Malcolm rapped quickly on the door with his knuckles and then turned to look around behind him through the shaded lenses of sunglasses as if expecting someone to have followed him. There was, of course, no one; not on this floor. This was Brescher's floor, and no one was here unless summoned.
"Come in, M."
Malcolm pushed the door open and halted in the doorway when he saw that Brescher was on the phone. Brescher waved him into the room as he spoke into the receiver. The conversation was heated, and when he put the phone down, Brescher immediately reached for a cigarrette and a lighter. In a moment, he was sitting back in his chair and puffing away at the nicotine stick.
"Ah, M."
"Sir."
"Finally someone with some brains." He pulled the glasses from his face and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I need to ask you something. How many men have you lost so far to the police?"
"Sixteen, sir."
Brescher glanced at him. "M, you can sit down. And you don't have to chirp 'Sir' after everything you say."
Malcolm didn't move to sit. He and Brescher had had this conversation before; Brescher was his employer and he would rather these transactions were done in a business-like manner. But Brescher seemed to have made it his goal to make him loosen up. Malcolm, however, had been in this game years before this particular employer had come along and wasn't about to change his modus operandi for anyone.
Brescher pursed his lips when he realized Malcolm wasn't going to sit, but dismissed it a moment later with wave of his hand, leaving a trail of smoke in the air. "Well, sixteen. Damn. But the next batch will be ready in a few weeks, two months at the latest." He seemed almost to be speaking to himself.
"They're young, sir."
Brescher glanced at him. "The younger, the better, M. And they'll be trained just like the last batch, unless your men are getting lax about the training."
"No, sir."
"Good. Now, about this 'man in black'." He paused to take another drag of the cigarrette. "Your men haven't been able to bring him down."
"No, sir."
"Why is that?"
"He's well trained, sir."
"Better trained than your men?"
Malcolm knew better than to try and answer. Brescher smiled smugly. "Well, I'm going to give you a little help. I've just contacted our friendly mole and asked him to do some digging. The police have to have some file on him. Then, I'll give you a name, hopefully, and the rest is up to you."
"Dead or alive, sir?"
"Your discretion, M. Dismissed."
Malcolm left the office, his lips pursed into a tight, thin line. He wouldn't have needed any help if Brescher hadn't been so cocky in the beginning, letting the men run amok as if they were invincible. Maybe North Corel wasn't Neo-Midgar, but that didn't mean it was a smart idea to let their guard down. "Idiot," he muttered under his breath as he made his way to the make-shift barracks to prepare his men. If only Racchus had lived through the police bust things wouldn't have deteriorated to this level, with the organization being run by an imbecile who was too easily drunk on control and power. They wouldn't be in this mess, and he wouldn't be cleaning it up. "Damn him, stupid bastard."
Fitzgerald met him in the hall when he ascended to the next floor, an unlit cigarrette hanging out of his mouth. "M, what's up?"
"We've been put on clean-up crew. Get everyone into the barracks."
Fitzgerald saluted sloppily and turned away, digging his silver lighter pistol out of a pocket and igniting the end of the barrel before holding it under his nose to light the cigarrette. In a moment, he was striding quickly away to gather the rest of the men. Malcolm continued on his way to the barracks, doing his best not to stalk angrily. Brescher was still in charge, and as long as that fact remained Malcolm would continue to serve him without verbal complaint to anyone. But a man like Brescher couldn't stay in power very long. Not that Malcolm wanted his position; far from it. He was what he was and there was no use trying to change that. But there was a kind of instability in Brescher -- not obvious, but still there, like a nearly invisible crack in a pane of glass -- and it wouldn't take much to break it loose. And when that inevitably happened, Malcolm was ready to have him overthrown for the good of the corporation because, whether Brescher realized it or not, the men were loyal first to their immediate superior and only secondly to the man in charge.
But until that time he was willing to wait and play the obedient puppy; let Brescher think what he wanted. Because it wouldn't take much. Not much at all.
"C'mon, Peg. Do you really want to stay here by yourself?"
Pegatha frowned and turned away from Arick, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Why does it make a difference if the classes are here or in the Gold Saucer?"
She sighed, blinking to keep the tears back. "They're higher level, Arick. Maybe the rest of you guys have run away for good, but I haven't. I still want to go home." They were sitting together on her bed in the vacant basement, close enough for their shoulders to be touching, but Pegatha was feeling more lonely now than she'd ever felt before.
Arick looked at his hands in his lap, his expression one of frustration. After a moment, he glanced at her again. "Why have you stayed this long, then, Peg? If you want to go home so bad, why don't you just go?"
Pegatha turned and looked at him finally. "I...I can't." One tear refused to be forced back and it trickled out of the corner of her eye. She swiped at it angrily.
"I know what's it's like to run away and then to not want to go home again; you know about everything with my mom. But your parents are nothing like my mom. I still don't even know why you ran away."
"It's not like it used to be, Arick. It's not just because my dad is working." She uncrossed her arms and rubbed her fingers together in her lap. "It's been like he wants to control what I'm doing, and even what I know sometimes! He used to tell me things that Mom wouldn't, like when I wanted to know about making guns and Mom thought it was a bad idea. But when I asked him about his training he just shook his head. I don't know why, but things have changed. And my dad doesn't like me hanging out with you. That's part of it, too."
"That's okay. I know why he doesn't."
"It's not okay. I don't want him telling me who I can be friends with. And he won't even tell me why! That's what makes me so mad!" She clenched her teeth and punched the blankets with a balled fist. "And sometimes, Mom acts like nothing's happening, like she's on his side, though I know she likes you. I just don't understand anything. It's all changed, and I...I don't want to go back there if things aren't back to the way they were before." She chewed on the inside of her lip and looked at Arick as if hoping he would have some solution to offer.
Arick sighed. "Well, then I guess you'll have to stay here."
"But I don't want to be alone!"
Arick glared at her for a second before throwing his hands in the air. "Then come with us! What the hell else can I tell you?"
Pegatha turned away to hide her tears. What was she supposed to do? Why did things have to be so complicated?
She started a little when Arick moved to grab her hand out of her lap, gripping it tightly in his own slightly sweaty one. She'd gotten used to the feel of his hands from the training exercises they did, but right now it felt different. She used her other fingers to wipe her tears away quickly before looking at him. He was staring at her hand as if he'd never seen it before. "I'm sorry, Peg."
She scoffed a little. "It's not your fault."
There was a pause for a few seconds before Arick added, softly, "I'll stay here with you if you want me to, for awhile, until you're ready to go home or whatever."
She couldn't help but smile a little. "Thanks, Arick. But don't worry about it. I don't want to be by myself, but I don't want you to stay behind for me. I'll probably go home soon anyway. I already know that things aren't going to change because I ran away or my dad would've found me by now."
Arick nodded wordlessly and continued looking at her hand. He seemed to be considering something, but after a few moments he let her hand go and stood from the bed. "They've probably started supper," he said.
Pegatha slipped to her feet and brushed the creases from her pants. "Yeah, we should probably go. Tomorrow I guess you'll be eating at the Gold Saucer."
Arick didn't say anything, just lifted one shoulder quickly in a partial shrug as if he didn't want to think about it. "Come on."
Pegatha followed him up the stairs and to the room that had been set up like a small cafeteria, with a kitchen at the back where the food was prepared. As expected, dinner was already underway and, after grabbing their plates, Pegatha and Arick found their seats at a table with Lef and Marc. The two boys were talking excitedly about the Gold Saucer and didn't seem to notice if their companions were more subdued than usual. When they were finished eating, the four of them managed once again to snag the lounge for themselves. There was nothing on the news, however, about the Phantom Vigilante, so they ended up watching a show Pegatha had never heard of before and that she wasn't too interested in; but the novelty of watching television, and the idea that this was the last evening she wouldn't be spending alone, was enough to keep her there with her friends. She figured she might as well enjoy what she could before it all changed again: for them, a step forward; for her, a step back.
Elira settled in the armchair with a whoosh of air, as if just recovering from a run. The truth was she had just finished tidying the apartment for the first time in days, and though this task didn't usually leave her breathless, today it had nearly sapped all of her energy.
Actually, everything she did lately sapped her energy. Damn this flu; though, she thought a moment later, it seemed to be receding. The sleep she'd gotten over the weekend seemed to have appeased it enough to grant her a (small) second wind for the week ahead: this morning she hadn't vomited before heading down to the front room. Vincent had been gone when she'd awakened, the coolness of the sheets on his side letting her know he'd been gone for at least an hour, so she'd actually made the bed. And then, after a fairly large breakfast by her standards (a coffee, a bowl of cereal, and four pieces of toast) she'd gone down to heat the furnace in preparation for the day. And she'd felt like working. For the first time in days, she'd felt like chatting with customers and taking orders. Pegatha was still missing, Vincent was still working (though he'd left the motorcycle today, which seemed to indicate he might be home in better time than usual), and yet she felt like she was existing for the moment apart from her fears. Everything would be all right. Pegatha would come back. How could she not? She knew they loved her. And Vincent would be fine. He wouldn't be doing anything risky tonight. It would be all right. She smiled a little as she opened the book on her lap.
It was only just after two, but Kade had insisted that she take the afternoon off. She'd tried to tell him that she was feeling better, but he wouldn't hear it. And actually, she was glad for the small break. She would go back down to close before six, but it had been nice, almost theraputic, to have a chance to clean the apartment while she was up to it. Cleaning your home was like cleaning your soul, Benita had said once, and Elira believed it. She felt more at peace in a tidy house.
She'd read this particular book before, but that didn't bother her. She'd actually already read all but a few of the books they owned (she and Vincent could be exhaustive readers when the mood hit them), but this one was one of her favourites. Like Pegatha with her book Momo, Elira also had her comfort novels. She was halfway through the first chapter, already starting to doze slightly against the chair's cushions, when the phone rang. The sound startled her awake and, with a soft curse, she pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to the end table by the door.
"Hello?"
"Aren't you s'posed to be workin'?"
Elira laughed. "Yeah, but Kade ordered me to take the afternoon off 'for health reasons'. Why are you calling if I'm supposed to be at work?"
"Eh, I thought I had half a chance of gettin' ya. Vince said you were sick."
"Yeah, I guess I am, though I don't know with what. Feels a bit like a flu, though not exactly. I'm tired and I've been throwing up now and again, but sometimes I'm so hungry. It doesn't make sense."
"Hmm. So's Vince workin' yer shift?"
Elira paused. "Oh. No. He's...he's working somewhere else today. He's got another job, Beni."
"Oh yeah? Where?"
Elira hesitated again and fought with herself for a moment about whether or not to tell her oldest friend the truth. Eventually, she decided to go ahead. Benita had always been safe with secrets, and it wasn't like the other woman knew anyone else in North Corel she could tell. "He's working with the police. You have to promise not to tell anyone, though."
"The police? No shit! Is he that Phantom Vigilante?"
"You've heard about that?"
Benita chuckled. "Yeah. Neo-Midgar's the 'center of civilization', or didn't ya know? We get all the North Corel stations here, too."
"We don't have a TV, of course, but some of my customers were talking about the Vigilante today." She frowned and continued, almost to herself, "I didn't even stop to think that it could've been Vincent." Her frown deepened as she recalled some of the stories she'd heard; one of them had included the Vigilante being shot at. "He's doing some pretty dangerous stuff, then, if it is Vincent. More than I thought."
Benita's tone sobered. "He knows ta take care o' himself, Lir. Don' worry. How're you and Peg doin'? I've been worried 'bout you since all this stuff started happenin' up there."
Elira felt her features tighten as if plagued with a small spasm and there was the sudden pressure of tears somewhere behind her eyes. She wanted to pretend that everything was fine, but nothing was, and she couldn't keep it inside anymore. "Oh, Beni," she said, and her voice cracked with a sob. "Pegatha ran away, and Vincent thinks she might be in trouble. The school left a message yesterday to say she's even stopped going to classes. And with this organization in town I don't know what to think, and I'm worrying all the time." She wiped her eyes. "Oh God, and I was actually feeling really good this morning about everything. I'm so stressed out I can hardly do anything. Today was the first day in a week I cleaned the apartment. I have no energy, and I'm crying all the time." She sniffled. "And I'm sick on top of all of that. Everything's just going wrong, Beni."
Benita was silent for longer than Elira expected and she called the older woman's name after a moment, wondering if she was still on the line.
"Yeah, I'm still here, Lir. I'm sorry all this has bin happenin' to ya." She paused again. When she spoke, it was almost with a kind of hesitancy. "You said you've been cryin' all the time, an' you're eatin' a lot when yer not throwing up?"
Elira nodded, still wiping her eyes dry. "Yes."
"An' you're tired?"
"Yeah, I slept all weekend, and I never sleep during the day."
Her next question was almost a whisper. "You an' Vince still...you know...gettin' some private time to yerselves?"
Elira scoffed. "Why are you suddenly interested?"
Benita seemed irritated. "Well, yer tellin' me all these symptoms. I can't help but wonder if..."
"Oh, don't even say it, Beni. I'm not pregnant. I can't be pregnant."
"Why not?"
"I take contraceptives."
"Those ain't a hundred percent an' you know it."
Elira scoffed again. "Well, even if they aren't, Vincent and I haven't had time with the hunting season, and then all of this..." She paused for a moment and put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, wait." She thought back over the last few weeks and remembered the weekend, before the start of the hunting season, that Pegatha had spent at Haelie's. "Wait, we did! Oh God! What if it's true? What if I'm pregnant?"
"Then congradulations," Benita chuckled.
"Beni, this isn't funny. This is really bad timing."
Benita's tone became serious again. "I know, sorry. S'pose I shouldn't be jokin' 'bout it. But think of it. Another baby! Isn' this what you were complainin' about a few years ago, wond'ring if maybe you an' Vince were gonna be unable to have another one?"
"I know." Elira sighed. "But that was a few years ago. I...I don't know how I feel about it now. I'd kind of given up on the idea."
"Well, it's not for sure yet. Don' go countin' yer chocobos 'til they're hatched."
"I should probably go to the doctor sometime. Maybe I'll make an appointment for next week." She paused for a moment and then chuckled. "If I am pregnant, maybe it'll make Vincent quit this other job. I remember before we had Pegatha he was on my heels practically all of the time."
Benita laughed. "Yeah, I 'member, like a six-foot shadow. You want him to come home?"
Elira sighed again. "More than anything. But he thinks Pegatha's in some trouble somehow with this organization, so part of me also wants him to keep going until he finds her. Because the police can't do anything. That's something I've heard again and again from customers."
"Yeah. I guess that organization used ta be holed up in Ubanis. I heard on the news that the police here were only able ta bring 'em down the first time because someone on the inside was trying ta off the head honcho. Did a sloppy job of it, though, an' got the whole business in trouble."
Elira hummed worriedly. "I wish Vincent wasn't mixed up in this. I wish Pegatha wasn't mixed up in this! Oh God, I hope she's okay."
"Don' worry, Lir. Vince was a Turk, 'member? If even half the stories I've heard from Barret are true, the man can take care a himself, and find Peg in the process. Don' you believe it?"
"Well, I guess. I know he was a Turk and I know he can take care of himself, but that was so long ago...and I can't help but think 'what if'? What if he gets shot? What if...what if he's killed? Oh, Beni..."
"Lir, stop it!" Elira fell silent in surprise as her friend's voice suddenly became hard. "I know yer worried, but stop thinkin' like that. It don't do nobody any good, least of all you. I'm sure dyin' ain't high on Vincent's 'to do' list, so he's probably doin' all he can to keep it from happening. An' I'm sure he's as worried about Peg as you are, so he's doin' his best to get her back, too."
Elira wanted to reply, but suddenly the words had dried up. All of her fears... They'd...they'd been selfish up to this point. She hadn't really stopped to think about how Vincent was feeling in all of this. Did he really want to be working for the police, putting his life on the line night after night? She'd kind of been placing the blame for everything on him, but was it really all his fault? She could've taken the initiative when she'd seen there was a problem and talked to Vincent about Arick, or talked to Pegatha, and then maybe their daughter wouldn't have run away. But it had been the hunting season and she'd really believed it would work itself out in the end.
And did Vincent really have any other choice but to help the police? Maybe he had in the beginning, but not now. Not with Pegatha out there. And she'd just been adding to the pressure with her mood swings, making him feel more guilty about something he was probably already blaming himself for. She cringed as the full force of the realization came crashing down on her. "Beni, I've been so selfish," she murmured into the phone.
"Don' worry 'bout it now, Lir," her friend advised. "Jus' take care a yerself and go see a doctor. An' don' tell Vince yer pregnant until alla this is over, that's my opinion. Even if it's good news, he doesn't need to have anything else ta think 'bout right now."
Elira nodded. "You're right. He doesn't. I'm glad you called, Beni. I think I needed a verbal smack in the head."
Benita sounded like she was smiling. "Things'll be all right, Lir. You'll see. Nothin's ever as bad as it seems. Now I gotta go. Some customers have come in, and the new guy I've got workin' the till won't be able ta handle 'em all. But 'member Lir: if ya ever need me ta come down an' stay for a little while, I can always get somebody ta run the shop for me. Okay?"
"I know. Thanks Beni. I'll call you when I get the results."
"You do that. I'm not religious, but I'm gonna be prayin' for ya, all right? Take it easy."
"You, too. Bye Beni."
"See ya, Lir."
Elira hung up the phone, feeling as if she'd just stepped out of a veritable sea of self-pity and onto dry land. For the first time in a week, she felt as if she was seeing things clearly. Looking back, she wondered if maybe she hadn't become so distant, if she'd explained how she was feeling to Pegatha the day she'd come looking for help with her homework instead of bottling it up with her anger at Vincent for 'leaving', maybe their daughter would've felt more comfortable with staying home and everything would've turned out differently.
But Benita had been right. There wasn't anything she could do about it now. If only she'd realized sooner.
So now it was all up to Vincent. Something in her heart warmed at the knowledge that she trusted Vincent -- she trusted him again. He loved her and he would never do anything to hurt her willingly; how could she have believed that he wouldn't be careful out there on the streets? He was doing his best to bring Pegatha back, and his best had always been exceptional. He was Vincent Valentine, and once he put his mind to something it was nigh impossible to change his direction until he was satisfied it was completed. How could she have believed him capable of anything less? He was stubborn when it came to these things, and he'd been stubborn about them for as long as she'd known him; she should've realized that there was no changing that. She smiled.
And then she put a hand to her belly. What if Benita had been right about that, too? No counting chocobos, she reminded herself, though she didn't remove her hand.
She only spent a few more minutes in the apartment before heading down to the shop. It took a little bit of wheedling to convince Kade that she was feeling well enough to work in the forge, but once he was persuaded to let her have her way she worked the rest of her shift until six in the comforting and familiar scents and sounds of the back room. It helped, and by the time she'd finished closing she had her apology to Vincent all but written out. He needed to know that she was behind him in this because she knew it weighed on his mind when she was at odds with him about something. He could be irritatingly stubborn about some things, but he was often very accomodating when it came to her or Pegatha; for all of being a loner most of his life, now that there were other people who were affected by his decisions he liked to have their approval when he could get it. It would relieve him to know she wasn't angry anymore.
But Vincent didn't return home until long after midnight, hours after she'd gone to bed. As if unconsciously eager for his affection now that she'd forgiven him, she'd wriggled into the middle of the mattress by the time he entered the bedroom. Loathe to wake her, Vincent slipped his pillow off the bed so that he could sleep on the couch. Elira never felt the kiss he placed at the corner of her mouth, though she sighed in her sleep at the touch of familiar lips before falling into a deeper, dreamless slumber. She never saw the faint apologetic smile he gave her as he pushed a few curls away from her face.
"Not much longer, I promise," he whispered, and then he left the room.
Brescher picked up the phone on the first ring. "Yes?"
Malcolm didn't move as the predominantly one-sided conversation progressed. It was late, but this wasn't the first time Brescher had called him to his office in the middle of the night and he hadn't been to bed yet, expecting to have to return to this floor sometime before the morning. He was idly studying the windowless room, waiting for the information he'd been promised, when Brescher lurched forward in his chair with a sudden exclamation.
"What?"
Malcolm's eyes snapped to the face of his boss, predicting trouble. He wasn't wrong.
"Are you goddamn sure? Shit." Brescher's one good eye started roving over the desk as if he was looking for something among the neatly ordered supplies and papers. And then he sat up and looked straight at Malcolm. "Is that idiot Pokorny still here?"
Malcolm searched his memory for the most recent encounter he'd had with the greasy sensei, and recalled it eventually as having been no more than a few hours ago. The trams stopped running at sundown, so that meant Pokorny had to be around somewhere. "Yessir," he answered.
"Find him," Brescher snapped. "Now."
It didn't take Malcolm as long as he'd first thought to locate the sensei. The man had been sleeping in his room and it had taken longer to wake him and convince him to get ready than to find him. Eventually, however, Pokorny was stumbling after him down to Brescher's floor.
Brescher was no longer on the phone, though he looked no less upset than he had when Malcolm had left.
"Pokorny!"
The sensei's head came up suddenly. "Yes? Sir?"
"That girl, the one you showed to me. Pegatha. What's her last name?"
Pokorny frowned. "I...I don't know, sir."
Brescher gritted his teeth and rolled his eye in aggravation. "All right, then just tell me yes or no. Is her last name Valentine?"
The answer to this question also seemed to elude the sensei. He stuttered a moment before saying, "I can't be sure, sir."
Brescher looked about ready to explode. Pokorny repeated 'Pegatha Valentine' to himself under his breath a couple of times before his face finally lit up. "Yes sir, I think that is her name. In fact, I'm positive."
"I doubt you're positive, considering how unsure you were a moment ago," Brescher grumbled, but he seemed willing to accept that the sensei was at least fairly sure. "But it would explain a lot of things. Keep her here, all right, Pokorny? Bring her to the Gold Saucer with the others and don't let her out of your sight. Now, you're dismissed. And, for God's sake, take a shower tomorrow morning."
"Um, of course, sir." The man bowed awkwardly out of the door and hurried from the floor.
Brescher was muttering a string of curses, running a hand through his hair. And then, suddenly, he laughed, though the sound was far from mirthful. "I should've known," he murmured. "I should've guessed it wasn't over."
Malcolm knew better than to pester Brescher with questions and so he waited patiently for things to be explained, if, indeed, they would be. After another few moments, Brescher glanced at him. "Things have changed, M," he said.
"How so, sir?"
"That was our mole at the police station, as I'm sure you guessed. Our man in black has been working with one of your drop-offs, a man named Harrows who's supposed to be making another drop-off tomorrow night as luck would have it." He paused as if waiting for some kind of reaction, but Malcolm said nothing. Brescher sighed and continued. "However, it has come to my attention that the man's name is Vincent Valentine, which I'm sure means nothing to you."
"I'm sure it doesn't, sir."
Brescher gave a wry smile. "It means an awful lot to me, though, for a number of reasons." He rubbed suddenly at his glass eye as if it was bothering him. "So, when you go tomorrow evening to the drop-off site, I want you to capture Valentine. Alive. You understand? I want him here, bound, gagged, handcuffed -- I don't care. But alive."
"Yes sir." Malcolm didn't need to ask to know that this had to do with some kind of revenge. It stank of it.
"You understand?"
"Yes sir."
"All right." Brescher leaned back in his chair. "If you need any more information about Harrows, ask whatshisname with the pistol-lighter...Fitzgerald. He's the one who keeps track of those things."
Malcolm held back the urge to say 'I think I know my men better than you do' and replied with another clipped, "Yes sir."
"Good. Now, you're dismissed. Bring me Valentine tomorrow."
Malcolm gave a nod before leaving the office, closing the door behind him. He wasn't going to sleep tonight, and neither was Fitzgerald. Tomorrow evening was less than twenty-four hours away and they needed a plan. And some alcohol, of which he had a ready store. Fitzgerald, for some reason, seemed to think better when he was half-sloshed, and Malcolm just needed a drink. It was something that had become routine for him since Brescher had taken over with his impulsive, half-baked ideas. And this was the most impulsive, half-baked idea yet. The only thing that kept Malcolm from walking straight back into that office and shooting Brescher between the eyes was the thought that this could be the unbalancing factor. Revenge was never a small thing, and it almost always required a little madness. And it wasn't farfetched to think that it might end up taking more than a little of Brescher's attention, providing the perfect time to strike.
Malcolm smiled and sent up a small thank you to a man he'd never met named Vincent Valentine.