She sat with her arms crossed, staring out of the window as Boris drove the car in the driver's side in front of her. The smoke from the cigar in her mouth lazily trailed out of the slightly cracked window. "Using...children..." Balalaika took the cigar from her mouth. Boris looked in the rearview mirror for a moment, then back to the road ahead.
Glancing at the back of his head, she watched him. Then she put the cigar back in her mouth and spoke, "If you have words Sergeant, go ahead and speak them."
Boris didn't answer for a second, he was drumming his fingers along the steering wheel until he finally said, "Merely Verrocchio, and his schemes."
"There's more to it than that, isn't there?"
"Da, Kapitan. When children are involved...it...gives me chills. I think of Afghanistan and the child soldat we faced there. I cannot help it."
Balalaika stared at the floor of the car, thinking, "I suppose the Lagoon company is more than willing to be brought on in Verrocchio's destruction?"
"Da."
"How much?"
"They're doing so for free, apparently the girl told them something about a safe filled with all sorts of riches in the bastard's office."
"How easy."
"What do you..." he paused. A very rare occurrence. Boris always knew exactly what he wanted to say, he was the sort of man who thought first and acted or spoke later. "About those children...what do you want to do?"
Balalaika took another while to answer him. She sat there, thinking.
"Kapitan?"
"Just a second...I'm trying to remember..." she leaned forward a bit, "those names...Hansel and Gretel..."
"The fairy tale?" he looked back and saw her giving him a look, "well yes, it's probably..."
"Titles...but titles to what?" she thought further.
"I think it may be some sort of code, perhaps operative names."
"A smart idea Boris, but we mustn't think of this as soldat's...we must think of a solution as the villains we are. Set a course for...ugh...GoofFest..."
"Yes, ma'am?..."
"I'm not looking to make a damned purchase."
"The thought never came to me."
She huffed and sat back, "That Rowan is an expert on all things degenerate. If there's something to do with these children, he'll more than likely know about it. I'm under a large suspicion this is part of a bigger Sicilian plot."
"Why not ask the girl?"
"Ah Boris, it is better to know your enemy is it not?"
"True, but time is of the essence. Hansel...is still on the loose. Verrocchio may catch wind of what happened from the child and become a cornered bear in the process. Not good. Dammit...if only we'd gotten the call before he left the meeting, this would be made much simpler."
"Unfortunately, it is not, which is why I'll be putting out a bounty for the boy's capture."
"Is that so?"
"Verrocchio is many things: An arrogant pig for start, but a dirty rat? he may stink, but his kind are no talkers. I want information on what the Sicilians want. A couple young impressionable children with the chance to deal a strike against their more than distasteful handlers are much easier to talk to than a man who would die rather than betray his..."code."
"What if Mr. Chang reaches him first?"
"Oh I'm quite sure he'll be interested to know a few things himself. After all, he was set to be diced as well."
"Will he surely share that information?"
"I'll convince him."
"Kapitan?"
"Oh Boris, don't worry about it."
"You didn't answer."
"Answer what?"
"What shall we do with those children?"
"What to do with them?" Balalaika thought to herself for a moment. She glanced up to the rearview mirror and saw Boris look away as she did, "Boris...do not forget what we are. Even if they have not acted against us, they have proven themselves more than willing to do so."
"They're children."
"I think they're a little more than that if my hypothesis is correct but allow me to do a bit of research first. In the meantime, how long will it take to organize the men?"
"If we are able to coordinate with the Triad, around a day. By the way, what of that bounty on the child?"
"Oh yes, make that two actually. One for the boy, and one for Verrocchio's head. As much as I would like to teach our Italian Maiale some manners, better to have him gone from the city."
"How much?"
"For Verrocchio...fifty-thousand."
"Alright-"
"United States dollars."
"...That will incentivize. What about the child?"
"A good ten...no twenty...no ten shall do. Boris do you think ten thousand would do? it's a lot to ask for an alive target."
"If it is American money, I am sure many will flock to try and take."
"And do make sure to put this out when ours and Chang's operatives are good and ready. Wouldn't want Verrocchio to get a heads up now, would we?"
"Da."
They rode on, the city lights like thousands of small lanterns. Balalaika looking out the window, seeing the players on the streets with hideous faces and a whore arguing with a beggar in between a small alleyway and the general smell. Something of rot and decay, as if this city were some prey for an animal that had fed upon it for years without end.
When they exited the vile establishment after hours of searching took place inside, Balalaika ordered Boris to drive her back to her office in the sky-high building which doubled as a fortress. The car ride and subsequent entry in and elevator ride up to the top floor was silent too.
Her office was finely decorated, the red carpet and various items collected both foreign and from the motherland. She sat in a swivel chair looking out onto the city, Boris next to her. He'd poured a drink for himself and her.
"The meeting with Chang and Watsup has been set for tomorrow, correct?"
He didn't answer her.
"Boris?"
"Yes Kapitan."
"Good."
There was more silence between them. Jackpot had been welcoming to the both of them, more than eager for each to look at his, "Stock."
"I need something specific," Balalaika said with Boris behind her as they entered into a basement filled with rows of VHS tapes, the white labels of which had titles which she'd rather forget.
"You got it Miss Balalaika!" the man said, smelling of bad body odor and liquor. "We offer a selection of the finest erotica imaginable. Anything you want, we can provide-"
"Romanian kiddie porn," she said plainly.
"Huh?" he glanced back at her, "oh of course," he then started going through one of the shelves. "Gotta tell you though, some of these got snuff in em."
Every tape, they'd seen nearly a dozen, but Rowan had told them there were probably more. Hansel and Gretel, a simple title. Hansel and Gretel in the bloodsport fairytale. Hansel and Gretel in the happily ever after.
"They're certainly Romanian," Balalaika said.
"Da."
"I knew I recognized the names. Assassins, active within Sicily and its families there. Quite the body bags they've worked up there."
"Da."
"Do you..." Balalaika looked up at her right-hand man, "tell me something."
"Da."
"What do you believe we should do with them? when Verrocchio is gone, they will more than likely remain."
For a while, he didn't answer her. Boris was staring straight faced as ever out of the window before he finally gave her an answer, "You do not know yourself?"
"We are what we are Boris. I am willing to do what needs to be done. The family dog even, remember? but...sometimes my conscience gets a hold of me."
"It is you who will decide Kapitan. Not me. But if my advice is needed. Let them be if it does not cost us anything. Children are no assassins."
"You feel sympathy for them?"
"An inkling."
"Boris."
"Da."
"I cannot escape it," she said. "When it comes to children, it...it scares me to think I am near indistinguishable from that kind of villainy. Like a...thinly veiled line."
"Da."
"Tell me I am not alone in that thought process."
"You are not."
"Do you think that, or is it something that you are sure about?"
"...I am not. But I know you Sofiya, and I know you will make the hard call."
Balalaika sighed as she sat back in her chair, Boris lighting a cigar for her as she answered, "Yes...yes I suppose you are right Boris."
"Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven."
The nun read it to them as the girl and him sat with small blocks with lettered engravings. One of the children sat upon her lap and she was bouncing her gently as she read.
This was his first memory of a world that he knew little but knew all the same. A root point of his entire life in its becoming. Many branches led out from this root, but that root and its branches were in this day of a rotted growth which could not be put back, never right again. The mountain where this'd grown seemed older than mankind.
It was frozen almost in time as she kept reading. What was her face? he often had trouble remembering. The girl wouldn't talk to him about that time, but he knew she thought of it because he did too.
"And straightway the damsel arose and walked; for she was of the age of twelve years. And they were astonished with a great astonishment!" the boy said as he touched the girl's forehead. She would laugh, rising. Where were they? an old hotel that was right. Within the city.
They played games such as that, sometimes cards too. But games they made were few for mostly they worried. Always worried.
In his dreams, he would see them in a field playing under a tree that shaded them. The calls and smiles of the mother and father that they would never know in the distance. They wore clothes that were comfortable, they ate food that smelled good, they were safe, the girl would smile, and so would he.
His eyes were fuzzy as they woke to the dim lamplight. A feeling washed over him as he saw something blocking his view. A head. "Sora Mea?" he said.
The head lurched back with a small cry, that of a child's, "He's a zombie! mama he woke up and he's a zombie!" her dark eyes were buzzing as she jumped back.
"What?..." suddenly a great pain ailed him in his midsection and when he looked down his shirt had been removed with bandages wrapped around his body like a package. In the room he was in there was scant much beyond a small nightstand and a few dolls and figures spread around on the floor. A small lamp had been turned on and it was close to dark outside.
When the woman saw him, she held him in her arms and wouldn't let go as the child watched from the doorway. He sat there not speaking as she said, "Oh my goodness, we thought you were as gone for a moment there."
Her skin was tanned and her hair dark and her eyes the same as the child. She looked at him with a warmth that he hadn't felt...not since...his cheek twitched.
"Is your stomach feeling any better?" she asked.
"No..." he didn't know why he lied, but he did. "Where am I?"
"Don't worry, just rest, you're in a safe place now."
"Tell me..."
The woman seemed a bit taken aback by his insistence, but answered nevertheless, "You're in the slums...you're in Roanapuar...in Thailand-"
"I understand...thank you," the pain was so overwhelming as he raised up that he almost went back down. "For helping me. But you probably shouldn't have."
"What? stay in bed child, what're you doing?"
"Mommyyy I told you he was a zombie. They don't feel hurt," the girl said from the doorway.
"Maria hush now," the woman then took hold of the boy's shoulders. He fidgeted. "Little one, you mustn't leave. Lay back down, I made you soup."
"Where did you put my coat?"
"I said," she grabbed his shirt, "Sit. Down!"
And now he was sitting, watching as the woman brought him a bowl of the stuff while the girl played with her dolls close to them at the center of the floor. He wanted to feed himself, but the woman was insistent on spoon-feeding. She introduced herself as Nittaya and her daughter, but he'd already heard her name.
"Do you have any parents I can call?"
"No."
"Oh, poor thing, you must've joined a gang. Did they tell you foolish things like you'll live forever or something?"
"No."
"What is that accent by the way? you clearly aren't from around here, no racism intended mind you."
Maria interjected with, "He's a vampire mommy, like from Transylvania. Count Dracula sounds like he does on tv."
"Child!" the mother turned back to scold the girl.
"No...she's not wrong...technically."
The girl perked up, "Are you really a vampire!?"
"No. I'm...Romanian."
"From Transylvania?"
"No."
"Aw."
"Enough Maria, why don't you go back into the living room?"
"But momeyyy"
"None of that, right now."
He watched the girl leave, a small pout on her little face. Nittaya turned back to him. She looked a bit off, as if she were thinking on what to do about something. "Sorry about her, she's...been watching the horror channel a bit."
"It's okay..."
"All this talk and...I don't even know your name. What is it?"
"...Han...Hamdi."
"Nice to know your name Hamdi," the woman smiled.
"...Thank you."
"Hamdi, can I ask you about something personal?"
"...Okay...but...I..." his voice shook a little, "not with your daughter...please..."
"What?"
"Don't you want me to..." he looked at her face. She was genuinely confused. "N-Never mind."
"Well, okay. I wanted to ask..." she cleared her throat, "are you sure you haven't been in any gangs or bad activity? it's not your fault if you are. I didn't take you to the hospital because I thought the police would start sniffing around."
"N-No."
"There's clearly something the matter child, when I was patching you up I saw so many markings on you. Previous injuries? and that axe, what are you chopping down in this city anyways?"
"I'm...not in a gang. Listen, Miss Nittaya, I'll forever be grateful for you saving and feeding me. But...I have to leave."
"Why? perhaps I can help you."
"No!" he covered his mouth. She stared at him, "No...no you can't." He stood up, the boy wasn't looking her in the face as he took some steps. His chest felt tight and heated as he moved but he kept on all the same.
"Tell me why I can't help you," she said grabbing his wrist. It was a firm grasp. He flinched when she did. "Who's hurting you? is someone hurting someone you know too?"
"Why do you even care?" he saw his jacket on a nearby coat hanger in the room.
"Because you're a little boy who was shot in the raining street. Little boys should not be getting shot, they should be in school or playing with their friends! please...just sit down and we may both figure this out."
"You aren't my mother."
"Excuse..." she breathed, "me?"
"I-I didn't mean..." he looked like he instantly regretted that. "Your help is appreciated, but-"
"Tell me something right now, and look me in the eye," she didn't get closer, but he felt her gaze into his grey orbs like some intense miasma. "Are you, being harmed by somebody?"
He nodded.
"Is this person hurting you with words?"
He was shaking. He nodded.
She watched him. As if she were thinking of what to say next. Biting her lip, she next said, "Is this person hurting you physically?"
He nodded.
"Hamdi, be honest with me on this next question because it's very important. Have they touched you in a place that you didn't want them to?"
He didn't move.
"Hamdi."
He nodded.
He saw her face twitch, for a moment there was silence between them as she sat below him on that bed and him standing over her.
"Is this still happening?"
He nodded.
"Is this a person with an important position in your life?"
"P-P" he stuttered softly.
"What?"
"Person's..."
She covered her mouth and looked away for a moment. She made a strange noise as she slowly turned back to him. It was no happy sound.
"Is this only you, or is there someone you care about going through the exact same thing?"
"My sister," why did he tell her? you stupid idiot. You useless waste of nothingness why did you tell her that? she couldn't do anything about that. She can't save you, she can't save her. If she even knew a speck of the truth, she would scream at you to get away and never come back while holding her daughter close.
"Where is she?"
"I...I don't know. That's why I have to leave."
"Where was she last?"
I can't say that. Not to you."
"Is it hard to trust me?"
"No...I...you don't need to get hurt because of me."
"Hurt? Hamdi, whatever you're doing or a part of doesn't matter. You are a little boy, what exactly can you even do? if there's some way-"
"There isn't."
Nittaya looked utterly defeated as he was tugging away from her, saying, "Is that even your real name?"
"What is?"
"Hamdi."
He finally slid out of her grasp. The boy looked at his hand that she'd grabbed, then up at her, "No." He went to the coat rack and the table beside it. His axe on it, he took the thing in his hand and he put it inside a pocket in the coat as he put it on.
"Those're filthy," she said weakly.
"They're all the clothes I have."
"...Hang on." She went out of the room and came back with a set of khaki shorts and a button up flannel. Setting them out across the table, she said, "these were my husbands, you're almost about his size, you'll have use for them. I'm honestly surprised you can even wear that jacket when it gets so hot outside."
He stared at the clothes, and then her, "Keep them."
"Why? I just told you I have no use for these."
"What...happened to your husband?"
He was already looking away from her, so he didn't see her face when she said, "He died, many years ago." There was something behind that voice, a certain quiet sadness. It reminded him of somebody he knew all too well.
"I'm sorry."
"What for?"
Not answering for a moment, the boy instead placed his jacket back on the table, "I just am. I guess."
He couldn't remember the last time he had worn clothes beside his usual attire. The boy liked them. It was nice to not have to wear the shorts and undershirt. At the front door, his other clothes and axe in a small duffel bag she'd given him, he saw that he was in a run down and ratty street of apartments with just tall light at the end of the street.
"Is this goodbye then?" she said as he stepped onto the stoop of the doorway, hoisting the bag over his shoulder. The girl in the living area beyond them watching something on the television, but he cared not what it was.
"Yes."
"You're just going to go and..." she stopped herself before going any further.
"I have to see if my sister...help my sister, I mean." He felt himself shaking and yet the temperature was merely close to below seventy.
"Fine...fine..." Nittaya shook her head as she hugged him once again, and he felt himself greatly wishing to stay. To be treated with kindness, to be seen as something more than what he was now, to be seen as just...barely human. Where living would not be a game. Where he would never be close on to dying to survive. But he couldn't, and the boy knew that.
When she woke, the girl was laying upon the couch in the small apartment of Rock's. She lay there, allowing her eyes to adjust back to the land of physical. When she remembered who she was, she felt a sinking feeling within and sat up. There was talking.
"We really gettin stuck with babysitting duty? Rock, come on. I thought we were gonna go fuck up Verrocchio's bitch ass, then Dutch has us waiting here like good little civil servants."
"Look I don't like it anymore than you do, but we need to make sure she doesn't go run off back to the guy. You know that."
"Which is why kickin his ass would be time better spent than just sittin on our thumbs, meanwhile fry face is taking years to prep her squads or whatever."
The girl sat up on the couch slightly, barely so as she didn't want to be heard, "Revy, wouldn't you feel better knowing that we have Hotel Moscow backing us in case something goes wrong?"
"Okay sure, but what if Verrocchio sends his goons at us again and the Ruskies ain't nowheres?" Revy was waving her arms up at him as the girl finally managed to look above the couch. They were stood in the kitchen behind a small countertop, a white electric stove to the left and a black fridge behind Rock on the right. The door to the outside was further right.
The girl saw Rock, or Rockuro Okajima. She called him that, Rockuro. She wasn't sure why, not at all. "He can't act now, and if he does...you aren't scared are you?"
"Shut the fuck up!"
"Hey, not so loud."
"Oh what, is your precious Gretel sleeping?"
He gave her a disgusted look, "Don't say it like that. Jesus Revy. You looked happy when she started talking about the money he had."
"Yet another reason I got to go kick some ass. A mafioso's stash has gotta be containing some pretty bitchin shit inside, and I wanna be the girl gettin all the change."
"We'll be getting it-"
"We?"
"Stop it."
"Alright, alright, god you're stubborn when it comes to doing business," she said grabbing a hold of his wrist and smiling a little.
"You're stubborn in general, Revy," Rock gave her a smile back.
The girl frowned. She watched the two for another moment, then she sat back and looked around. There was a hall leading from the small living area with several doors, and a large window by the couch with curtains closed. Her gun had been taken from her, Dutch, their leader had taken it. "Sorry, but I can't let my workers be at any more risk than they already are," he'd said.
"Oh hey, you're awake," Rock's gentle voice said making her jump slightly. He was standing a few feet away, looking down, and he sat down on the couch beside her.
"Where's your friend?" Gretel said softly, not looking him in the eye.
"Cleaning her guns, I let her use my bedroom's desk for it."
"Oh, okay."
"Are you alright? there's pizza in the fridge, I know it's not much but-"
"It's okay, I'm not hungry," she said looking back at him, "I was just thinking."
"...Wanna share?"
At first she seemed unsure, but eventually the girl managed out, "...Why're..." she paused, "why're you so different?"
"Huh?"
The girl was rubbing her face with her index and middle fingers as she spoke, "You're not like those other people. You're separate, like...a bee away from the queen."
"I am?"
"You're...nice, you've shown me mercy and kept me in your apartment and even offered food. Why?"
Rock scratched his forearm as he looked down at her, "Well, Dutch asked me to-"
"You didn't do it because that man said so. When...I was drawing my gun back there, you didn't scream or shout about it. You just looked at me."
Rock looked over the couch, then back, "Is...that why you didn't?..."
"...Yes..."
He stared down at her, looking slightly perplexed as she swung her legs back and forth on the couch, "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah."
"...Where do you think your brother is?"
"Hiding."
"That quick of an answer?"
"He isn't dead."
"But-"
"He. Isn't..." she breathed, and the breath hitched a little. Rock said no more of it.
"Since...you've asked me a question..." she said, "I'm gonna ask you one in return, Mr. Rockuro, do you like to venture down to the ocean?"
He tilted his head slightly, "On occasion...I don't swim but it's nice to walk and feel the cool sand when it's dawn or dusk out."
"I'd like that."
"Never been on a beach before?"
"Yes...but I've never gotten to play there."
"Ah."
"I don't get to play that much at all. Never actually."
"...Why not?"
She didn't answer for a moment. Standing, and feeling something run through her, the girl started talking, "I was born in the mountains, we were, me and Fratele Meu."
Rock sat there, and when she finished that sentence, he found himself leaning forward. Revy, at the desk in the room down the hall had stopped cleaning her guns and sat there in her seat listening all the same.
"We lived in an orphanage, there was a kind woman there. She raised us and the others with what little there was. Then the old men came...they..." she started holding her forearm, squeezing. "They took us...and they made us do...things."
He didn't say anything, he was just sitting there, but his eyes seemed to have opened a bit.
"They put cameras in front of us, in front of other children, and they would laugh. But we didn't laugh, us and the others."
"The...others?"
"The children they brought to us."
"What?..."
"Sometimes it would be the children, and we would hurt them because if we didn't, they would hurt us. But...sometimes they hurt us even if we did as they asked."
He could hear his heart beating in his head as she kept on, for a moment Rock wished to stop her, but he didn't.
"Brother...kept me...alive. He would hold me when I cried and tell me the word of God. He told me, "Sora Mea, Dacă nu ești cuvântul lui Dumnezeu, atunci Dumnezeu nu a vorbit niciodată." Do you want to know what that means? it means...If you are not God's word, then God has never spoken."
Rock didn't say anything, so she went on, still not facing him, "Sometimes, I wonder God would do this to us. My brother thinks it is because we must suffer before we are rewarded, but I am not so sure. I still...believe...but it makes me wonder if when mankind was being created, that the devil stood at his shoulder throughout."
Finally, the girl turned back, and she saw Rock. He was holding his hands together, tears flowing down his face. All was silent between them. The grey eyes meeting dark, and for a brief moment Rock wished to put her in a home where she was loved and happy and without fear.
"...Oh, I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."
"No...no it's fine..." he said wiping his face.
"I understand Mr. Rockuro, for me, it's always like that."
The storm outside went on, and the lights of the city were half upon her from what little there was under the black drapes beside them. "Do...you want me to sing to you?"
"...Sure...?"
"When my brother was sad, my singing would cheer him up. Sometimes I even pretend that I'm on Broadway doing it."
"Go ahead."
She sang of a world of midnight. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. The girl sang like an angel fallen from the sky who's singing of itself was a plead to the higher court of heaven to be forgiven as the sins were so great a burden upon her, and yet she would carry them with her upon this earth, forevermore.
The girl twirled around, tears in her eyes, her fair skin and light hair shining in the light. Small, fragile, and nimble, truly now acting like the little girl she was. She sang of a place where none may see her cry, she sang that the tears were of her lonely soul, and she finished with finding her peace of mind in the dark and cold world of midnight. The light now fully upon her as she stopped at its center and bowed.