Mr. Brescher sat at the desk in his round office, idly tapping the lead of a pencil against the surface of his glass eye. It was a habit he'd picked up some time ago and then kept up when he realized that it disconcerted people because of how unnatural it looked. When someone knocked at his door a moment later, however, he put the pencil down and laced his fingers together on the surface of the desk. Some things were best left to professionalism. "Come in."
Deke, the tousle-headed sensei from the dojo, entered the office and closed the door behind him.
"Good morning, Mr. Pokorny ," Brescher greeted the sensei, his voice low and solemn, and, as always, faintly tinged with something that sounded suspiciously like annoyance. It could almost have been believed that Brescher disliked having to see the sensei, though their meetings were far from frequent.
Deke wasn't too concerned, however. He'd never really been very fond of Mr. Brescher, either, and it was always a pain to have to travel up to the Gold Saucer to meet with him.
"Good morning, sir," he replied cheerily, showing the toothy smile he used to cover up those unpleasant feelings he had toward most of mankind, and especially his employer. "It's nice to see you again."
Brescher managed to keep from rolling his eye. "How is the dojo doing?" he asked gruffly.
Deke gave a thoughtful frown. "All right. Not as well as in Neo-Midgar, of course, but well enough for a town this size. We're getting more members every week."
Brescher smiled slightly. At least Deke's arrival had heralded some good news. "Are any of them any good?" he wondered, a little less brusquely.
The sensei pursed thin lips, sucking in already shallow cheeks. "Some of them seem to have potential. A number of the older boys aren't doing too badly, and a girl who came in today caught on surprisingly quickly. I think we might be able to recruit a dozen from this group, and possibly others if our popularity continues."
Brescher nodded. "Good. Then I'll make a point of visiting the dojo this week."
Deke's wide, insincere smile returned. "Wonderful. I'm sure we'll be delighted to have you in our midst."
"I'm sure you will," Brescher replied, his mood substantially affected by the idea of new, young recruits who could be trained to replace the men he'd lost to the police. Lost because, even were he to get them out of jail, which he wasn't going to do, he wouldn't take them back. Not after their faces had been revealed. He also made a point of not hiring people over eighteen unless they could prove they didn't have criminal records. He didn't take chances with this sort of thing, and he attributed remaining undetected in Neo-Midgar for nearly eight years to his diligent caution. Deke shuffled by the door and Brescher's eyes were attracted to him. His mood quickly darkened. "You're dismissed, Mr. Pokorny. Be prepared for my visit sometime this week."
"Yes, sir." The sensei bowed out of the doorway and was gone.
Brescher sat back in his chair and picked up the pencil he'd laid on his desk earlier. Almost without a thought, he began to tap it rhythmically against his glass eye. He was beginning to think that maybe he should've started in a small town in the first place. There was a greater potential for recruits and it was easier to pull the strings of the police. He smiled to himself. He had North Corel in the palm of his hand, and if it had taken Neo-Midgar eight years to shake him off, this much smaller town would never even get the chance.
Elira sat up in bed with an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach and the vague suspicion that something had awakened her.
Seconds later, she was up and running for the bathroom.
Pegatha awoke and wandered down the hall, yawning and rubbing sleepily at her eyes. At the bathroom door, she turned, but then stopped in her tracks as she heard the unpleasant sound of her mother vomiting.
"Mom, are you okay?" she asked, venturing another cautious step forward.
Elira coughed a couple of times before raising her head and wiping her mouth on a tissue. "I'm fine, honey. I've just got the flu. Hopefully it won't last long and I won't give it to anybody." She took a breath and flushed the toilet before pushing herself to her feet with a groan. "I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No. I woke up on my own."
"Good." Elira stepped up to the mirror and ruffled her messy hair, trying to reorder her curls. "That means your father's probably still asleep."
Pegatha moved into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. "When did he come home last night?"
Elira shrugged. "I'm not sure. But he'll likely appreciate being allowed to sleep in. Or at least his body will." She reached for her toothbrush and the toothpaste. "When he wakes up he'll probably come down to the shop to work, anyway."
Pegatha paused in the act of lifting the toilet lid, surprised. "You mean, you're going to open the shop today while your sick?"
"Well, somebody has to," Elira explained around the toothbrush.
"Can't you ask Kade to do it when he arrives?"
Elira didn't answer right away "I suppose I could," she said eventually. She spat into the sink and wiped her mouth, and then stood staring at her reflection for a thoughtful second. When she turned, it was to look directly at her daughter. "Pegatha," she began, her voice low and solemn in the way that meant what she was going to say was very important. "I don't want you to tell your father that I'm sick, okay?"
Pegatha frowned. "Why not?"
Elira sighed and glanced back at the mirror. "I don't want to worry him. He has enough to worry about right now." She paused, ruffling her hair again. "Besides, if he knows, or even suspects, that something's wrong with me, he'll probably stop working for..." She caught herself. "...at his other job and come back to the shop."
Pegatha's frown deepened. "Don't you want that?" She knew she did. There was not much she wanted more than to have her father back where she believed he belonged: down in the forge or in their apartment.
Again, Elira didn't reply immediately. "I do want that," she answered finally, "but your father's helping people where he's working, and that's more important right now than what I want."
Pegatha was confused. If it were up to her, she wouldn't let him go again, ever. But maybe, she figured a moment later, this was like the situation with Arick. She wished that he lived closer, like in his own house across the tracks, but she was also glad that he'd moved out and into the dojo because it meant he wouldn't be fighting with his mother anymore. She wanted both things at once. Maybe her mother wanted both things for her father in the same way.
Elira gave up on her hair and moved toward the door. "I'll give you some privacy, Peg, while I go prepare some breakfast."
Pegatha felt the immediate need to object. "Wait, Mom, I can fix my own breakfast since you're not feeling well."
"No, that's all right," her mother said from the doorway. "I'm actually feeling sort of hungry now." She closed the door behind her and headed off down the hall.
A few minutes later, a washed and dressed Pegatha joined Elira in the kitchen, carrying her backpack. Breakfast usually consisted of cereal and toast, but today they had pancakes and Pegatha was surprised by how many her mother ate. It was hard to believe she'd just seen her throwing up.
However, she didn't dwell on this for long. By the time she'd taken off for school, her thoughts were on her father and how this had been the first day she could remember where she hadn't seen him at least once before heading out the door in the morning. It didn't seem right, and it made her upset to think that, by the time she returned from the dojo that evening (she'd all but promised herself to go every day to make sure Arick was all right) he would probably be gone again.
As usually happened every year, once the hunting season had been underway for a couple of weeks, the warmer season finally stopped hovering at the edge of everyone's notice and swept in enthusiastically, bruising all of the buds into blossoms and ridding the ground everywhere of the last vestiges of the colder months. This year, however, something was different. Instead of bringing people out of their homes to enjoy the nice weather, the change seemed to go by relatively unheeded by the inhabitants of North Corel. Everyone continued to stay inside, closing themselves off from the dark cloud of fear and oppression that was resting heavier on the town every week, more threatening to them than any snowstorm they might've weathered during the previous months.
But Vincent was not discouraged. A little bit of delving let him know where the man he'd seen the previous evening had his weapons shop and, within the hour, he was walking through the front door of a well-situated and obviously prosperous business; it really was no surprise it had been targeted for the protection racket. A young man, Mr. Harrow's son by the looks of it, glanced up as Vincent entered and gave a shallow, tired-looking smile in greeting.
"Good afternoon, how can I help you?"
Vincent approached the desk. "I'm looking for the man who owns this shop, Mr. Harrows."
The young man stiffened, his expression suddenly tense. "Why?" he asked, making no effort to hide his angry distrust. "If you're from that corporation, there's nothing more we can do for a few days at least..."
Vincent held up a placating hand. "I am not from the corporation. Please, may I speak with Mr. Harrows."
The young man seemed ready to insist that Vincent leave, but after a moment of scrutinizing him he finally stood from behind the desk. "I'll go get him," he said quietly. "Please, wait here."
Vincent passed the few minutes he spent waiting in glancing around the shop's front room. It was fairly large, but tidy and tactfully decorated with examples of their weapons displayed on the walls along with some meticulously detailed drawings of guns they didn't make often but were capable of creating. One such drawing looked enough like the Death Penalty to earn Vincent's close examination until the sound of approaching footsteps pulled him away.
Mr. Harrows looked much like he had the previous evening, dressed as he was in casual clothing and wearing a worried expression with his hands clasped in front of him as if prepared for wringing. Vincent did his best to appear non-threatening, but the man in front of him seemed predisposed toward fearing and suspecting him.
"I'm Arnold Harrows. How can I help you?" Mr. Harrows asked, glancing around the room as if expecting to see one or two other men backing Vincent up.
"Mr. Harrows, I have something private to speak to you about."
Vincent realized that he'd said the wrong thing as soon as Harrows began wringing his hands. Quickly, he amended, "But we need not go anywhere private to speak about it if you prefer."
Mr. Harrows seemed to relax. "All right. What can I do for you? My son said you weren't...that you told him you hadn't come from the...corporation." The man's voice went up at the end of the sentence, making it a question.
Vincent nodded. "I am not from the corporation, but I did witness something that transpired last night between you and a man I believe was affiliated with this corporation."
Mr. Harrows' face paled. "You...you did?"
Vincent nodded again. "I would like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind."
Mr. Harrows licked his lips. "Are you with the police?" he asked quietly.
"No," Vincent answered. "I own a gun shop here in North Corel. I want to talk to you because I'm also personally interested in these robberies; a couple of weeks ago, my shop was the target of an attempted robbery."
Harrows eyes widened suddenly. "An attempted robbery? I read about that in the paper. You're the owner of Valentine's Weaponry Station?"
"Yes. And I'm hoping to be able to do something about this organization, or corporation, or whatever they call themselves. Do you know much about them?"
Mr. Harrows frowned momentarily. "No, not really, besides that they're very interested in assault rifles. A few weeks ago, my store was robbed, and then about a week after that some men came in offering me protection if I would make them some guns they wanted. I didn't want to give in to them, but what else could I do? I'd rather drop off the merchandise than have it violently stolen from me again and again." He chuckled without humour, running a hand over his face. "It was frightening enough the first time."
Vincent pursed his lips. "Did you report this to the police?"
Harrows shrugged. "What for? I'm sure they've been getting a steady stream since these robberies started, and if they haven't been able to do anything so far, what's supposed to make me believe they're going to be able to help me? No, it's safer just to give in to these men. And it's not like it's a huge chunk out of my revenues compared to what I'm saving myself, and my son, from seeing every week."
Vincent nodded. "I understand. However, if I were to suggest a way to stop this organization, would you be interested in helping me?"
Mr. Harrows cocked his head and stared at Vincent out of the corner of his eye as if not sure he'd heard right. "Helping you? How?" he asked.
"By letting me follow you to the drop-off site; from there I can follow them back to their place of origin."
The other man took a step backward, his mouth falling open in shock. "What? I...I don't know about that. What if they found out? My shop, my family... I have a wife and two young daughters at home right now. I...I couldn't risk it." He shook his head quickly as if trying to rid himself of some unpleasant and frightening images. After a moment, he continued, "Don't get me wrong, I want this corporation gone as much as the next man, but I have a family to think of. If it were just me, maybe I'd be more inclined to help you, but as it is..." He shrugged. "I can't. I'm sorry. Please...please find someone else."
Vincent hesitated for a moment before finally nodding. "All right. Thank you for your time." He made as if to leave, but about a foot from the door he turned around. "Mr. Harrows?"
Harrows glanced over his shoulder from the doorway of what looked to be a storage area. "Yes?" There was a little apprehension in his voice as if he suspected he was about to be asked to help with another disturbing task.
"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell anyone about me or what we spoke of. I want to remain a secret from the organization as long as possible." He paused for a moment. "I also have a wife and daughter at home."
Mr. Harrows nodded, slowly at first and then with growing resolve. "I won't tell anyone." He opened his mouth as if to continue, but then seemed to think better of it. He was turning away again when he stopped and added, "You do realize that you're putting your family at risk by doing this, don't you?"
Vincent halted with his hand on the door. "I consider that I would be risking them by doing nothing," he replied. "Until this organization has been stopped, I can't see how anyone is not at risk." He hesitated for a second, but when it became clear that Mr. Harrows wasn't going to say anything he merely nodded and left the store.
Mr. Harrows remained where he was until his son came looking for him. "Dad?" he said, poking his head through the doorway.
Mr. Harrows turned around, startled. "Oh, Robbie! What is it?"
Robbie frowned in a little concern and glanced around the front room. "Did that man leave? What did he want?"
Mr. Harrows stuttered for a moment before muttering, "Nothing, nothing important. How's that order coming?"
"Oh, great," Robbie replied. "Almost done. They'll definitely be ready for the drop-off. No worries this time."
For the first time in weeks, since the robberies had started, Arnold Harrows took a good look at his son and was alarmed to see some of the fear he saw in the mirror every morning looking back at him from that usually cheerful, optimistic expression. "Robbie," he began, taking his son's shoulders in his hands and gazing sincerely into his eyes, "how do you feel about making these drop-offs?"
His son backed up a little with a nervous laugh. "What do you mean how do I feel about it? I don't think that matters much at this point. There's nothing else we can do, right?" He glanced at his father in bemused concern for a moment before heading back through the doorway.
Mr. Harrows sat himself down slowly at the stool behind the desk, staring blankly out of his front window as he reviewed things in his mind. For the last few weeks, he'd been thinking that he was doing everything he could in the best interests of his family, but now, against the better part of his reason, he found himself wondering if he was really doing the best thing. His common sense told him he was, but a part he was starting to suspect he'd been repressing was telling him that his visitor had been right, that he was just delaying the inevitable. Because, wasn't he effectively feeding the corporation by giving in to them? And they would just get bigger, and more powerful, and more dangerous until no one was safe, not even...
He swallowed with difficulty. Not even his innocent family.
But what could he do? He was risking them either way. With a defeated sob of frustration, he ran his fingers through what was left of his hair and lay his head on the desk. A rock and a hard place and goddammit what was he supposed to do?
How was anyone supposed to fight against a group that had been so aptly named the 'Phantom Gang'?
Pegatha spent the afternoon once school was over at the dojo. At first, there was a little unease between Arick and herself as they began to practice together (the previous day's incident was still fresh in their minds), but that soon dissipated as they started to enjoy themselves. Before they knew it, it was four thirty and time for her to head home. As before, Arick walked her back and they talked and laughed like they hadn't for a couple of days. It made Pegatha feel better to see the positive effect the dojo seemed to be having on him.
When she entered the shop after waving farewell to Arick, she was surprised by the bright smile on her mother's face as she greeted her. "Hi Peg, how was school today?"
Pegatha couldn't help but smile back; she was already in a good mood and it only improved it to see that her mother was probably going to be less tired and grumpy than last night. "Fine. And I went with Arick to that dojo again."
Her mother nodded. "How was that?"
"Great, we did a lot of cool things. Yesterday and today we were learning how to get out of an armhold."
Elira raised her eyebrows. "Sounds...like an important thing to learn."
Pegatha huffed a little, not really upset at her mother for her comment but feeling the need to justify herself. "It is an important thing if you're ever in an armhold."
Elira glanced down at the papers in front of her to hide her grin. "If you say so."
Pegatha stuck her tongue out at her mother and headed into the forge. A moment later, she knew what was the cause of her mother's good mood.
Her father was home.
He was seated at his regular table, working on what could only have been a specifically ordered shotgun. Pegatha ran up to him excitedly, accidentally bumping the table in her haste and effectively disturbing him and the other employees from their work. "Dad! You're home!" she fairly shouted, though her voice was still partially drowned out by the droning of the lathe.
Vincent glanced up with a half-smile at her enthusiasm, moving to grab the pieces he'd been engrossed in polishing before they rolled off the table. "Yes, I'm home," he replied, picking up the cloth to continue with his task.
Pegatha wasn't put out when her father didn't say anything more, preferring instead to keep working. Sometimes he was thinking while he worked, and she knew from experience that when this happened it was more than difficult to draw his attention to anything else. Her grin remained as she walked to the back of the forge and up the stairs to the apartment.
She didn't have much homework; the only thing that required a lot of attention was a project for science. She sat staring at the page and chewing on a pencil for a few minutes until it came to her: now that her Dad was home, he could help her. It wasn't due for a week, but if she got it done tonight then she wouldn't have it hanging over her head. And besides, who knew when her father might have another night off? Quickly, she sketched out an idea that he might be able to help her build (with a little help from the lathe) and then moved on to finish the rest of her homework so that she'd have the evening free.
A few minutes after six, her parents came up to the apartment, talking quietly together. Pegatha watched silently from the mouth of the hallway as her mother sighed and nodded wordlessly before walking into the kitchen. Her father stood looking after her as if she'd left in the middle of the conversation, but as Pegatha moved into the front room his attention moved to her.
"Yes, Pegatha?" he asked, closing the door quietly behind him.
Pegatha produced the paper from behind her back and held it up to show him. "Dad, I've got this science project. It's not due for a week, but I was wondering if you could help me with it tonight?" She smiled engagingly up at him.
Vincent pursed his lips. "I'm sorry, not tonight. I have to work."
Pegatha opened her mouth to protest, but for a moment nothing came out. Finally, she stopped wagging her jaw and said, "What do you mean? You mean, you're not home tonight? Even for supper?"
Her father sighed and shook his head.
Pegatha frowned in confusion and disappointment. "Well..." She fumbled to a halt, glancing around helplessly as if looking for an excuse to keep him. "Well, can't you tell them you can't work tonight? That you have to help your daughter with her homework?" When it looked like he was just going to shake his head again, Pegatha continued hastily, "I mean, I know that your job, whatever it is, is important, but isn't this..." She gestured to the page in her hand. "Aren't I...important, too?"
Her father seemed to freeze, his eyes filling with something she couldn't name as he stared at her silently. A little afraid that she'd angered him, or perhaps hurt his feelings if that were possible, Pegatha shifted her weight carefully from one foot to the other. "Dad?"
Vincent blinked quickly and seemed to come back to himself. "No, I'm sorry Pegatha. Not tonight," he apologized again, though he was looking at the floor as he spoke. "Perhaps your mother will be able to help you with your project."
Pegatha grimaced. "But I want you to help me," she said, not caring that she sounded like she was whining. "Mom doesn't know as much about this kind of stuff as you do. She can't help me and give me ideas. And plus..." She rolled her eyes. "...she's been so grumpy and sick lately that she probably wouldn't want to anyway..."
Her father was suddenly alert and only then did Pegatha put her hand to her mouth in the realization that she'd just said something she'd told her mother she wouldn't say.
"Your mother's sick?" Vincent asked pointedly.
Pegatha gritted her teeth, knowing she wasn't going to get out of this one. "Yes," she answered as if it wasn't a big deal, "but it's not like she's dying. She's just..." Her father was staring at her intently. She shrugged lamely as she continued, "throwing up a little this morning, and last night she was tired and I think she had a headache."
Before she could say anymore, her father was off to find her mother and she was left staring after him.
Elira was busy putting the finishing touches on the supper for two she'd prepared on the lunch break when Vincent strode into the room. She'd barely finished glancing at him before he was at her elbow, in a position that demanded her attention. She met his eyes and was a little surprised to the concern and anger in them.
"You're sick?" he asked her directly.
Elira sighed, a tired and defeated sound. What was it about their daughter that made it so hard for her to keep simple secrets? "It's not serious," she began to explain, turning back to the dinner. "Just a stomach flu, and I'm sure it'll be gone in a couple of days. Nothing to worry about."
"You shouldn't be working while you're sick, Elira."
"Well, I don't have much of a choice," she replied, a tad harsher than she'd intended she realized as Vincent stiffened beside her. She was about to apologize for her tone when Vincent offered, a little brusquely, "You could let Kade run the store for a few days until you are well."
Elira put the dinner in the oven to let it heat up and then stood again. "Look, Vincent," she addressed him, "don't worry about this. You've got your own things to worry about right now, and Peg and I have been doing fine so far without you..." She winced as Vincent's eyes widened a fraction. "That's not what I meant," she corrected quickly. "I just mean that we're doing all right on our own for right now and...oh, just go Vincent, before I say something else stupid that I'll regret later." She waved her hands dismissively and turned back to the oven. "I'll see you in the morning when you wake up." She didn't look at him again, but there was still a few moments of hesitation before Vincent pivoted on his heel and left the apartment. It wasn't until the door had closed behind him that Elira gave in to her weary frustration and ran a hand over her face, massaging one temple as a twinge of headache surfaced.
When supper was ready, Elira found Pegatha in her room.
"Peg, it's time to eat," she said quietly, opening the door a crack. Pegatha was lying on her bed with a stuffed bear held tightly in her arms, her face scrunched up with angry tears she was holding back.
"I don't feel like eating right now," she reported thickly and rolled onto her side to face the wall.
Elira ventured a step into the room. "What's wrong?" she asked.
There was a pause. "Dad usually helps me with my science projects, but not this time because he's working," she said, her voice muffled by the toy.
Elira sighed. "Honey, he has to do this. You know that he..."
"I know, I know, I know!" Pegatha exclaimed in agitation, surging upward on her bed and tossing the bear to the floor. "You don't have to tell me again. I know already."
Elira felt a spark of anger at her daughter's outburst, but she repressed it, knowing it wouldn't do any good to get mad here when she, like Pegatha, was also upset at the situation. "Well then, I'll leave you to yourself until you feel like eating. Supper's on the table." And then she withdrew.
She ate alone that night. When eight o'clock had rolled around and there was still no sign of Pegatha, Elira left her room where she'd been resting and went to check on her.
The room was empty. Elira was just beginning to panic a little when she noticed the note on the dresser, one corner tucked under her daughter's music box.
Mom,
I've got to get out for awhile. I've gone to sleep over at a friend's house. I'll be back later.
Pegatha
Elira stood gaping at the note for a few seconds as she realized that her daughter must've slipped out while she'd been lying down. This was the first time Pegatha had ever done anything like this. She'd run away. Been forced away by the pressure in their apartment that had been waiting to pop.
And Elira couldn't believe it. For the first time since all of this had begun, she let herself cry.