CHAPTER 3: Old Centrium
After thirty minutes of silence from the PAD, Aden pulled off of the road and hovered into a paved parking lot in front of a building of corrugated steel. The two vehicles were already there. The one Aden recognized instantly as the Guy's black limousine. Despite the dirt and dust it had travelled through, the paint job was without a scratch, mirroring the midday sun hanging directly overhead. The other vehicle, which Aden had never seen before, was black as well. Only this one was compact and rode low to the ground. Across the hood stretched a wide gash in the paint that flaked rust.
As Aden slowed down and dismounted his bike, the Guy stood in front of his limo, as still as a statue. His piercing, blue eyes bored into Aden from behind his trademark pair of gold-wired spectacles. White, thinning hair sat atop of a wrinkled head. He wore a black suit and a belt. The suit fit tight, struggling to rein in the excess of flesh that bulged beyond the belt. On each finger was a silver band. When he spoke, his hands quivered, and the bands clicked together.
A Honchkrow sat on his shoulders, preening its feathers, seemingly above the situation at hand. In the past, Aden had heard rumors that if the Guy found that someone had outlived his or her usefulness, then he would command the Pokemon to pluck the problem individual's eyes. Aden had never seen or heard of any eyeless former-employees himself, but he wouldn't put it past the bird.
When Aden opened the back compartment on his bike and pulled out the sphere, the Guy's gaze softened considerably.
"Ah, Aden, my boy. Looks like we arrived right on time, yes?"
"Yes sir," Aden said, lowering his eyes.
The door on the other car opened, and a third man joined. Like the Guy, he wore a suit, but he was infinitely taller and skinnier. Dark-lensed glasses hid any emotion his eyes might betray.
"This is the package?" he asked, though it sounded more like an order, nodding down to the object Aden held.
"It is," the Guy confirmed. "Aden, if you could give it to him now. The details of the transaction have been finalized."
Aden did no such giving. The third man simply snatched the package out of his hands.
"A pleasure doing business with you," the man barked at the Guy.
"Likewise," the Guy said, raising a trembling hand.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the man was back in his car, and the tires squealed as it tore out of the parking lot.
"You will find two million credits in your account," the Guy said, "just as we agreed previously, yes?"
"Yes. Thank you, sir."
"Sad to say it, but I do not have anything planned for you for the next two months. You'll be on your own until then. Take some time off. Have some fun. I trust that you will, yes?"
Two months without work? Fun? Aden's stomach lurched. How was he supposed to finance Elena's treatments while unemployed? But Aden hid his shock, plastering a smile across his face.
"I will, thank you," he said.
The Guy brought up his hand for a parting wave, silver rings glaring back at Aden. A servant opened passenger door of the limo and the Guy pulled himself in. The limo sped off down the road, leaving Aden in the dust.
Two months without work. A tiny part of Aden breathed a sigh of relief. He felt the tension in the muscles in his shoulders subside. Up until that moment, he hadn't been aware that they were clenched. Working with the Guy was draining. Not because of the fear that his Honchkrow would peck his eyes out (though that was a real possibility), but because he was so intense. When Aden was in his presence, he felt those blue eyes tracking his every move. They were waiting for him to make a mistake. Not that he ever did, but like the eye-eating bird, the possibility existed.
In fact, Aden's first meeting with him opened with the revelation that he was being tracked. He allowed himself a thin smile, thinking back on that day. He was fifteen then, roaming the streets of Centrium at all times when school wasn't in session, and sometimes when it was. He held no formal job. The money that he earned was wrenched from the pockets of others. He had no Pokémon and no weapons: just his two friends, or "associates," as he would call them now.
There was sickly Jimmy with the matted brown hair and snot dribbling out of his nose. His breath smelled vaguely of citrus-flavored tablets dissolved in water. What he lacked in health, though, he made up for in offensive presence: he owned a Sneasel, the only Pokémon in the group. The other kid was Arros. He came from Montañaprimera, the city in northern Vaineo where only Spanish was spoken. Aden understood only half of what he said, but the language barrier was never a problem. He was the tallest of the group, and built like a rock. He didn't need to say a word to look intimidating, and often this alone was enough to convince their marks to forfeit their money.
On that particular day, they were tracking a fat old man in a suit with a slight limp. They had spent around a half hour following him on a main road before he turned down an alley. This alley wasn't the type that got a lot of cross-traffic, either. The overhangs from the two adjacent buildings blocked out the light, and steam poured out from the gratings under their feet, rushing across mossy cobblestones that hadn't been cleaned in twenty years. At the time, the group rejoiced at what they considered to be good fortune. Now, Aden shook his head at the fact that he thought nothing was awry when a well-dressed man just so happened to take a secluded alley.
Aden stood between the two boys with a hand on each's shoulder.
"What now?" Jimmy asked.
"There's no big bulges in his pockets, nothing sticking out of his clothes," Aden whispered to the two. "No Poké Balls. Go get him. Now."
Jimmy stepped forward and opened his Poké Ball, sending the Sneasel rushing forward. Arros lumbered after it. The man turned around calmly as the group of boys bore down on him.
"Give us your money!" Aden demanded.
The man held up both of his hands and smiled good-naturedly, eyes twinkling.
"Very well. I have it all in a wallet in my front pocket. Is it okay if I reach for it now, yes?"
"Fine," Aden said. The entire group glared at the man.
The man reached down, pulled out a bill, and handed it to Aden. The denomination was 100 dollars. Aden's face went pale. The other two boys dropped their intimidating facades and gathered around Aden, eyes huge. The man brought out another bill: another 100. Then another. Then another. And then another. When it was all over, Aden found himself clutching twenty of the bills for a total of two-thousand dollars.
"That is all," the man said with a shrug.
Aden caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. A flutter of wings echoed from behind him. Before he could turn around, a Honchkrow swooped in and perched itself on the man's shoulder. If puffed up its feathers, and glanced from left to right at the gang of children.
"If that is all you want, I must be on my way now. I would like you to come with me, though, Aden, and have a little talk. Is that okay with you, yes?"
Aden's mouth hung open. He didn't think he had much of a choice, so he simply nodded.
"Good."
The man put an arm around Aden and led him away from the members of his gang.
"I have been watching you, Aden," he said. "There are two things about you that I like: you know your way around the streets, and you are a leader."
Aden wrinkled his nose. The man smelled of perfume. Or maybe it was shampoo. He wasn't sure, as Elena wasn't into that kind of stuff.
"I don't really lead," Aden shot back. "People just look at me for advice, so I give them advice. I was just doing my part of the job. You had your back to us, so I told them to go for it."
"And that is the beauty of it. You know that pushing people around divides the group, while telling it exactly what it wants to hear unites it. More to point, though, I'd like you to work for me. It will be a real job with real money. If it pleases you, consider the two-thousand dollars a signing bonus, yes?"
"How much will you pay me?" he asked.
"Much more than what you hold in your hands right now."
Aden thought about Elena. Every morning, she left the apartment at eight, and came back at eight at night. Her money from twelve hours a day combined with his from combing the streets all twenty-four was hardly enough to put bread on the table. Heating and electricity were intermittent luxuries, and they often found themselves huddled beneath blankets in the winter months. Up until this point, he had claimed that the money he earned was the product of a job that he fit in around school hours, as he knew that the real explanation would cause her to vomit. But now he actually had that job. And maybe if it paid high enough, she would not have to work as hard for his sake.
"Tell me more," Aden demanded.
The man smiled.
"Of course."