The chubby shop owner prepared the bakery’s supplies and left in the morning, a rare occurrence, as mornings were peak business hours.
The streets outside were dirty and chaotic. Customers mentioned that all of Jingang City’s street cleaners had gone on strike today—a polite way of saying it. In reality, most of the city’s street cleaners were undocumented immigrants who worked for a meager twenty-five dollars a day to clean the streets twice. Hiring locals, on the other hand, cost at least thirty-five dollars per day. A ten-dollar difference might seem minor, but with enough workers, the savings added up quickly.
There were two kinds of city cleaners: those working directly under the City Management Bureau as government employees with standard pay, social and medical insurance, government benefits, and plenty of time off. The others worked for private cleaning companies contracted by City Hall, hired as cheap labor—often undocumented immigrants—with minimal pay while the company pocketed the difference as profit.
As clashes between locals and immigrants intensified, even the few local cleaners were too scared to work alone, forcing a strike. This strike might have also served as a political statement, subtly urging citizens to calm down.
After just one night and morning without cleaning, the streets already looked filthy, animal droppings on the roadside emitting a stench in the heat. If it rained, the water would mix with the droppings, spreading the foul odor throughout the city.
The morning rush passed quickly, with customers arriving early, buying bread, and leaving without stopping to chat.
Around eleven, the same car Fordis had driven last time pulled up outside. He stayed inside, honking and calling to Lance, “Get in!”
Lance handed his apron to the shop owner’s daughter, asked for a quick leave, and got in the car.
“The boss wants to see you,” Fordis said, carefully navigating around the manure on the road. It wouldn’t harm the car, but cleaning the residue from the tire treads would be a hassle. Yet, there was no avoiding it with the streets in this state.
“What about?” Lance asked, though he had a pretty good idea.
Fordis shook his head. “There are smokes in the glove box. You’ll find out soon enough.”
They drove in silence, with Fordis focused on the road. Demonstrators were everywhere, and in the alleyways, small groups were occasionally seen assaulting lone individuals. Lance even saw Police officers tying up some rioters who had attacked immigrants to streetlamps and leaving them there.
Fordis glanced over and explained, “The Police stations are full, and they can’t send everyone to jail, so this morning, the mayor signed an ‘On-the-Spot Detainment Order.’ Anyone caught attacking will be tied to a streetlamp for twenty-four hours.”
Lance lit a cigarette. “This bad, huh?”
Fordis nodded. “Lots of outsiders are coming to join in, so you can imagine how big it’s gotten. Stirring up trouble is a popular hobby for Federation citizens, but some groups get paid to create chaos. Here, you can arrange any protest, anywhere, any size, as long as the money’s there.”
In Jingang City, luxury cars had their privileges, too, and Fordis had no trouble driving them directly into the alley behind the Finance Company, where several high-end cars were parked.
Two burly men were lounging by the back door, sipping coffee. They greeted Fordis with a wave and gave Lance curious glances.
“This is Howard and his brother, Little Howard. Their dad had a bit to drink while filling out their birth certificates.”
The older Howard raised a hand, gesturing dismissively. “Cut the crap!”
Fordis shrugged and led Lance inside, gripping his arm to guide him through the back entrance.
The back door opened into a spacious break room furnished with sofas, chairs, small tables, dartboards, a pinball machine, and a pool table. Several people lounged around, their casual movements causing the old wooden floor to creak.
Many of them greeted Fordis, and he responded casually, but their eyes were mostly on Lance, curious about the new face.
People feared these men, but from Lance’s experience, they were pretty easy to get along with—until you triggered their “switch.” Lance followed Fordis’s lead, smiling and exchanging greetings as he wandered around, waving the cigarette Fordis had given him.
“New guy?” an older man asked, clearly liking Lance’s youthful, clean-cut look and friendly demeanor.
Fordis reclaimed his pack of cigarettes. “The boss wants to see him.”
The others fell silent, only wishing him luck.
As they entered the Finance Company through a side door, the receptionist was busy with her makeup. She glanced over when she heard them, and Fordis explained, “The boss wants to see him.” She nodded and resumed her task. 𝑅à₦𝐎𝖇Ёș
At the end of the hall, Fordis stopped at an office door but didn’t go in. “Good luck, Lance,” he said with genuine warmth. Fordis liked Lance, but all he could do now was hope for the best.
Inside, the boss was watching the news. The Police chief was on screen, repeatedly warning the public against crime and boasting about the day’s work—how many people they’d detained, how many crimes they’d thwarted. But when the city would truly stabilize remained unsaid.
“Watch the news?” the boss asked, gesturing without turning around for Lance to sit. “Grab a drink at the bar if you want. I’ll finish this segment first. And I think you smoke—cigarettes are in the box.”
Lance lit a cigarette and leaned against the table, his eyes following the screen.
At the end of the broadcast, the chief pledged his best efforts to restore order in Jingang City. To Lance’s surprise, he noticed the same officer who’d once shaken down the bakery owner, standing right behind the chief.
“What’s that guy’s role?” Lance asked, pointing at the screen.
The boss looked a bit surprised but obliged. “That’s John. Don’t let the name fool you—he goes by ‘Vulture.’ They recently made him Assistant Commissioner. Not a good guy, by any means.”
Everyone in their circle knew who took bribes and who didn’t, so hearing a loan shark call a crooked cop a “bad guy” had an ironic ring to it.
When the broadcast ended, the boss turned around and motioned for Lance to sit down. “I forgot to introduce myself last time. I’m Alberto Corti. Call me Alberto, or Mr. Corti.”
Lance nodded.
Alberto touched his lips thoughtfully. “I’ve been following the news. Heard there was a large clash at the docks yesterday. Seems like your people aren’t allowed to work there anymore?”
“It’s temporary,” Lance explained. Of course, he owed it to Mr. Corti to clarify things and offer reassurance.
Alberto chuckled without explanation, then sighed. “These outsiders have made a mess of the city, and we’re short-staffed.”
“You made me a promise earlier—that if I needed, you’d work for me. Is that still good?”
Lance was surprised but not entirely. “Of course, Mr. Corti. My promise stands anytime.”
“But…” Lance hesitated. “Given the situation outside, some things might be a little difficult to manage.”
Alberto raised a hand, stopping him. “I’m not stupid. I know what kind of work to assign you.”
“I have two accounts here. Both guys are trying to skip out. Can you collect what they owe me?”
“If you can handle these two, then I’ll clear the debt you owe me.”
Lance didn’t agree immediately. “How much do they owe?”
Alberto pulled two loan contracts from a drawer and tossed them on the desk.
Lance picked them up, noticing the contracts were very formal, likely drawn up with a legal advisor’s help.
One borrower had taken a loan of a thousand dollars, now worth thirty-five hundred with interest. The other had borrowed two thousand, now totaling five thousand.
Lance whistled softly. There was no business more profitable than high-interest loans.
“Before I decide, Mr. Corti, do they actually have the money to pay?”
Alberto spread his hands. “Of course they do. If you can’t squeeze it out of them, just bring them here. That’ll count as a job done.”
“So, what’s your answer?”