.
Behind the child, perhaps beside him, just a few centimeters away _depending on where you fucking happen to be watching them_ stood a man, nothing exceptional in his appearance other than his tall height, who had given up trying to hold the little boy in place. What was moronic, however, was that the man had an open umbrella in his hand, pitching on the sidewalk as he soaked in the fury of the rain, his son dancing in the sewers of Windrop, even if it meant letting the toddler catch a nasty flu. I'd have slapped him across the face to set him straight, cause: child neglect...
But - but... I - I don't know... the more I paid attention to the man's posture, the more I realized that maybe he wasn't so stupid after all, but emotionally distressed? I don't know but... He had his phone clutched to his ear, his gestures becoming so lively that he was starting to pull at his brown hair. Maybe he was arguing with someone on the other end of the line? I don't know... He was starting to pace back and forth, the long-forgotten umbrella tapping his feet briskly in the puddles, his fists so clenched and the veins clashing on the lines of his forehead, his whole outfit soaked... He now had his hands over his mouth... No, I think he's biting his nails instead? I don't know, I couldn't see any more than that... The lenses of his glasses were blurring, maybe because of the rain or maybe he was crying? I don't know, it was hard to be sure from where I was standing.... As in a horrible send-up at the movies, he had collapsed, knees on the ground, all the documents in his bag slung over his shoulder seeking refuge beneath the swamps of garbage the rain had gathered, he held his head and repeatedly banged his fists against the ground, then against his own face, alternately.
BONG! BONG! BONG! I guess that must be the noise reverberating in the ears of other pedestrians as he tries to smash all the fragments of his existence against the hard concrete of the sidewalk... Ouh!!!! It must hurt like hell... and the child who was getting energized by the thunderbolts had stopped immediately. He hardly moved at all, except for the rise and fall of his chest, testifying that he was at least still alive. People hurrying between cabs cast lazily worried glances at the scene of the man slumped on the sidewalk, but nothing more. He was like an accident one contemplates for show and then goes off to tell a best friend, sipping tea. But no one would ever come to his aid anyway because this was Windrop, and everything had to be perfect. The motto in this town is perfection. No one ever gets in trouble in Windrop, there's no suffering, no robberies, no murders... No murders... And if anyone happen to witness such disasters, you're required to keep your mouth shut. Just shut the fuck up; or go tell your best friend about it, in-between tea sipping. Windrop is perfection and anyone who strays from this ideal is banished, because the motto is perfection and the code? No harm, no foul. Just shut up!51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxslV1gPSLC
I look one last time. The man had now raised his head, perhaps seeking grace or some sign of mercy on his behalf... His face was beaten with terror... I look, he looks. Up there he looks, I look. Down below I look, and he still looks... Until in his pleading for divine intervention and my messy loneliness, our lamented eyes meet...
I panic away from the large bay window that separates my office from Windrop's incongruous mirage. I... I think... No, nothing! I'm stressing over nothing! My hands start to sweat profusely. I rub them against my jacket. SHIT! THIS JACKET FUCKING COST ME 25,000! I... I have to do something else. Do you think he saw me? No, no... He didn't see me! You're such a dumbass! He must be lost in his misery. I'm tempted to go back to the glass, but I stay put. If he saw me, he must surely think I'm just another rich guy taunting his pain. NO, NO, NO, Oh my God... I'm not like that... I'm... WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER? Arghhhh!!! I'M SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS!
I try to keep myself busy. On the big solid glass table that serves as my desk, adorned with little gold garlands, is scattered an avalanche of files that I'm supposed to check over before tomorrow. Uggggh! I thought I would have a pretty relaxed day when Monica told me Sir Thomas was unavailable... Uggggh, I was oh so fucking wrong! He'd sent me his assistant, Zheng, so that together we could do the job I was supposed to be doing with him. Zheng... well, at least he kept his real name, because being called Thomas when you've got such constricted features, faint lips and eyes as narrow as the eye of a needle isn't very... very usual. I start laughing; OH MY GOD, if I were to say this nonsense openly, I'd already be taking a lot of shit for racism. On the one hand, I understand. I really do. In his day, hoping to climb the social ladder with a name like his _ to be honest, I never knew what his real name was, the man never told me either despite my constant insistence. All I heard was that it was so terrible to pronounce that everyone nicknamed him in their own way_ here in Windrop, it must have been no mean feat. Maybe he took the name Thomas because it seemed closest to his real name? Maybe it was. What's certain is that it's Windrop-like, and that's what earned him his place in the company's esteemed ranks. Mr Thomas was the current Managing Director of TREIZE CACAO. I used to be, of course I used to be... My father left me the whole company as a legacy. He's not dead. AND THANK GOD, because I don't think I have the heart to endure another loved one’s death in my life. My father had just retired from life, as he had explained to us. He'd woken up one morning and was fed up with everything, fed up with his company, which he loved more than anything, much more than my mother and I_ Although he'd hoped us to believe otherwise_, which he'd created himself from his own funds _ well, it couldn't have been that difficult to raise the money since he came from a line of billionaires_ because of his obsession with chocolate. He wanted to create his own chocolate brand, and he did. The entire town of Windrop consumes only the products of TREIZE CACAO and the neighboring towns are crazy about our products. He had increased his wealth, but he said he couldn't enjoy it freely, I don't know why he said that, and he was sick of feeling like a slave. He was fed up with everything, with his business, with the endless orders and mood swings from my mother_ who had cried so much since he left, but I think she'd finally gotten used to it. To be honest, I'd run away too if I had a companion as annoying as she was_ and maybe, just maybe, he was sick of me too. For whatever reason, maybe he felt trapped in his role as a father? I don't blame him either way. He's just gone… to a place neither my mother nor I know, and he's begged us not to look for him. All we know is that he's fine. Before he left, he made sure that I was at my most comfortable financially, or maybe he was afraid that his true love TREIZE CACAO would go bankrupt, so he put me in charge. It couldn't be that hard to run a company, especially as I'd studied at one of the country's top universities for my degree in business units’ management and international business... How wrong I was! Barely three months at the head of the company and I was losing miserably. It wasn't just my talents and my diplomas that counted, there were people working in the factory to feed their families, lives, stories... And I didn't know how to deal with that. I had anxiety attacks every time I had to train them in teams, I didn't know how to settle their arguments _ these grown ass people were ALWAYS fighting in the factory too_, I had to take care of the seriously injured due to factory work, raise funds to support those who unfortunately died, consider their complaints for higher wages, manage strikes... I was fed up, I was at my wits' end because I didn't know how to do all that. I barely lived with people growing up, and who can I thank for that? Whitney Annabelle Treize, my mother.
So I resigned, and with the agreement of the board of directors, I took a job as a financial consultant. Mr. Thomas was the most qualified person to run this company, and that's what he's doing, very well indeed. However, in a silent agreement, I remain the sole master of this company in the shadows. All strategic decisions require my approval, and the actio-...
"Sir Treize, there's someone important waiting for you downstairs."
"Who is it?"
"He claims to be your long-time friend... no actually I think... he simply told me to introduce him to you as his attor-..."
"EEEEHHHH MY BRO!"
Allan passed the frame of my office, disconcerting my poor secretary who had never seen this mullet-headed man before. Before I knew it, I was doomed between his arms in a too-rough embrace.
"OH MY GOD! Sir Treize, I'm - I'm so sorry! Oh my God, I'm running to call security!"
"What's with this one? Is she new around here?"
"Wha... What?"
I sigh so hard. What a dimwitted asshole this guy is.
"Monica, please don't do anything of the sort. I know that man_ I leer at the man who was now looking for a beer in the little bar I've set up around the corner of my office_ he's my attorney. Thank you for your service. Please return to your post."
"Oh... No problem sir, I'm still... I'm sorry"
"Who was she? Is she new around here?"
"Allan, for fuck’s sake! You're fucking thirty, act like it! Since when do you think it's reasonable to barge into an office at working hours without warning-..."
"Wow, wow, wow... Relax bro... Aren't you happy to see your best friend again after what already_ he pauses, resting his hand on his chin scratching his beard minutely as if thinking_ six months?"
"Exactly! Six fucking months! My best friend and supposed lawyer abandon me after the murder -..."
"Death Mason, it was an accident-..."
"IT WASN'T A GODDAMN ACCIDENT! I sigh again in frustration... Allan, what the hell are you doing here anyway? Why are you here?"
"I came back for you."
"After six months, Allan. You abandoned me six months ago, while I tried in vain to solve Ryan's case. You - you... you were on some island taking it easy with some random pussy ass whores when you're supposed to be by my side because you're my damn lawyer and my supposed best friend! What do you expect me to do, kiss you or give you a round of applause? Because woah _ I'm starting to applaud_ you deserve the award for best friend and best lawyer ever! Fuck you asshole!"
"Listen Mase_ he sighs deeply, I hope he regrets, bastard_ we're not going to discuss that here-..."
"We're not going to discuss this anywhere else!"
"Not even at Bristo's? Not even... if... I offer you a French bread with shrimps? ..."
He was watching for my reaction. Oh the bastard! he had me fooled.
"Two loaves!"
"You got it!"
"Two loaves, a chocolate and vanilla pie and a half-skim coffee!"
"Boy, I didn't know you were that hungry! How many centuries has it been since you ate something?" He bursts out laughing.
"Shut up before I change my mind. Just shut up!"
***
It was 5:42pm. It was rush hour and people were starting to flock to the Bristo. Allan was right. I was so busy with this mountain of files, and the incident with the rain man and his son, that I hadn't noticed I was gargantuanly hungry. We were sitting on one of the comfortable sofas on the terrace, my gaze lost in the crowd of passers-by and the laughter that crowded the sumptuous café. My mouth full of pie, I was both contemplating the aftermath of the previous rain and just soaking up the scenery.
"So... _ I raise an eyebrow to question him_ who was that young lady earlier at your office?"
"Monica, Allan. That was Monica. My new secretary."
"Ah, I see..."
He sniffed his coffee, which he hadn't touched since we arrived, tapping the screen of his phone.
"I remind you that you're married, Allan. You'll never change, will you?"
"Soon a divorced man, soon a free man I'll be. As free as the wind."
He mimics the movements of the wind with his hand. I say nothing. Allan was always going from conquest to conquest, he was never going to change. I pity Ketty for letting herself be fooled by this specimen, poor thing. I'm sure he was screwing some other girl on their wedding night. That's Allan; so I wasn't going to waste my time trying to find out the cause of their divorce. It was simply obvious.
Neither of us was talking now. We pretended to be busy with something else.
"What about your kids? Moon and Vic, are they okay?"
"They're fine."
Nothing more.
"I've never seen that jacket before, wait it's a new one... And what's that stain-"
"Get your hand out of there, Allan."
"Aye, aye, Captain!"
"I intend to go back talk to officer Graine..."
I waited for a reaction from him, but he looked at me with mute eyes, a blasé posture. Ok.
"And if nothing happens, I'll go and see Detective Kendrick, he called me last time and told me I could trust him and that he-..."
"Mase...."
"He says he can help me Allan, he says he can help me! Someone has to, since y’all are playing blind!"
"Mase... I - I... There's nothing we can do! The court has already ruled the case as an acci-..."
"I forbid you to finish that word, I forbid you Allan! You were there that day! You were all there! You all saw, just like me, how his body was left on the street like rotten dog food... We all saw the bullets on his body, please don't talk to me about some frigging accident! Don't talk to me about accident!"
"Mase but-..."
"Mase, nothing Allan! Mase nothing! You're my lawyer and my best friend! You should help me! You know I'm telling the truth. Y’all are trying to make me think I've lost my mind, but you were there, you saw it! If the goddamn Windrop court ruled this as some goddamn accident case, we can take it to other jurisdictions!"
"You know there's nothing we can do... It's against Windrop’s laws."
"WINDROP'S LAWS? Are you fricking serious, Allan? THE LAWS OF WINDROP? WHAT GOOD IS YOUR FUCKING LAW DEGREE? WHY DID YOU PASS THE BAR IF YOU CAN'T EVEN SEEK JUSTICE WHEN THERE'S OBVIOUS NEGLIGENCE IN OUR JUSTICE SYSTEM? Are you talking to me about laws? LAWS? Here in Windrop, the only law that exists is the law of PRETENDING! I have to pretend that everything, ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING IS GOING WELL in my shitty life when I've lost my husband under inexplicable circumstances, WHICH WINDROP'S BITCH OF JUSTICE absolutely won't reopen the case because it could be a stain on its oh-so-prestigious privilege of being ‘the perfect town’. I have to pretend I'm okay when I barely sleep four hours a night, I have to take care of two kids who are just as disoriented, and I have to be strong and not cry for them when the only thing I feel like doing right now at this damn moment is breaking down in tears. YOU pretend your life is like a Hollywood James Bond like movie, yet you're the most miserable man I know, always sticking your dick in every pussy you see, you even broke the heart of the only woman who could ever love you, you piece of big shit! YOU pretend not to see that there's a case of murder for some fucking reason! Did they pay you? Are you getting paid to be such a mediocre lawyer? Y’ALL HERE IN THIS CAFÉ ARE PRETENDING TOO! You ma’am!… You're pretending to enjoy a conversation with this guy, when we can tell by the look on your face that you're struggling to cope with his awful ass breath! You're pretending too sir! When you're clearly distressed for some reason on your fucking phone. HECK! You all pretended not to see the unfortunate man this morning who was collapsing in the rain for some fucking reason! WE'RE ALL PRETENDING HERE! 'The city of perfection' PERFECTION MY ASS! GO FUCK YOURSELVES WITH YOUR FAKE SEMBLANTS; such a dystopian world!"
"Mason, calm down! ...Sit down, please."
"Oh fuck off Allan! You just don't understand... I'm begging you to help me! What else do I have to do? Get down on my knees, so there you go, HERE ALLAN, I'm on my knees, I'm just asking you to play your part for once and help me, even if not for myself... at least for my children, for Moon, for Vic!’’
A lady had entered the Bristo laughing with her little daughter, who was wearing a pretty yellow jumpsuit with her hair caught in pigtails by blue ribbons.
"Mommy, Mommy... Do you think - do you think Madame Charlotte will choose me to represent the school at the final recital competition?"
"Of course, my love, you were so magnificent! The best!"
Something wasn't quite right. Recital, recital, recital... The realization is as gut-wrenching as the day we had to bury Ryan. OH NO NO NO NO NO!
I glanced at the Italian marble clock that ruled the bowels of the Bristo. It was 6:39 p.m.
OH NO NO NO NO... It was the only thing I could repeat to myself. It hurt, it hurt like hell.
"MY GOD.... VIC!"
And I was running desperately through the streets of Windrop towards Vic's school.
ns 15.158.61.37da2
