Redemption is a five letter word
Chapter One
Joshua was always hungry. He glanced down at the lone blueberry pancake on the plate and drenched it in honey. He neatly cut it into four equal parts and carefully placed one of the pieces into his mouth. Honey dripped from his lips as he chewed. The pancake tasted like a dry sponge that had been dipped in gasoline and it took a mighty effort for him not to spit it out and gag. He winced as he swallowed.
‘I hope that tastes bad. I hope it makes you sick.’
With the fork dangling from his fingers, he tinkered with the remaining pieces on the plate, intrigued with how the honey curved and folded in on itself. A smirk appeared across his face as he realized that he had forgotten the taste of honey.
“You good?” asked the sweet voice of a young lady. “Or would you like another serving?”
“I’m good.” Joshua replied, wiping the honey from his mouth with a napkin.
“It always surprises me how much food you can shove down your mouth.” The young lady stated, lifting the plate off the table.
“I’ve got a high metabolism.”
“Right.”
“Plus I exercise. Thanks Jess.” Joshua said. The young lady walked away whilst humming a tune. No matter what he said, no one believed him. He was morbidly thin and it didn’t take a medical professional to figure out that it wasn’t because he had a high metabolism. They all believed it to be the Rucca virus and he had no option but to let them believe in that. That’s what made sense. A parasite, manifested from his sins, living in his gut was simply beyond their comprehension. His eyes darted down towards his belly.
‘I guess shame is another one of your little gifts to me.’
An old station wagon pulled up into the parking bay and stopped clumsily by the entrance. The two men inside bickered with one another. A native family clad in blue body paint entered the diner. The heavily pregnant woman and her three young boys were all barefoot. The boys began to jostle and shout, “Vanilla ice-cream!”
The grey-haired man seated by the bar smacked his newspaper and gave the family an ugly stare. Jess intervened with her bright smile and big, brown eyes.
“You all want vanilla ice-cream?” she asked.
“Yes! Yes!”
“Righto. Have a seat.”
The grey-haired man twisted his lip and then continued to read his paper. The station wagon outside parked properly and the men proceeded to enter the diner. Joshua glanced through the large windows towards the grey, misty sky. One never saw the sun in the city of Dantcha. One never saw the sun in the Rucca Province.
“Morning boss.” One of the men said, seating himself opposite Joshua. The other man had winked at Jess and then casually bantered with her.
“We’re headed for the church today.” Joshua stated.
“That’s right.”
“You made that payment to the contractor?”
“Did that yesterday.”
“Everything in this God damn place is rotting. I try to expand the church and end up rebuilding the whole thing from top to bottom.”
“It’s an old building.”
“You are rather relaxed considering you’ll be footing most of the cost.”
“I lived in a church for almost three years. The preacher was probably the kindest human being I’ve ever known. I don’t mind.”
“Every now and then Sunt, you surprise.”
“I guess that’s a compliment.”
“Let’s get to it. Where’s Ulreem?” Joshua asked standing up. “Christ, will you tell him to stop flirting with Jess. She’s got enough to do as it is.”
It was lightly raining when the three men stepped outside. To the North West, over ten miles away, thick smoke billowed into the grey heavens. There was a pungent smell in the station wagon.
“Jesus, open the windows.” Joshua commanded. As they pulled out of the parking bay and headed South, Joshua opened his notebook and looked over the handwritten itinerary.
“There should be laws against this type of shit.” Sunt said. He glared hatefully at a group of natives, clad in their blue body paint, by the road. They surrounded a makeshift fire and chanted at it. Branches covered in thick leaves that had been glazed in oil were thrown into the fire and it flared up and orange splinters hovered in the air above them.
“Don’t they have a place where they can do this? Like a church or something. You know an old woman that lives by me began praying in the middle of the street. The middle of the fucking street. I should’ve run her over.” Sunt continued.
“They are praying and giving thanks to their God Woondar. The sango-man is guided by the spirits towards plakks, portals between our world and the spirit world and so fires are made at those plakks and the Rucca people pray and give thanks to the fire and it is assumed that their worship travels through the portal to their God. In other words, the whole province is their church.”
“We give them money and an education, you’d think they’d at least try to be more civil.”
Joshua chuckled and scratched something in his notebook. Ulreem began fidgeting with the radio.
“This is their homeland. We’re the intruders. Why the hell should they change their ways?” Joshua said. He had posed the question more to himself. Apparitions and Gods were things that had never mattered to him; they were irrelevant, things that other people with sad, boring lives indulged in. Such things however begin to have more of an impact, the more real they become; the same way having a close family member dying of cancer bears more of an emotional burden than hearing of strangers dying of cancer. The parasite in his gut made the ghosts real. The sango-men with their yellow teeth and dead eyes made the Gods and demons real. He ate their herbs and listened to their ‘wisdom’ and drank the blood of their slaughtered animals. He even prayed to Woondar. None of it worked. The parasite was not removed, could not be removed and so he resigned himself to the simple truth. He was damned. Gods were real. So what? Men at work pushed wheelbarrows filled with red bricks into a church as cement raced out of a stationary truck into a hole in the ground. The station wagon was parked and Joshua stepped out. He was hungry again and his armpits were moist. The foreman with his yellow construction helmet waved at him. The preacher man emerged from the building wearing his cheap, dusty robe and rushed towards Joshua.
“Mr Grove.” He said with his sleazy smile. “I am so pleased to see you. The renovations on this house of the Lord are coming along nicely. The wooden benches have just been fitted in and they are splendid.”
“That’s good.” Joshua stated. “That Valee wood is not cheap.” He continued as they both entered the church.
“Indeed, indeed. We are so grateful to you Mr Grove. I thank the Lord every day to have blessed us with your kindness.”
A statue of a fatigued-looking Jesus hovered above the empty benches. It sparked a quiet anger in Joshua. He had prayed to him as well. The preacher rambled on like a chicken that sensed the butcher’s knife slanting closer. Joshua’s stomach growled and the drilling and hammering grew louder. The air was stuffy and a construction worker spat on the floor before scratching his buttocks. Joshua began to feel light headed.
“Get me some water will you, Preacher!” he barked.
“Of course. Of course Mr Grove.” The preacher responded. He darted into a nook behind the altar. Joshua stepped outside and breathed in the air. It was the one thing that he appreciated about Rucca. The air was clean and fresh. He looked towards the North West and saw the smoke continue to rise and disappear into the grey clouds. It was good to appreciate the clean air because one day it would be gone he thought. The Rucca Oil Company would make sure of that. He approached the foreman and asked on the progress of the renovations.
“At least another six weeks.” He replied with his deep Southwestern accent.
“You sure? You better be. I can’t afford anymore.” Joshua said aggressively.
“Trust me Mr Grove, we’ll be done in six weeks.”
By the station wagon Sunt and Ulreem were in conversation with the mayor of Dantcha, a squirrelly man by the name of Roldar Price.
“How you doing mayor?”
“Very good Mr Grove. I was just thanking your associates for the food packages they sent to the workers at the east plant.”
“Those are good men. Hard workers, it was a pleasure.”
The mayor leaned in and whispered, “About that other matter…” he sighed and cast his pathetic, apologetic eyes towards Joshua. “It’s going to take more time. The council members are still uneasy and you know how much sway the oil company has over them.”
“I don’t want to hear this Roldar.”
“I know but right now my hands are tied.”
“Well then untie them. The amount of money that I’m spending on this shitty town…the amount of money I’m spending to make you look good.”
“I know Mr Grove and I’m grateful. It’s just a matter of softening them and making them see how beneficial it would be to have someone like you in their corner. It takes time Mr Grove.”
The preacher man appeared with a glass of water in his hand. He served it to Joshua as though it were a pious offering.
“Here you are. Mayor how do you do?”
“Very well father. Church is shaping up.”
“Indeed it is.” the preacher replied with delight simmering in his eyes.
“Thanks for the water preacher that will be all.”
The preacher winced and walked away. Joshua felt his armpits moisten to the point were droplets of sweat began to run down past his ribs.
“I need to expand my enterprise and in order to do that I need to establish myself in the Western suburbs. You need to clear a pathway for me or I’ll start backing Winston Frock.” Joshua stated. He gulped the water down and handed the empty glass to the mayor before entering the station wagon. As the vehicle turned the corner and the church receded beyond the houses, Joshua scratched off and added to his notebook.
“Orphanage first or the library?” Sunt asked.
“Orphanage.”
“Mayor Price didn’t give you the news you wanted to hear.”
“Very observant aren’t you Sunt.”
“Boss, I know that the whole reason we’re here is to go legitimate but if we’re already paying people off we might as well payoff the council members.”
“The Rucca Oil Company has more money than God. Money which they use to provide free education, they build and maintain the roads and the utilities and they pay ridiculous amounts of money for private land so they can drill for more oil. We can’t compete. The only way to move forward is to gain the loyalty of the council and let’s not forget that the natives aren’t idiots. They know if the oil ran out tomorrow, they’d be forgotten. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“Yeah.”
“No you don’t because it seems as though I say the same thing to you every couple of months. It just doesn’t seem to sink in.” Joshua said. He was exasperated. His stomach growled and the sweat from his armpits began to reek.
“I’m sorry.” Sunt said. He glanced back at his boss and then at Ulreem. No one spoke. The silence seemed to squeeze the air out of the vehicle. By the time they had arrived at the orphanage it was raining heavily. Ulreem stepped out of the car and unfastened a large black umbrella before opening the door for Joshua. It was a fair walk from the front gate, passing through the yard that was carpeted with lush, green lawn, to the actual home. The wooden door with its stained glass feature had been left ajar allowing Joshua and Ulreem to slip inside and immediately shake the rain off their pants and shoes.
“Stop that! You’re like two mangy dogs messing the place up.” A blonde haired lady exclaimed. She instructed someone who was unseen and in another room to bring a mop and then fixed her smoky, green eyes on the two men who were dripping wet in her foyer.
“Hello Maige.”
“Hello Joshua.”
“Thought I’d drop by with some supplies.”
“We’re always in need of supplies.”
Joshua glanced over at Ulreem who was having a hard time fastening the umbrella. Noticing that the conversation had stalled and taking into account the last word spoken and the look on Joshua’s face he drew the umbrella away from his body and stepped out again.
“What about this rain?”
“What about it?” Maige asked. She sighed and approached Joshua. “I can’t keep doing this. I’ll always be grateful for your generosity but I can’t give you what you want and I can’t pretend and lead you on just so that bags of groceries are delivered at the end of the month.”
“I do it for the kids.” Joshua stated with his hand upon his breast.
“And yet you’ve never spent time with any of them.”
“Compassion can be expressed in many different ways.”
“They’re not interested, Joshua. What you’re selling…they just don’t care.”
A young girl entered the foyer and began mopping the floor.
“Don’t do that. In fact give it to him.” Maige instructed.
“Ma’am.” The girl replied timidly.
“Go on. Give him the mop. He’ll clean up.”
The girl handed the mop to Joshua, avoiding eye contact and left the room.
“Have your men place the parcels over there.” Maige said, pointing to the floor beneath a mahogany table. “I have lessons to give. Care to join?”
Joshua sucked his teeth and scanned the ceiling.
“Thought as much. Maybe I’ll see you next month or maybe I won’t. You can see yourself out.” Maige finished before disappearing. Joshua began to pace up and down, often raising his chin and allowing his mind to wander. Ulreem and Sunt entered the house carrying brown paper bags filled with loafs of bread, vegetables and fruits as well as common household items.
“Put them over there.” Joshua said. “Anymore left?”
“One more load.”
“Bring it in and let’s get the hell out of here. This place depresses me.”
In the station wagon Joshua added to his notebook; scribbles of random ideas and offensive slurs. As the rain beat down onto the roof and his stomach growled he rolled his eyes before closing them. He despised having such little control. Ulreem and Sunt entered the station wagon articulating their disdain of the weather with heavy grunts. The engine grumbled to a start and they headed back North to the library.
“How much are you guys sitting on right now?” Joshua asked. The two men in front gave each other quizzical glances.
“Not sure of the exact number but definitely over $25 000.00.” Ulreem said.
“Yeah, about the same.”
“Even with all the additional false receipts?” Joshua asked not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.
“Honestly boss, right now, a dim-witted accountant could tell that something’s funky. We don’t want to make it too obvious.” Ulreem stated. He was echoing Joshua’s own words from what seemed to be ages ago.
“Well that approach is dead in the water. We need more diners to launder more money and in order to get a permit to open another diner I need that little prick Roldar Price to give me one, which he seemingly is unable to do. On top of that the elders who have a lot of influence on the council want absolutely nothing to do with me as Maige so eloquently put it. I’m out of ideas which is why I’m thinking out aloud. Suggestions?”
“You already know my suggestion.” Sunt replied.
“How much cash do we have at the cabin?”
“About $350 000.00.” Ulreem said.
“Jesus. We’re laundering less money than we’re spending on bribes. We’ve basically become a generous benefactor to the mayor.”
“Then why not bank roll his opponent?”
“Frock is an alcoholic. Plus, he’s too stubborn and cannot be controlled. He’d be too much of a liability.”
The station wagon slowed and then parked in front of the library. It was an ugly building made of ruddy bricks made to look even more pathetic as it wilted under the rain.
“We could always use the guys in Valee’Arn. They have the infrastructure.”
“We’re trying to get out of the business remember.” Joshua sighed. “Get back to it. I’ll see you guys in two hours.” He stated and then stepped out of the station wagon. From the time he had arrived in Dantcha, Joshua was well aware of the uphill battle that would transpire in order for him to become legitimately successful in a new city. Back in Valee’Arn he was the ‘big picture’ guy. He delegated and rarely met any of the foot soldiers. Dantcha was literally a blank page. He initially setup three diners; all specializing in fried chicken as well as homemade breakfast and dinner meals. The diners were located in the central, eastern and southern regions of the city. He could only operate the three because he was a non-native. It was an archaic, legal tool, implemented during the Winston Frock years, used as a means to even out the playing field and allow the native Rucca peoples a chance to compete in the game of capitalism. On paper it made sense but in reality it didn’t benefit the native entrepreneurs because they still had to compete with the well-oiled, big business’ that flooded the Western suburbs of Dantcha. The locals and small business owners that happened to be non-natives like Joshua lost out too and the Rucca Oil Company inevitably and nauseatingly benefited the most and won in all the ways possible. The Western suburbs of Dantcha had a special status. This was exemplified by the airy, sanctimonious names of the suburbs like Dullington and Heamshard. To the South by Lake Soo, was where the top management dwelled. The further North one travelled towards the oil fields the less affluent everything became. The Western suburbs of Dantcha were like an embassy. They were technically a part of the Southwestern provinces and so very little Dantcha and Rucca law applied there. Furthermore Southwestern businesses could operate freely in the area which meant everyone in the city of Dantcha spent most of their time and money in the Western suburbs. The Southwestern businesses’ simply offered better products, the latest products, the most innovative and most stylish products. It was the economic hub of the city and to have a business located there guaranteed success which was why Joshua had been desperately trying to obtain a permit to operate in the West for the past year. He needed any and every advantage and so spending time in the fusty library reading through the city’s bylaws had become something of a necessity in his mind. If he were to open up two diners in the West within a year he could drastically cut back on his illegal operations and within four years he could be making a decent amount of money legitimately. He rubbed his stomach in a pleading manner, wishing with a painful heart and a throbbing gut for things to just fall in place. The incessant hunger was slowly chipping away at his soul. However, the truth of the matter, whether Joshua wanted to accept it or not was that he was knowledgeable enough to know that there wasn’t any loop hole or grey area within the law, which he could use to his advantage. If he wanted a permit, he would need to employ good, old fashioned dirty politics. He needed something that the elite and powerful wanted and he was alarmingly aware that as of yet he did not possess that. The people in power were satisfied sucking on the overflowing teat and as long as there was oil underground that would never change. Joshua knew that he couldn’t continue to sell cloke and run brothels even if he wasn’t directly involved. The parasite; his parasite, had told him to atone for his sins which is why he left Valee’Arn in the first place and in doing so his pain went from being unbearable to being manageable. It had become apparent or so he thought, that the less involved in crime he was, the less pain meandered from his gut throughout his body. Perhaps, just maybe if he lived a crime free life then his parasite could disappear for good. Yet, becoming accustomed to a particular lifestyle for so long meant that change would inevitably be difficult. All the money Joshua had made in Valee’Arn had been used to arrange his initial two diners. Within three months of operating the costs to maintain the business began to overwhelm him. He was astounded by how many moving parts had to keep moving in order for both diners to remain open as well as make a measly profit. Staff wages, utilities, insurance and tax drained him financially. After six months, Joshua felt he had no option but to start selling cloke in order to keep afloat. Without being directly involved he instructed Ulreem to purchase a large amount of cloke with the last of his available cash from an associate back in Valee’Arn. Ulreem then hired, three young men, each of whom were barely out of high school, to package, distribute and sell the cloke specifically in the Northern suburbs of the city. The area was predominantly populated by local workers of the Rucca Oil Company, a large majority of whom were middle aged men with little or no education. Most of the workers came from poor backgrounds and were descendants of fishermen. Before the Rucca Oil Company was fully established at least a third of the native people in Dantcha made their living as fishermen. Once the drilling of oil began, the pollution that was carelessly dumped into Lake Soo eventually killed a vast amount of the marine life and eventually brought the fishing industry to a permanent halt. To survive, the fishermen began to work for the oil company and traded their middle class, high standard of living for a low wage, poor quality of life. The profits Ulreem made were immediate. He was selling premium cloke for half the price it was sold for in the North Western suburbs of the city. Soon the migrant workers were ditching their dealers and buying from Ulreem’s men. Once the cash from the cloke was flowing in, Joshua then instructed Sunt to clandestinely open up a brothel and then another. Rather than have the migrant workers come and buy cloke and then leave, it made sense to keep them in the area to be entertained by beautiful women that encouraged them to drink and get high all night, in establishments they owned. Joshua’s side business was immensely successful but that was because of his experience and skill. Unfortunately he was unable to transfer that skill to his legitimate business. He had reached a threshold. The success of one business had created a glut and soon something would have to give. Joshua closed the book in front of him and looked out of the window. It had stopped raining. He glanced at his wrist watch and then proceeded to walk out of the library.
