The Girl made her way back to the Café, which was still open at this hour. She sauntered up to the Patron and proudly declared, “I have some good news for you. I’ve finally managed to save up enough money to pay off my bill!”
The Patron looked dismissively at the currency in the Girl’s hand. “It’s still not enough.”
“What do you mean it’s not enough?! It’s the exact price you asked for!”
“There’s still added dividends from all the menus you’ve sent out. You left many batches undelivered, and not all of them produced results. I’ve had to contend with diminishing returns.”
The Girl stared in numb expectation. She figured something like this might happen. “Actually, I’ve got another piece of good news for you - I found a high-profile customer who’s very interested in coming here.”
“Uh-huh, that’s very nice.”
“Aren’t you curious to know who it is?”
“Don’t keep me in suspense, I’m busy.”
“You might know the guy - he’s called the Living Martyr.”
“The Liv - ” The Patron looked up in horror. “And you told him to come here?!”
“As I understand it, he’s very interested in the drug you gave me. He might even establish this place as a new base.”
The effect upon saying these words, wound up being very effective upon all those present. In fact, the other customers in the Diner all spontaneously came up with excuses and decided that now was a good time to leave. Even the slow eaters who normally stayed all night and day decided to pay for their meals without finishing.
It was apparent the Patron never intended for her to stop working for him. The only way to discourage him was to convince him that keeping her on would wind up cutting into his profits. It was one thing for the Girl to repay a small debt. It was another thing if business at the Café dried up completely.
At this point, the pouring crowd out of the Café started to garner attention and rival restaurant owners stood around to gaze at the spectacle.
“What’s with this crowd?”
“I might’ve spread rumours to some of your competitors before coming here. They seemed interested about your celebrity arrival.”
“Do you realize what you’ve done?!”
The Girl put on her smarmiest confidential voice. “I could be persuaded to do business elsewhere. I’ve got a little rapport with the Martyr, y’know.”
As if on cue, a caravan being led by a parade of cavorting dancers and playing musicians was being led down the street. Apparently, this was the Living Martyr’s idea of travelling covertly. At the center of the caravan was a large orange circular vehicle on wheels. It stopped in front of the Café and out stepped a man. Coming closer, she was surprised to see that he was a familiar face - one of the men from last night.
She greeted the man’s arrival, saying, “You’ll be pleased to know that the Patron’s gone to the trouble of clearing out the Restaurant in preparation of your arrival.”
“I appreciate the offer, but there was no need for any need for that. It’s better for all of us if we don’t attract attention. Just continue doing business naturally.”
“Well, that’s kind of hard to do when we’re expecting a living legend. Where’s the Living Martyr?”
“He’s not coming here personally.”
The Girl was aghast. She was expecting the Living Martyr’s presence, and so was the expectant crowd. Now that they knew they weren’t going to see any action, their interest started to dwindle and wander away. With the Living Martyr’s absence, she’d have to improvise.
“Well, just keep in mind that there’s a certain code word that you’ll need to say to get the goods. And you’ll need someone to carry the stuff after.”
“Don’t worry. I’m well prepared.” the man said, holding up one of the menus. The man brushed past the Girl and bluntly said to the Patron, “I’m here to pick up the sandwiches.”
“You’re willing to pay off all her debts?”
NO! Her whole plan hinged on their conversation being vague enough that they’d think they were pulling one over the other! If there was any suspicion, she’d never get away from this establishment, and would wind up working there forever!
“I wouldn’t think that a sandwich would cost so much.”
“It’s a very high quality sandwich, even if the server is lacking.”
Wait, were they still negotiating? If so, there might still be a chance! She chose a spot in the corner and sat down, relieved in taking a load off her aching feet. It was good having someone else fight on her behalf. Even so, she couldn’t help worrying - all the fear and panic in the Patron’s eyes had died out, save for the occasional casting of daggers in the Girl’s direction.
“Is that how much a single sandwich costs?”
“Prices fluctuate and flow according to demand and supply. And I’m sure your guy would want this sandwich at all costs.”
“My client would feel more willing to come here to discuss matters for as long as it takes. Are you willing to pay the price?”
The Patron looked uncomfortable, but managed to keep his cool. “You’re in luck - today’s a special offer. Two for the price of one!”
“Wise choice. If we’re satisfied, we’ll come back for more.”
As the two of them argued, the Girl lazily looked out at the contraption the Spokesman came out of. It was a large spherical carriage with wide circular doors for letting overly obese people in, and regular-sized doors for drivers on the side. A SpheriCar, if you will. It was tinted with reflective surfaces, giving a veneer of privacy. She tried to imagine what the interior would be like, and the only thing she could think of was that there were likely elevated armrests above the chest. Having a perpetual blast area would make it problematic getting around without precautions taken.
As impressive as it looked, she wondered - was the Living Martyr really in there? Would she really go to all this trouble? There was no indication that anybody was inside. The more she thought about it, the more it was likely the Martyr wasn’t here at all, which was why these negotiations were taking place.
Having finished talking about ‘sandwiches’, the conversation shifted onto the real subject - Burnt Powdered Doughnuts.
“It’s a very popular item. Top of the line. Only available in limited quantities.”
“My client would be willing to pay top quality for the product. Maybe even help in producing more.”
“That might be difficult. It’s VERY expensive.”
“I was under the impression there were reasonable rates.”
“Early Risers get it first.”
The Spokesman took a circular tape measure, and traced around from the center of the room. “This spot looks very inviting. Plenty of room. Good view of the Café from all around here.” He closed one eye while thumbing the distance to the wall opposite. “Though renovations should be done to keep the cracks sealed from prying eyes.”
“If your client is concerned about being seen, you should know we deliver.”
“...That would be preferable. We move around a lot. These conditions are acceptable.”
“You have my Patronage.” And the two of them reluctantly shook hands.
Having reached the end of their bargainmaking, the Patron motioned for the Girl. As she came closer, the Patron thrust a takeout bag in her arms. Before letting the Girl go, the Patron had one last thing to say. “Just to clarify, you’ll be wanting a courier between my place and yours?”
“That’s right.”
The Patron nodded, then unshackled the Girl’s ankle bracelet she’d been chained to for months now. “Consider your debt paid. Good luck!”
She couldn’t believe it. After being in this absurdist debtor’s prison for so long, she was finally free. While she was jubilant, she was confused why the Spokesman looked like he was expecting something that hadn’t happened yet. What more was there? He’d reached an agreement with the Patron and gotten her free in return.
When nothing else happened, and continued to not happen, the Spokesman stopped gesturing with facial expressions before sighing. He turned towards the exit, and the Girl followed willingly.
Upon leaving, the Girl started out by expressing her thanks, but before she could even get a word out, the Spokesman snatched the takeout bag from her hands and told her, “You got lucky.” If she understood what he meant by those words, she hid it quite well.
“Well, at least I’ll be sending packages to the Martyr.”
“You don’t understand. Just before you could be transferred, the Patron relieved you from his services, so we can’t use you anymore.”
What? The Patron sabotaged her at the very last second? “Can’t you just take me in?”
“We couldn’t even if we wanted to. If the Patron simply traded your debt over to us, we could use you. But he defaulted on your debt instead.”
“I’m indebted to you!”
“It doesn’t work that way. We can only use couriers registered at the Café. Without the Patron’s say-so, we’re unable to do so.”
She wracked her brain trying to find a counter-argument, and the answer was so obvious that it seemed too easy. “I never officially worked there!”
“We didn’t know that, but that still wouldn’t help your case. Now that you’ve verified that you were never employed, we have even less use for you.”
Of course. Why should anything be easy?
“We have no more need of your services. If it’s any consolation, he gave you a very good reference. Thank you for helping out.” And the Spokesman made his way back to the SpheriCar.
The Girl futilely attempted to grab on the Spokesman’s arm. “There are still things I can do! At least let me see the Living Martyr one more time, if the Living Martyr is really in there!”
He wrested free of her feeble grip. “The Martyr’s sympathies only go so far. Besides, you’re not a good fit in our world. Your talents are better appreciated elsewhere.”
He went inside the SpheriCar, and turned back the way it came, the pilgrimage of musicians and dancers going completely unnoticed by the populace. As the parade faded off in the distance, the Girl realized the significance of his words. She was low on funds, having handed over her remaining cash over to that robber Patron, but she still had an expected payment from the Factory coming up.
She noticed the time and was surprised at how close she was cutting it. The only problem was her lack of stamina. She’d been up all night, and was now running on fumes. At this rate, she’d be a little late by mere seconds. As long as she managed to get to the Factory on time, she’d be able to function on autopilot just fine.
But when she got there, she received a rude surprise from the Foreman who barred her entrance.
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We’ve been getting complaints about the smell.”
“You’re kidding.” It was less of a question than a statement of utmost incredulity. If there was a worse nasal offender of smells, the Factory was it. She’d grown numb to the constant pileup of this City’s prejudiced campaign against her, but even this was beginning to feel like too much.
“I’m afraid not. You probably can’t tell, but your stench is permeating the very cellular structure of our food to the point where they don’t even taste like fish anymore. We’ve tried selling them at half-price, but they just wind up infecting other discarded products, spreading the stench further and creating more unsellable merchandise. On the plus side, you’ll be getting a glowing reference.”
Between the Patron, the Martyr’s Spokesman and the Foreman, the Girl’s life seemed to be ruled by men who had little to no interest about her choices. Her opinion didn’t seem to matter at all. Where were all these invisible references they were referencing anyways?
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