CHAPTER FOUR: ANGEL FACE
That evening Setzer was nearly bursting with the rushes of adrenaline that coursed through his young body. It was extremely hard for him to stand still in one place for more than a nanosecond, but the boy had to act as if nothing was the matter. Even during an especially long (to him), torturous dinner, he managed to put up a calm facade throughout the entire wretched business. It simply would not do to let his parents on to what had happened earlier in the day. Setzer didn't wish to get into deep water before the tide came in, and why upset his parents when there was a good chance that he would come out of it all unscathed? In fact, the youth's greatest fear was that some rumor or a slip-up on his own part would come to Ponzo and Dulcina's attention before the game. He was sure they would go into hysterics and do something idiotic. Parents could be such wing-nuts sometimes.
Night fell, and Setzer holed himself up in his room, graciously released from the scrutiny of his parents, and bounced around on one foot like a crippled rabbit on amphetamines. He garbled to himself, flipped through books without looking at the pages, bounced on his bed. He had so much energy, he needed to burn some of it off or else he would never get to sleep.
Setzer may have been a shrewd, rational boy and mature for his age, but his youthfulness gave him a sense of security that could have been considered nothing else but rash. No thought of the chance that he might lose the bet ever crossed his mind--it was almost as if he was dead certain that some higher power was protecting him, making him invincible. Besides, the boy had conditioned himself not to ever worry excessively about what might happen in the future, only what will. A good gambler does not waste his energy fretting away possibilities. Arrange and plan what you can to the best of your abilities and let the gods handle the rest, his father always counseled.
After a little more pacing and hopping around, thinking wild and grand thoughts, Setzer at last gave in to fatigue and promptly crashed down for the night, no worries or doubts troubling his youthful slumber.
*************
The next morning, Setzer awoke at the crack of dawn, rising up before either of his parents was awake. He snuck downstairs, and silently had breakfast, taking great pains not to disturb his father on the couch.
While he ate, the boy propped a hand under his cheek and idly gazed out the kitchen window, which allowed him a fine view of the back porch. So when his four henchmen came unannounced up to the door, Setzer immediately knew of their presence, which allowed him the chance to quickly and quietly slip outside before they knocked and roused the house.
"Good morning," he addressed them collectively in a muted voice. "A little early for you guys to be up, isn't it?"
"No earlier than it is for you, it seems," Lorenzo smirked; he was then given a good prod in the back by Benny, who stepped forward, looking uncommonly apprehensive.
"Listen, Swanky," said the lusty Marandian, "we didn't all come up here just to say good morning--"
"I gathered," Setzer remarked.
"Cram it and listen. We've been doing some spying, and--"
"You mean J.J. did some spying," Mandy piped up. He tottered back and forth on the toes of his sandals but still looking a bit subdued, merely a faint copy of himself.
"Will you just shut up? This is serious! J.J., you try. I can't get a word in edgewise. But don't take a million years," Benoit snapped as he gave Mandy a shove that nearly sent the dark-skinned boy off the back porch. J.J. shuffled forward.
"Setzer, I did some research on this Ruadh," the school idiot reported, his face a mask of concentration as he forced his words to come out much faster than the wont yet still remain intelligible, "and this is what I found out. We all know he's from Vector. But do you know his job there is?"
"He runs an illegal counterfeit underwear ring from his basement," Setzer quipped, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the supports of the porch. Everybody frowned at him.
"Stop it. Please listen, Setzer," J.J. pleaded, slightly peeved. "Don't get smart. Anyways, I did a background check, and I found out this: Ruadh is an Inquisitor for one of Vector's largest prisons. He's one of the best they have. They say he could get a confession out of a rock. He's so well-thought of in the prison, they give him a large salary and that escort of bodyguards. They're Imperial soldiers, those toughs, but that really doesn't mean anything because the army also supplies the guards for the prisons. He's got no political connections, thank the gods. I think they just selected six guards at random and told them to follow him everywhere. "
"So? What does that have to do with anything?"
Lorenzo stepped forward, flapping his arms wildly. " 'What does that have to do with anything,' he asks! Are your wits addled, Gabby? Don't you get it? This man is a torturer. He's so used to grilling hard-skinned criminals of the worst kind that he's lengthened what probably was an already long cruel streak. He'll show you no mercy!"
"I still don't understand how that applies to me," Setzer sighed. Lorenzo looked like he was going to have a stroke; J.J. rolled his eyes and also sighed.
"I guess I should have added this," said the slightly deformed boy. "I've got it on the best authority that Ruadh's got nerves of steel. He's usually in control. But if something really ticks him off--and that takes quite a bit to do, but no matter--then he just goes berserk. He's also very proud."
"Will you people stop beating around the bush? Get to the point!"
"Fine, you big jerk, here's your point," Mandy gave Setzer a shove. "If a guy like Ruadh loses a card game to a kid, you, and you slip through his fingers, he is going to be pissed. More than pissed, I'll bet, if he has a few drinks during the game. He'd look like a fool before everybody--d'you think he could take it with grace? He might hurt you, Setzer. We're scared for you."
It took a few moments for Setzer to digest all the information he'd been fed, and when he did, he was indignant.
"Are you suggesting that I duck this match? I don't do that. "
"We didn't expect you to," Benny rebounded. "But you've gotta be careful, Swanky. We're not saying you'll lose, but if you do win, then don't rub his face in it. Hell, I wouldn't even smile, if I were you. Compliment him, buy him drinks, kiss his ass! None of us want to see you hurt. Or in jail, for that matter. I don't see how you can stand it. You've got balls of rock, let me tell ya."
"And a brain to match," Lorenzo interjected. Setzer smiled at that and gave them a nod of gratitude.
"Thanks for coming over, guys. Now I know what to expect. That helps me a lot. You're a good army of darkness."
"One turn deserves another," Mandy grinned, the others following suit.
"We'll be there you when you arrive," Lorenzo said, backing off the porch's steps. "Good luck, Gabby."
"Remember to be careful," J.J. whispered, shaking Setzer's arm. The other two murmured the same sentiment as they withdrew. Their leader cracked a smile and waved at them until the quartet was gone from sight.
Setzer turned on his heel and made to open the door, but as he placed a hand on the knob, he ground to a complete stop.
Now, for some reason, he felt his confidence waning away, and he began to doubt his gambling prowess. Ruadh was no lightweight, formidable in his trade. Setzer now realized that he was at a great disadvantage, with less experience, less influence, and cursed with a bad poker face. A sense of panic rose up in his chest, and Setzer began to breathe heavily. Luck!--He needed luck, and in spades.
The now-doomed boy dropped to his knees on the wooden planks and fumbled around in his pockets, presently bringing out a small charm cut from a single snowflake onyx in the shape of a cat in red enameled boots. This was Stray, the lucky cat of good fortune, of merchants, of politicians, of gamblers, and basically liars of every kind.
Setzer was by no means religious, not by a long stretch, and he did not know whether the gods (sometimes called Espers) truly existed or not--the universe could have been ruled by a giant chocobo, for all he knew or cared about theology. However, he was a bit superstitious; most gamblers are. Stray may not have existed, but if he did, then what harm would it do to ask for a little help now and then? Praying always seemed to have helped in the past.
"Stray," the boy closed his eyes, clasped the charm between his hands, and raised his face as he spoke.
It was then that his mind drew a complete blank. He could not remember a single word of the official chant that doctrine prescribed. His mind raced furiously for a space, but to no avail. Setzer licked his lips and started over.
"Stray...Sweetheart...Buddy...Pal...It's me, Setzer. Listen, um...I'm kind of in big trouble right now, as you can see. Stray, I'm just a poor snot-faced kid that's gotten in over his head, but I really need your help. You see, if I don't win this card game, I'm gonna go to jail, but if this guy loses, all he gives up is a set of crummy hubcaps which I don't want anyway. If you have any sense of fair play, Stray, then give me luck. I don't ask for an easy win. A guy needs to conquer on his own merits and skill. But the odds are a little uneven, don't you think? Show some compassion. If you won't give me luck, then at least, just this one match, don't let that damn twitch ruin me. I've tried and tried to get rid of it, but it won't go away...Please do something about it. In return, I'll make you my patron. I'll devote myself to you. If I can swing it, I'll build casinos and banks and foster trade all in your name. This I swear. So please, Stray, even though you're feline, stand up for an underdog."
A strange sensation of calmness and serenity washed over him. Setzer looked down at the charm grasped in his sweaty hands. Was it just his imagination, or did a sparkle wink up at him from those glassy eyes?
It was the flimsiest sign of favor ever, but to Setzer it was if a mountain had been moved. Desperation drove him to clutch at any paltry thing available that kept him from despair.
Setzer sprang up to his feet and silently opened up the door, fully confident now he'd be home in time for lunch.
*************
When the clock showed 9:30, Setzer slipped on his coat and called out, "Papa, I'm going out with the guys. I'll be back at noon, maybe a little later."
"Try not to get into too much trouble today, Son," came the sleepy reply from behind couch. "I'll have lunch ready when you get home."
"No worries."
The youth stepped out the front door and sauntered leisurely down various streets towards his destination. He smiled at a few people, waved, and made it look as if he had no cares in the world; the less attention drawn, the better.
The Peacock Plume was one of the most respectable establishments in Jidoor. It was a handsome building with a large, crystal-transparent front window sporting the place's name in elegant gold lettering. It was a light and airy haunt, filled with sun, and the smoke and smell of liquor were hardly noticed. The walls were painted a gorgeous deep shimmering blue, the tables elegant and slender, the beer served in cobalt-glass goblets. The patrons weren't really that different from the others of their kind, sitting at the bar snockered or dining on fine but unhealthy foods, but they wore nice clothes and tried to vomit in the bathrooms and not on the floor.
When Setzer arrived to this fine place, he was met in the entryway by his four friends. After greetings were exchanged, Lorenzo huddled them together and spoke in low tones:
"Things look grim, Gabby. He's in there, and he's got four of his stooges with him. All six of them were here, but two of them left and went into a nearby store. I guess he thought that all six of them would cause a little too much commotion--he's usually seen with just four, anyway."
"Great. Just great." Setzer sucked in his breath sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Well, there's nothing we can do about it," Lorenzo said. "But we'll stick by you. No fair-weather friends are we."
Setzer managed a smile and entered the tavern proper, his entourage in tow. Ruadh, sitting at a large table located before the sunny window, his four guards standing behind him, saw the group come in and raised a glass of water in their direction.
"You're early, my boys. Sit down, sit down."
"Good day, sir," Setzer greeted in a pleasant voice as he pulled out a chair, eyeing the Imperial soldiers.
"Don't mind them." Ruadh waved a hand dismissively. "I have no intention of sicing them on you. It's just that a man can't be too careful. Even fine places like this have their share of brawls. I merely want a good game with no disruptions. Would you like something to eat or drink?"
"No thanks."
"Then let's begin."
Ruadh produced a pack of cards, and one of the soldiers brought out a container of Poker chips.
"Is there any particular game you would care to play?" the man inquired, shuffling the cards idly.
"Five Card Draw, if you don't mind," Setzer replied lightly. Five Card Draw was his favorite version of Poker, and the game he was best at. He only hoped that he didn't betray any eagerness in his voice.
"Sticking to the classics, I see. All right. We'll keep the Jokers--I always like having wild cards in my deck. Makes it more fun. "
Ruadh slapped the cards in the middle of the table and pushed a stack of chips towards Setzer before proceeding to deal.
At first the game seemed to be a stalemate, both players earning and giving up chips at roughly equal rates, but soon Setzer began to fumble. The strain, pressure, and apprehension of the Imperial soldiers (despite Ruadh's reassurances) were finally getting to him. He threw down cards rashly, exchanging them when it would have been wiser to hold on to what he had, he bluffed to disastrous ends, and he seemed utterly opposed to folding.
Setzer grew angry and frustrated; the worse he played, the more flustered he got. The faintest trace of sweat bespangled his brow, and a feeling of panic and doom crept over him, smothering him. He felt like he was drowning.
"Let's take a break," Ruadh suggested after about an hour's worth of playing; Setzer felt resentful and insulted. He was going down fast and the man knew it, but he dared not refuse. In fact, he was a little grateful for a chance to gather his bearings in spite of the condescension that came along with it.
Setzer leaned back in his chair, tugged at the collar of his coat and undid the top buttons so that the cloth hung limply on his shoulders, and quietly asked a passing waitress for a drink. Ruadh engaged in idle conversation with his guards and with a few spectators; the game had received a rather large audience, and a ring of people now gathered around the table.
As for the four boys, they were, understandably, growing quite upset. Watching their esteemed leader undergo through such stress and panic made them feel guilty and worried sick.
The waitress carrying Setzer's drink, the usual glass of wine, passed right next to J.J., who put a detaining hand on her shoulder. He and the other three knew that drinking wine would only muddle Setzer's concentration further, and that it was foolish to let him have alcohol when he needed all his facilities about him.
J.J. stared up at the buxom lady with beseeching eyes and whispered in his sweetest voice, flicking a thumb in Ruadh's direction, "Ma'am, I would thank you if you'd give the drink to that man over there. Say that it's compliments of all us four, and that we're very sorry that we broke into his stables."
"But who's gonna pay? That boy placed the order, and if he isn't going to get it--" the waitress snapped irritably.
Benny came forward, placed a few GP on her tray with his patented woman-melting smile and murmured, "Just do it, toots." The waitress smiled, and as she walked away, Benoit gave her a pinch on the rump.
The waitress placed the drink in front of Ruadh and repeated what J.J had told her. Ruadh smiled and raised the wine appreciatively, toasting the boys before downing the thick red liquid in just one gulp.
Setzer turned his head and gave his friends the glaring of a lifetime, but to no use. They all sent him a look which said that every time he would order something to drink, they'd see to it that he'd never get a drop. Sighing and feeling utterly miserable, Setzer turned back to his card game.
Once a man who is playing a drawn-out card game has a little to drink, it is usually hard for him to stop. Only a few minutes after quaffing the complimentary glass of wine, Ruadh ordered another. And another. This was to be his undoing.
For Ruadh, though still a formidable opponent, stopped playing as well; his sense of strategy was fuddled by the wine. Setzer found himself getting back some of the chips that he had lost, which boosted his confidence greatly, and he got a second wind.
After countless antes, raises, shuffling, and other tedious rituals of the game, the two players found themselves almost even, Ruadh holding only a few more chips than Setzer. It had been nearly two hours, and they both were getting fatigued--Ruadh because of his wine, Setzer because of the immense pressure.
"I tire of this," Ruadh snapped. "Listen, boy. How about a sudden-death match? The next hand, winner gets all. It'll resolve this much more quickly. What do you say?"
"Okay," Setzer nodded. His heart was pounding hard and his vision blurred; he shook his head weakly and waited for the shuffle and the deal.
There is little etiquette between Poker players. The cardinal rule is this: Don't cheat. As long as person does not actually cheat at his game, he may act just as he likes. A man can bluff and lie and torture his opponents as much as he sees fit.
But now as Setzer gazed down at his hand, two Sevens, a Queen of Diamonds, a Ten of Hearts and a Two of Clubs, some deep gambling instinct in his bones compelled him to make use of the secret pockets stitched within the lining of his coat. Normally the boy did not choose to cheat, but now with his freedom at stake, he decided to abandon all morals. What would it hurt to just add a little something in his favor? He was a desperate man.
One of the many well-concealed pockets was located just below the cuff of his left sleeve. Setzer, who always held his cards near his chest so people couldn't look over his shoulder, quickly shuffled his hand as if he was deciding what to discard. He gave the most diminutive flick of the wrist while sliding one of the cards down as he flipped through the hand. His Two of Clubs magically became a Joker. No-one noticed the exchange, not even Ruadh, who was eyeing his own hand intently.
Setzer put down the Ten and the Queen and was given two cards in return; he picked them up, revealing a Three of Diamonds and another Seven. With his Joker, he had a four of a kind, a very good hand. The corner of his mouth tingled like crazy. O Stray, help me now!
Unfortunately, Ruadh caught the small, almost imperceptible tic, and was immediately put on his guard. But he also knew that he had drunk a bit of wine, and maybe that he was seeing things; he couldn't trust his eyes. Thus he disregarded his premonitions and called for a showdown, slapping down his cards: a full house.
Despite all warnings, Setzer couldn't resist the temptation to grin slyly in triumph as he showed his higher hand. Ruadh pursed his mouth and opened and snapped it shut like a halibut out of water while he gawked at the table-top. Setzer continued to smile.
The man's face grew a hideous dark red, as if all the vessels in his face were about to rupture. Setzer's smile vanished like ice under the heat of his opponent's rage.
"You," Ruadh spat, the juices from his mouth flying out and speckling Setzer's face, "you...cheat! Cheat!!!"
Setzer felt his mouth go dry and tried to speak, but couldn't. No-one in the tavern even dared to breathe. Everybody stood stock-still, as if frozen.
"I'll show you to cheat with me, pretty boy!" Ruadh snarled, jumping up so suddenly and swiftly that the ponderous oak table was upset, cards and chip sent flying everywhere.
It was all so fast, yet so slow. Setzer saw the man's hands grasping for him, and for a moment he thought that he could dodge whatever was coming up. Yet, somehow, Ruadh slammed his fists into the boy's chest and grabbed Setzer's shirtfront in a death grip before anybody could move. Setzer looked down into Ruadh's eyes and drunken, irrational violence in the glassy irises stared right back.
What happened next was a sheer nightmare. Setzer was thin and gangly; Ruadh was strong and powerful. The older man turned a little to one side, and then heaved Setzer with an extraordinary strength granted through the power of pure rage straight towards the tavern's plate-glass window.
He had been thrown with such force, Setzer didn't have the time to raise his hands in front of his face--which was actually a blessing, for his acceleration was great and his angle was bad. If he had put out his hands, they would have been so pierced and shredded, the glass hitting bone, slicing through nerves, that not even the best medics could probably have saved some of his fingers from being amputated, if not his entire hands.
His coat, loose about his shoulders, flopped over and covered his face, so he was spared the first horrible moment as he hit the double-layered panes, face first.
The world about him exploded in a horrible cataclysm of bright light and a screeching, horrible sound as the glass shards ate away at his coat. He must have blacked out for a few seconds, because the next thing he knew, he was on his back, right in middle of the street in front of the tavern.
For a few moments, Setzer could hear nothing, feel nothing except a swaying sensation in his face. The only things he could see were bright bursts of rainbow colors, dancing and fading in and out of his vision.
The rainbows faded away, and the scene slowly came into focus: he saw people crowding around him, heard the shrieks of women and shouts of men. But the thing that consumed his vision was the sight of the huge glass window all broken out, the crimson-tipped, jagged pieces of it strewn all around him, reflecting prisms in the sun.
Bemused and still feeling nothing, Setzer simply could not understand why the sun had suddenly blacked out, the light replaced by a film of crimson. He slowly raised a hand and wiped his eyes. When he could see again, he found that his hand was covered in sticky red blood.
The pulse pounded painfully in Setzer's ears, and he gasped for breath. This time another film covered his eyes, but it was black, swallowing him up as he faded from consciousness.
*************
In the bar, the patrons remained frozen in their positions, most of them not even comprehending what had just happened. There seemed to be no connection between the windowless hole in the wall and the supine boy laying out in the streets in a small pool of blood, his nose swinging by the cartilage.
The tavern's eerie silence was broken by clamor from people passing by and a grunt from Ruadh. He made his way outside simply by stepping through the gap of his own making, clumsily avoiding the barbs of glass, and forced back the small crowd of pedestrians which had formed. The shouts died down to murmurs and whispers.
Ruadh looked down at Setzer and his face fell a little; the drinks were starting to wear off, and some realization of what he did began to dawn on him. Well, at least he'd taught the insolent cheat a lesson he'd never forget.
"That'll fix you, boy!" the Imperial barked, frowning down at the inert form below his feet, towering over the grievously wounded youth like a colossus.
Nobody in the crowds moved, not even the other Imperials. Imperial soldiers were trained to kill, but even they thought twice before assaulting unarmed civilians in unoccupied territory. They knew the incident could spell legal trouble and foment ill-feeling towards any doings of the Empire. Ruadh had acted rashly. They did not want to have any part in this.
Setzer's friends stared at their fallen leader. They wanted to help him, had to help him, but fear of Ruadh and his guards made them mute and immobile. Mandy began to sniffle a little and his slender body shook. Benoit licked his lips nervously, trying to decide what to do. Lorenzo's face had gone totally livid, his dark blue eyes flashing in smoldering rage; he thought of thousands of ways for the man who had harmed his friend to die, but knew he had not the courage nor the means to act them out.
J.J. walked forward rigidly and gazed upon Setzer's face, now almost indiscernible under a sheet of crimson, the blood oozing out from a myriad of wounds. Here was Setzer, the first boy to have ever treated him with any kindness, one who didn't make fun of his speech impediments, the one who shared his sympathy for a wounded bird. Setzer was his leader and protector, and this monster had struck him down out of jealousy.
Those placid, deep brown eyes shifted and turned wild as J.J., who would never have harmed a fly, a boy who had never entertained a single violent thought in his entire life, began to stalk forward through the crowd in the street, clumsy yet silent on his shaking legs. Nobody called out to warn Ruadh. Too much had happened in too little time, and they simply gaped.
Ruadh was still perusing over his handiwork, so he never did see the boy with the oversized head reach down and grab a fallen tree limb from the ground. Balancing the cudgel in a big, soft hand, J.J. crept behind the Inquisitor, graceless as a wounded Rhinox and just as deadly.
The club was lifted with agonizing slowness, but when J.J brought it down right on the base of Ruadh's skull, it was with deadly swiftness. There was a horrible crack, and Ruadh went down like a rag doll.
J.J. didn't stop. He lifted the limb and struck at the hated man's head again and again, beating bone into mere fragments.
A woman screamed, which brought everybody out of their shock-induced trances. People poured out of the bar and joined the others in the street. The Imperial soldiers rushed off into the store, and soon they returned with the rest of their number.
"What happened here?" the head of the guards bellowed over the murmuring voices, looking with wide eyes at Ruadh's mangled corpse.
J.J. leaned on his dripping limb and pointed an index finger towards the grisly scene. "I killed your man, there," he drawled, calm as ever.
"What?! What the hell are you doing?" Lorenzo spat, having sneaked through the crowd and now hovering near J.J.'s shoulder.
"Setzer's hurt bad," J.J. responded slowly in a low whisper, "and if we don't clear these guys out soon, then he'll die. I'll handle this. You get Setzer help."
"What was that, boy?" the captain barked, advancing forbiddingly. "Are you saying you did this?"
"Yessir. I did."
There were some mumbles of agreement from the crowd. One of the Imperial soldiers marched forward and jabbed an accusing finger at J.J. "They're right! That's the dumb son-of-a-bitch that killed Ruadh! Smashed in his skull, right before everybody's eyes!"
"You're coming with us, boy. You've killed a citizen of the Empire," the head guard said in a nasty voice, producing a short length of chain from his pouch, "Vector's gonna be your home for a while, I can promise you that."
J.J. nodded easily and held out his hands; the chain soon bound them together. Lorenzo, seething with anger, came forward, but the other boy shook his big head slowly, turned away from the soldiers so he could face his friend ,and whispered, "Don't make any trouble. I told you, I'll handle it."
"Damn it, J.J.! Sometimes I think you really are a dumbass! What're you letting them take you away for?!!" Lorenzo hissed harshly.
"Like you said, I'm a dumbass. I got no future. No future for a stupid person like me--nobody'll take me. But Setzer's got good things waiting for him. He's smart, he'll be missed. Not me."
"But they can just as easily take Setzer, too! And then you'll have done jack-crap!"
"No." J.J. shook his head, a knowing look forming in his eyes. "They won't take Setzer. Everybody saw what happened. Too many witnesses for the Imperials to lie about it. But if they take a dummy like me--who'll care?"
"All right, boy, you've had your little 'moment'," the leader of Ruadh's train snapped, slamming J.J. against a wall, administering a crack on the boy's head while barking to his troops: "It's time to go."
J.J.'s eyes beckoned for Lorenzo to come closer, and he did; the two were almost nose to nose.
The boy whispered, "Tell Ma and Pa that I won't be coming home. And tell Setzer not to forget about the bird! He hardly feeds it on time."
"You're crazy," Lorenzo replied through gnashing teeth.
"Aren't we all?"
Lorenzo backed away as the Imperials shoved J.J. roughly into what looked like a metal stagecoach with bars over the windows--the city paddy wagon, appropriated from the surprised local police force.
"In with him, boys, and watch out! He killed a man! He's dangerous!" the leader called out as he practically hurled J.J into the wagon. Before the doors closed, J.J. gave a wave with his shackled hands.
Lorenzo whirled on his heel and glared at the other two boys, who had only now just come forward.
"Some help you were," the red-haired boy snarled. "I'm real proud of ya. Let's see if you can't put your worthless asses to some use and get Setzer to the doctor before he croaks."
The three awkwardly gathered Setzer up and hauled him off towards Doctor Lee's. The throng murmured a little longer amongst itself before slowly dispersing, everybody crawling back into their homes.
A little while later, the owner of the bar came out with a large broom and swept up all the jagged, blood-spattered pieces of glass into a pile near the trash can, the shattered edges winking balefully in the setting sun.
*************
The world was a palpitating, black abyss of chaos, where the only true constant was the sharp, piercing pain that enveloped Setzer. He was floating through the air, sailing at a fantastic speed, his heart in his mouth. He could not see anything, and he did not know where he was going; the darkness never altered.
Suddenly, he seemed to hit a wall, crashing through the inky depths as if entering into a mirror. The blackness now became transparent shards of glass, painted red at the tips. He found himself lying the street again, staring up at a painfully bright blue sky and a distant, unfeeling sun.
There was another jolt, and Setzer's eyes opened up a crack. The first rays of sunlight seeped in and scorched his vision, making him screw up his eyes. Then a tremendous wave of pain crashed over him, a pain so excruciatingly sharp and throbbing that Setzer opened his mouth to scream, which brought another wave of torment upon him.
He felt that the horrible sensation would smother him--it was like someone was bashing him in the face with a red-hot sledgehammer. The boy could not breathe through his nose, and for some reason he could not see clearly through his left eye; it was impossible to open his eyelid all the way. There were patches of white around the borders of his eyes, preventing him from seeing anything in his peripheral vision.
Momentarily devoid of sight and feeling as if he was dying, Setzer was understandably quite disoriented. He had no idea where he was; his fingers could feel nothing.
A low moan escaped his lips, a raspy, weak sound. Something touched the top of his head, prompting the youth to painfully attempt to open his eyes again.
He was greeted by the sight of his father leaning over him, peering down at him. Ponzo's face was mere inches from his son's, filling Setzer's vision. On the father's breath Setzer smelled the strangely comforting smell of whiskey.
"Hey there, my boy," Ponzo whispered, a smile both weary and joyful crossing his haggard face. "Are you hurting?"
"Yeeesss," Setzer croaked the obvious feebly before he began to shake with a succession of dry heaves so violent that his upper body was pitched off the bed up against his knees. Ponzo caught his son and gently propped the retching boy against his shoulder; after the nausea had passed, he carefully brought Setzer down back on the mattress.
After he had ascertained the worst was over, Ponzo went over to the dresser and brought over a glass of water and a small packet. The contents of the packet, a fine white powder, were poured into the glass and stirred before being offered.
Setzer grabbed at the drink and nearly dropped it; his hands were bandaged, making them clumsy. His father took the glass and put it up to the boy's lips, gently tilting it back so that the liquid didn't gush down all at once and make him choke.
The refreshing, heavenly coolness of the water in his parched throat did wonders for Setzer: his mind became clear and sharp. He recognized his room, now--he was in his bed. wearing nothing but a bathrobe. But he still couldn't remember why he was here or why his hands were in bandages, why his vision was hindered, or why his face was in such horrendous agony.
"There. It'll take a few moments for the medicine to kick in, but you will be feeling much better," Ponzo said as he put away the glass on the nightstand. "You were quite a mess when we picked you up from Doctor Lee's place, my boy. Your clothes were absolutely soaked with blood."
"Why can't I see?" Setzer rasped, causing another wave of pain. Gods, it hurt to simply talk.
"Your face's covered in bandages. You were like that when we picked you up. All I can see is your mouth, eyes, and the veeery bottom of your nose," his father explicated, the barest hint of smile forming at the corners of his pinched mouth. Setzer wanted to ask how this had all happened to him, but Ponzo abruptly stood up and went over to the door.
"You've been conked out for three whole days. Your mother's nearly made herself sick. If she wasn't hovering over you as if every breath was your last, she was storming and weeping hell for leather all over the house. If we had a cat, I'm sure she'd have kicked it. She's finally gone to bed, though. I made her. But now you're awake, I'm sure she'll want to see you," said the father to the son. He then cupped a hand around his mouth and called out in restrained but loud tones: "Dulciiinaaa! Sweetness? He's awake now!"
The sounds of rapidly approaching footsteps thundered thickly in Setzer's throbbing head. He lifted his eyes up just in time to see his mother barge in through the door, knocking Ponzo to one side as if he were a bowling pin as she did so. She rushed over to her boy and swept him up in a febrile embrace, taking care not to jar him around too badly, but still making him wince a little.
"My boy," he heard his mother whisper huskily as he propped his chin against her shoulder. "You sweet, stupid, foolish, crazy, lovely, dear boy! How do you get into these things?!" Dulcina then broke away and held him up at arms length, and she stared at Setzer with a sad, defeated face.
For a moment, Setzer studied his mother's face; he had not been granted the opportunity to truly look at her closely.
Some women, when they grow older, get gray streaks in their otherwise colorful hair; Dulcina had gone the opposite direction, her hair rusted totally gray save for bright strands of the original color that sprinkled her temples, the back of her head, and the nape of her neck. Her face, still retaining the shadows of sweetness and comeliness, was dusted over with a layer of light make-up which hadn't been washed off for days, blurring her features to a slight degree. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and the cadent tears had fretted channels in the make-up on her tight, hard cheeks. There was no liveliness in Dulcina now, and Setzer could not fathom how this person could have once been one of the toasts of the city.
"I don't know what to say to you, Setzer Gabbiani," Dulcina spoke, her voice wounded. "I should shout, I should whip you until the bones show. But I can't even get mad at you. You could have very well been killed."
"Mmm?" Setzer shrugged his shoulders feebly, and, as his mother got the hint and let him lie down, he murmured, "I don't remember much about what happened. I don't know...I don't know."
Dulcina shared a glance with her husband, who sighed and counseled, "We might as well remind him, Dulcy, and be gentle about it. He'd remember on his own eventually, and it wouldn't be a pretty sight."
"Your friends came here," Dulcina returned to her son, her voice steady but her chin was quivering, "and told us that you had been hurt, and that you were at Doctor Lee's. When we got there and waited, they told everything. You had challenged a man to a card game over something silly--I forget exactly--and..."
"Hubcaps," Ponzo added helpfully; Dulcina glared at him before resuming.
"They didn't know exactly how it came about, but the man got angry at you and threw you through a window."
That terrible memory finally surfaced up in Setzer's mind, but now, awake and in the daylight, in the company of his parents, it didn't seem quite as terrible. The boy clutched at his mother and shuddered, feeling a bit ill; however, he soon recovered. He felt a tremulous sensation in his gut and his breathing was a little labored, but Setzer was far from hysteria.
"Oh," he slurred, lying back down and staring up at the ceiling, "now I remember."
"Setzer, how could you do something so stupid?" Dulcina asked in an angerless whisper, "Why did you do it?"
"Because my friends and I would have gone to jail if I didn't,"
"Oh, Setzer!" his mother cried, looking near the verge of tears. "Have you no wits at all? Do you really think me and your father as utter incompetent nitwits? We would have worked something out--the other parents, too! We know how to deal with people like that man....Ruadh, I believe it was. Your father and I have encountered worse in our business: con-artists, thieves, ruthless cabals! We wouldn't have stood for it. Oh, my boy, it was the worst path you could have chosen!"
"Dulcy," Ponzo coaxed, coming up from behind and rubbing her shoulders, "It's all right. Setzer has been through enough. The boy doesn't need to have his face rubbed in it."
"I know," his wife answered, rubbing a hand over her features (further smearing her make-up). "I'm sorry, my boy. Some mother I am."
"It's all right, Mama," Setzer squeezed her hand; he was filled with a desire to comfort her further, to make her laugh, to make her angry, anything to stop her looking so miserable, but he had no energy.
"Well," Dulcina sighed, forcing a small smile onto her face, "I suppose there's no use in all this. Besides, Doctor Lee told me that your facial bandages need to be redressed every so often, or they start to smell. Ponzo, go downstairs and get me those rolls of gauze and linen strips and a basin of water from the den, please."
She reached out and propped Setzer up into a half-sitting position, repositioning his pillow against his back. Then, delicately, she very gently grabbed ahold of a loose end of a bandage and, carefully but with surprising quickness, peeled off the layers of his dressings.
Dulcina was so intent on making sure she removed the bandages without hurting her boy, she never looked at him until the coverings of his face were nothing but long strips in her hand. When she finally looked at Setzer's face, Dulcina let the crusty bandages fall to the floor. One hand flew to her face with a loud smack upon impact. She didn't say a single word.
This reaction definitely did not put Setzer at ease. Was he disfigured for life? Had the doctor botched up? He was terrified of finding out, but the horror of ignorance was too strong, and he impulsively flickered his eyes to the mirror above his dresser, almost exactly opposite of him.
His face, bone-white and swollen, was criss-crossed with ugly, throbbingly red slashes, puffed up and tender keloid tissue, some covered in yellowish dried-up puss. Most of the wounds were thin, short slivers, but there were also great, thick gashes which had obviously been stitched together. His chin seemed to have taken the brunt of the attack, sporting three of those deep wounds, but a long crimson line meandered its way from his hairline to a few centimeters right above the center of his eyes. Another gash had located itself right on his left eye, almost swelling it shut; yet another wound marred the space underneath his right cheekbone. And the nose! Distended and looking like a bloated squash, two thin white cracks outlined its sides, as if it had been glued on with sealant. He was a walking jigsaw puzzle.
Setzer stared at his flawed countenance, tangled hair, and bandaged hands in the mirror dumbly while Dulcina staggered to her feet and called weakly out the door, "Ponzo, while you're down there, go and get me one of those hot water bottles. Fill it up with ice-water, please."
It was simply too much. Setzer lowered his eyes and groaned, "Oh, Mama," before bawling like a two-year-old. Tears leaked out--especially painful for his left eye--and trickled down his nose, which irritated his cuts, which made him only cry harder, which meant more pain to add to his torture, and...
Dulcina began to weep and rushed over, clinging to her boy, kissing the top of his matted head and moaning, "My Angel-Face, my Angel-Face" over and over again, nearly ripping the seams of her corset with her heaving breaths.
When Ponzo kicked open the door, balancing a basin of water in one hand and a squishy water bottle the other, the dressings in his pockets and some in between his teeth, he walked in upon two complete emotional wrecks. Fortunately, Ponzo, well-experienced in the frustrations of big business, grew calmer when everybody else around him grew more hysterical. Except in the instance of going bust, crises made him think clearer and act with prudence.
Ponzo looked at his sobbing family and quickly summed up what needed to be done. He set down the baggage and grasped his wife gently but firmly by the shoulders and made her rise as Setzer flopped limply back against his pillow, still crying.
"Hush, Dulcina, Sweetheart, hush..." Ponzo murmured gently, rubbing his hands up and down her back, but the clamor continued.
"By all the gods, HUSH!!" Ponzo bellowed, slamming his foot on the ground. Setzer and Dulcina gawked at him--they had never heard him raise his voice in years.
"Don't cry," the former merchant resumed in his comforting, quiet tone. "It's not so bad. Look."
He leaned over Setzer and traced over some of the thin cuts, taking care not to touch them. "Look at these. They're not deep at all. Why, in a few days, they'll be gone without a trace, and you'll forget all about them. And your nose looks like a fright now--it was barely dangling on by a thread when they found you--but Doctor Lee is a wizard. The man simply glued it back into place using some fancy medical procedure. He said that no permanent harm was done, and will be just like normal in time. Your hands were a little nicked up, but nothing serious. It'll be fine."
"But...but what about these?" Setzer demanded, nearly screaming, as he pointed to the wound on his forehead.
"I'm afraid that those can't be helped. You're scarred for life, my boy. Now, now, don't start bawling again. It's not the end of the world. Besides, I'm sure that those scars will heal over nicely. The stitches are going to dissolve on their own, and the swelling and redness will die down. They won't look so bad. In fact, the girls might think they become you!" Ponzo gave a quiet laugh, winking; Setzer wanted to hit him.
"Don't laugh, Papa!"
"I'm not, my boy," Ponzo assured, his face growing very solemn. "You had a narrow scrape. By some miracle, your coat protected any glass from severing your nose completely or lodging in your brain." He jerked his head over towards the closet's doorknob. Hanging limply from it was Setzer's coat, its back totally slashed to frayed ribbons; the boy swallowed thickly, feeling sick again.
Ponzo noted his son's discomfort and decided to change the subject. "Dulcy, I brought the things you wanted."
Dulcina gave water bottle to Setzer, who promptly slapped it to his face. The coolness of the icy water inside felt lovely against his throbbing skin and he wanted to keep his head buried in the paradise forever. But he soon needed to go up for air, and he removed the floppy thing, grateful for the temporary relief from the swelling.
Then his mother, having washed her hands in the basin, gently wiped face and began to clean it. The medicine now began to kick in, and her ministrations did not feel nearly as painful to Setzer as they would have. He groaned a few times, but that was all.
After carefully washing his wounds, Setzer felt his mother comb at his disarrayed hair, so gentle with the snags that he smiled softly in delight--the wonderful sensation of the relaxing pull at his scalp was quite nice, and her hands were so cool as they ran through his platinum locks. As he smiled, he found he had no sense of feeling in the upper right part of his face. At that moment he knew deep down that his little twitch was gone forever, the nerve sliced through. He closed his eyes.
When she had finished combing, Dulcina snatched up the bandages and began to dress Setzer's face. It was then that Ponzo spoke up quietly:
"Dulcina, Setzer, I need to talk with you. I wish it was at a better time, but we can't wait."
Setzer opened his eyes (the right one, anyway), and Dulcina, while continuing to wrap the bandages, nodded for her husband to continue.
"I have been thinking these past few days," Ponzo began to pace around the room, hands clasped behind his back, biting his bottom lip. "This Ruadh fellow--he was killed, Setzer."
"But I didn't--" Setzer murmured lamely, feeling only a muted feeling of shock through his pain and fatigue.
"I know it wasn't you, Setzer. Everybody knows. But the fact is that a man was killed, and you were greatly involved in the whole mess. And Ruadh may have been the one at fault, but he was also a member of a respected and feared family here. I called several very reliable sources over to our house yesterday, good friends of mine, and I asked them about the situation. And do you know what they said? They all said that you, my boy, are in big legal trouble. Ruadh's family knows you didn't kill the man, but they also know that you started it all. They want you in jail, Setzer. The minute you walk out the front door, you are going to be slapped in the face with an arrest warrant."
"But...it was only a prank...A prank! He insulted Mama," the boy moaned.
"Do you think they care? Oh, no, I know this kind of people. They'll see you roast, no matter what. But even if you did manage to avoid going to jail--you did fix his carriage and sort of compensate for everything--they wouldn't just let you off like that. They'd hound you. Everywhere you'd go, they would say, 'Look, there's Setzer Gabbiani, the court-dodger, the accomplice to a murder!' The lies they would cook up! The stories! My boy, you wouldn't get a decent job in this city."
"They wouldn't dare!" Dulcina interrupted, jumping off the bed. "They wouldn't! I'll kill them! I'll--!"
Dulcina then proceeded to storm around the room, yelling out some very unladylike words while her husband looked on with a mixture of shock and amusement. Setzer himself, as he watched her, found his mind wandering off to something very bizarre. He could see his mother descending upon Ruadh's family, swiping at them all with various pieces of kitchenware. The Frying Pan Avenger! Bringing pain and justice to all who dared hurt her family--
"What are you laughing at?" his mother broke his vision, looking down at him.
"Oh, nothing," Setzer couldn't help but giggle.
"Dulcina, please calm down. Sit," Ponzo beseeched, leading her over to the chair, "and please listen. Setzer, as I was saying: Ruadh's family will simply not leave you alone. They'd always have you looking back, always regretting what you did. By the gods, I will not have it! No Gabbiani will ever give up his future on such a trivial thing such as hubcaps! That is why, my boy, you must leave Jidoor."
"Leave?" the son and mother echoed simultaneously, sucking in their breaths.
"Yes. Leave. And I know just the place to go: Vector."
"Vector?!! Husband, are you insane? Ruadh was from Vector! It's the most illogical choice!"
"Exactly. It is the least likely place they'll look. Why would you go to the hometown of the man you fell out with? Perfectly nonsensical, and that family is very sensible. Not only that, but although the Empire is rather small now, its is growing...the Emperor is a very shrewd man. Business will be booming there. It won't be hard for our boy to get a job. The future is Vector. Also, I have a plan that will throw Ruadh's ilk further off the trail."
Ponzo left the room; Setzer and his mother looked at each other helplessly. They simply had no strength to object further--they were too emotionally drained.
The father soon came back, holding a great atlas in his hands. He flipped it open to the picture of the world map, marked over with several pens which had traced silk trading routes, the port cities circled.
"Listen, here's my plan. Now, the easiest route would to just buy you a chocobo, put you on a ship leaving the port east of here and send you off to Albrook, where you'd use the choc to speed your way to Vector. But I want you to drag your trip out. The more time that passes, the more the excitement and emotions will die down. You will disappear for some time, and people forget what they don't see. Vengeance very rarely lasts so long, and if it does, it usually grows so cold that they don't do anything about it. So this is the trip I suggest. We will get you a chocobo. Then you'll ride up to Kohlingen. There is a mountain range in between Kohlingen and Figaro Castle, but a train cuts through the thinnest part--it's how Figaro and Kohlingen trade. Once you reach Figaro, go to South Figaro. There you'll catch a boat to Nikeah. From Nikeah you'll sail to Albrook, and from thence to Vector. I am sure you will do well there--you are a clever, resourceful lad, and you'll have no lack of opportunities for a job. And even if Ruadh's family finds out where you are, you'll be so entrenched and so indispensable to your employers that they won't get to you. I feel it in my bones. "
"What about here? People're gonna be suspicious when I just run off without a trace," Setzer demanded. A wide smile broke over Ponzo's tired face.
"Ah, don't be so quick to sell your old man short," said he, arching an eyebrow. "I have thought of that as well. As soon as you can walk without fainting, we'll send you off on the chocobo in the dead of night. People have been wanting to see you, but I've been turning them away--as I will continue to do so after you've gone. But just in case, I'll get one of the old store mannequins from the attic, swath its face in bandages, and put it in your bed, just in case some sneak tries to peek in through your window. After about a week, your mother and I will resume our business and say that you have recovered, but we have sent you to a reformatory school for delinquents--"
"That's not very dignified, Papa," Setzer huffed, a faint trace of insult appearing his apathetic face. Ponzo laughed and patted the boy's knee.
"You'll have many chances to regain your pride, my boy. Anyway, we will say you've been sent away as a punishment, and during the night to avoid public spectacle."
"And what about Ruadh's family?" Dulcina pressed.
"I am pretty sure that they'll be satisfied with our 'discipline.' However, just in case, I will go to them and humbly beg their forgiveness and apologize for Setzer's behavior."
"I'll go with you," Dulcina said, laying a hand on her husband's arm. "Sometimes, dear Ponzo, I think that the wine has utterly destroyed your brain. But it's times like these that I know that my man hasn't lost it all yet. I still have some jewelry that you and Papa have given me over the years. I haven't pawned them all. They're really quite nice. I have a beautiful ruby rose brooch that I'm sure they'll love."
"Mama! You're not just going to give them your jewelry," Setzer exhaled sharply.
"Angel-Face," she crooned softly, running a hand over his bandages, "your safety is all that matters to us. We don't mind." A resigned sigh blew out of her lips. "I was too lax with you, I'm afraid. I spoiled you. If I had nipped your silly pranks in the bud, this would never had happened. It's bad mothering, just bad. And I'm sorry for that."
"If you'd stopped me, I'd have resented it," the son responded.
"I'd rather have you safe and resentful of me than this, darling," Dulcina said miserably, massaging her temples.
Ponzo looked tenderly at his wife. "Sweetheart, don't think like that. Now is not the time to look back on past mistakes. It won't help anybody. Plan for the future and think of nothing else. My boy, you just focus on getting well and on the journey. Don't worry about us. I haven't worked out all the details yet, but your mother and I will hold our own here and keep the dogs away. Leave everything to us."
After a few moments of silence, Dulcina spoke up: "You haven't had anything to eat for three days, darling. Would you like me to bring something up?"
"I don't know if I'll be able to hold it down," Setzer croaked with a rueful half- smile.
"Once your father was sick with a stomach-flu," the mother mused aloud, "and I made him a milk-based soup that settled very agreeably with him. It's very gentle and great for stomach-aches. I'm sure that you can keep it down. Come on, Ponzo, help me make it. Rest, my boy."
Dulcina gathered up the things on the dresser, the parents exited the room, and Setzer was left to his own devices. He turned his eyes up and blankly stared at the small cracks on the ceiling.
Would he be sad to leave? The youth pondered that question. What did Jidoor have to offer him, anyway? Taverns and entertainment--but he could get that at any other town. An education? His school was no better nor worse than the norm, and learning could be had anywhere. Girls? Also everywhere.
The more he thought on it, the more Setzer realized that he really didn't mind leaving Jidoor. Truth be told, the only things he would miss were his little group and his parents. There was no future for him here, no opportunity to be successful; out there, with his intelligence and ambition, he actually had pretty good odds of making a name for himself. His father was right. The future was Vector, where trade and business were welcome and young men in demand for hiring.
If I have any sort of Gabbiani blood in me, Setzer thought, I'll thrive. A warm feeling of satisfaction brushed away pain, guilt, and confusion as his old spirit reasserted itself somewhat, even if for only a moment.
He placed his hands over his stomach, linking his fingers together, and thought of the far-off lands he would see, the adventures he'd have--but he never let his eyes wander towards the mirror.
*************
Evening fell and, exhausted as he was, Setzer couldn't bring himself to fall asleep.
It never failed. Every single time he felt his mind drifting off into oblivious slumber, the same vision always emerged: he found himself sailing towards that window, the dreaded glass rising up before him like a nightmarish curtain, ready to slice his face into ribbons. And every single time when it seemed he was about to crash through it, he would jerk back into consciousness. No matter how hard Setzer tried to keep the horrible scene from re-enacting itself, it always came.
Tears began to sting his wounded eye; he thrashed the heavy blankets off his sweltering, sweaty body and stumbled out of bed. Each step taken made pinpoints of light explode painfully in his skull, and he leaned heavily against his desk.
He managed to collect his scattered thoughts after a few moments. As soon as the room stopped spinning, Setzer glanced down at the desktop, which at the present had a golden cage set in its center.
In the gilded-wire cage, which had once been used for a now-dead pet sparrow of Dulcina's, was the pigeon Setzer and J.J. had saved several days before. Doctor Lee had set its wing and patched up all the cuts marvelously, and the bird was practically well again; their bones knit quickly. During its stay, the pigeon had actually been very quiet: no flapping, no obnoxious cooing, no excessive mess. Now it looked up at the boy with wide red eyes and cocked its head, appearing a bit disgruntled, as it hadn't had any new food for three days, and its supply was running dangerously low.
"Hey, little fella," Setzer mumbled with a groggy half-smile, "You look hungry."
As he poured out some seed along with a bit of grit, Setzer continued to babble: "You're looking lots better. I'm gonna set you free tomorrow. No need to thank me."
He watched the pigeon peck at its food for a few moments before a thought dawned on him: Why the hell am I watching a bird eat?
Setzer didn't know how the thought sprung into his mind, or why it disgusted him so. All he knew was that a sickening welt had formed in his chest, he was burning up, and that he had to do something or go mad.
The desk was situated right beneath his bedroom window; Setzer struggled clumsily with the latch before raising up the sash and punching open the outdoor shutters.
It was still summertime, but the nightly drafts felt cool and inviting. The boy yanked off his bandages, not caring whether he hurt himself or not, and leaned out the window, exposing his excruciating face to the air.
Setzer's window was located above and a little to the side of the house's back porch, affording him a spectacular view of the dirt-paved alleyway meandering its way behind the line of homes on his street. There were no back yards; only the rich could afford that luxury. The rays from the brightly luminescent moon gilded the rooftops and the garbage pans with silver, creeping in and lighting all but the darkest corners. Setzer stared up and gazed at the orb overhead in the almost starless sky, trying to think on how he could calm his jangled nerves and earn some respite from the constant pain.
Something whistled past his ear, and he heard a s small crack as something collided with one of the shutters. The boy glanced down.
An amorphous shape emerged from the shadows, but as it came closer and finally halted right in front of a patch of gardenias in the small back garden, it was clear who it was. Standing in view, sifting a small pile of pebbles from his hand, was Lorenzo.