Death and Misfortune

God hellish dammit.

Only the misfortune happens. And worse: all of it happens at the same time.

Why does life, instead of giving us the bad and the good in equal measure, does so in great measure and only one at a time?

It all happened on Tuesday. I woke up in the morning because Eliza had kidney pain again and had to go back to the hospital. Her condition is terrible. I pay for the best treatment I can, but I swear doctors don't seem to have a clue of what they're doing. She goes back and forth from the hospital over and over, never really getting better while the doctors trick us into procedures that never really work.

The pain bothered her so much that she could see that the case was serious. I got her in the car as fast as I could and headed straight for the Blossom General Center, the famous bloody Sproustown blood hospital.

Her disease is a deficiency of red cell membrane formation. By my understanding it throws the blood products in the wrong place, causing a number of symptoms such as lack of blood cells, anemia, and infections caused in various internal organs. When Eliza feels severe pain in body locations it's a sign that there is one more pesty infection.

Eliza spent almost two hours under emergency treatment and I was waiting the whoçe time outside the room, so it was after nine in the morning. That's when I received a message with the most unfortunate content: it was Greta's. Greta is my employee.

She sent me a message – no, really: a damn message!!- stating that one of the most important parts of my business, Jim Sanford, had passed away. Now is matter to be sent by message?

I hated Jim, he was but a scoundrel who only thought of ways to make me waste money on his complicity, but because of that I got the deliveries easily supervised. The cargo boats are overlooked by the mediocre and corrupt city police, who are - or were - under Jim's command. Whenever they read my name on the boxes, they passed the products through supervision without scrutiny. In return, of course, the con artist received part of my profit.

And now Jim is dead!

God dammit! Who the hell is going to be in charge of checking my next pack? And worst of all: the thing is already on its way. I buy the goods - them Deluxes - from a Czech factory that arrives monthly. To get her through customs I use my contact with Spencer, and then I just have to find a corrupted soul like Jim's to get him to Sproustown without any major problems.

With this damn misery for salary the mayor pays his cops, it's sure that more people are willing to turn a blind eye to the deliveries, but I needed to find the right person. There would be no time to meet this person before the goods arrived. Jim's death occurred just as they were on their way.

Dastardly hell!

It's all the godawful work of randomness. Of the twisted laws of luck that rule this world.

I started pacing around the waiting room. There was no news of Eliza and on top of that now that happens. I wanted to call my people, but doing it there among the public was out of the question. I'm not an idiot.

I would sit and think about what I would do next, and each time I looked up the clock it seemed to be smirking at me, making the time go by like that while I am powerless.

I texted Greta telling her to call Barbarah, telling the turd to go to Bodongo, I was going to need Barbarah to do me some favors so it was best to call that tapir as soon as possible. I also asked Greta to let me know as much as possible about that whole hell, which she did.

The next thing I learned was the way Jim died: Jim was murdered. Greta obtained information from the homicide department, which was the first to arrive at the scene. Jim had a missing piece of his back, just like Jeffrey Sprohic killed a man last week.

Fpr me it makes no difference how he died, if he's dead, he's dead. But the fact that he died in the same way as this man from last week, whose executioner was already in jail, plus the factor that he died just in the damn week of my delivery, made it all very suspicious. Was it really a work of the random?

It was more smelling of a work of one of these execrable sons of rascalty: Verde or the Dragon. And it was smelling badly.

Thank the glorious heavens, after thousands of years, the door opened and the doctors allowed me to see Eliza at last.

When I entered I saw her lying down, arms outstretched and over her body there was several strands, attached in paraphernalia that were at the ends of the stretcher. The doctors and assistants had left the room and she was alone momentarily. Some of these wires connected to a device which was around her hands, other wires entered the blanket, preventing me from seeing where they were connected to.

"Edward?"

Her voice was weak from the sedative.

"Eliza? I'm here."

I held her hand. It was cold. She smiled at me.

"You feeling better?"

She nodded yes.

"What did they say?"

Eliza smiled at the apparent over-concern.

"Just another start of infection. They prescribed some antibiotics. But..." Her voice trailed off and after a pause she returned: "...But I'll have to stay here for a while..."

Eliza was taking really long with each word. It was good that she didn't herself too hard.

"Don't worry..." She said like she read my thoughts.

My concern is far from unfounded. In Eliza's state, even something small like a brief infection can bring complications. Many patients who share her same illness die from mere side effects like thrombosis or infections, but I can by no means lose Eliza.

I won't ever let this happen. Not in a million years.

Eliza slowly turned her face towards me. She held my hand a little more tightly.

"You sound... 'distant...' Did something happen?"

It was quite true that my thought process was rambling a lot. I had to deal with business as quickly as possible. As time went on, the shipments drew closer and closer to whoever was the responsible bastard who took Jim's place after his death. I thought about denying that statement by Eliza, but she nailed it, so I ended up confirming:

"Yeah... Just a little thing that happened at my work..."

"So you need to go?"

I didn't want to leave Eliza alone in that condition. I began to think I could wait until the afternoon to make the calls. Yes... Maybe Barbarah and Greta could solve the problem on their own... And even if they couldn't... Even if they needed me, I could start working on it only later and there would still be enough time if I thought about it properly.

But Eliza seemed to read my thoughts. Before I could answer she brought me back to reality:

"Go. It's something that needs to be solved, no? Go... I will be allright..."

"But Eliza..."

She closed her eyes.

"I don't want to disturb your business, honey. I will be allright."

I let go of her hands and said nothing more. Eliza was right.

The right thing to do was solving everything as quickly as possible. The random always has an unpleasant surprise for you. If I try to get things in order with no spare time available, the random will finish me bringing something to go worse.

And besides, I couldn't reject my work in front of Eliza.

It was a struggle to get her to accept the treatment. The drugs cost a huge fortune; and the expenses of routine hospital visits; also the emergency ones like that one; All this has to be paid from my work. Eliza was never sure how much I make, but she knew from the beginning that the amount spent on treatment would be too much. That's why at first she wanted to leave it all to luck herself... She didn't want to be a nuisance. I had to talk to her a dozen times to make her understand that we needed treatment. And in the end she accepted on one condition: I can never let her interfere with my business. It is my business that pays for the treatment and I have to be grateful for it.

Eliza never knew exactly what I do, so she accepts it. I told her I made my fortune investing in real estate, and I still make money from it. It's partly true, but this is only a small part of the source of my income. Eliza is a loving person. She'd never accept me if she knew where the money really came from.

But I need the money! The treatment can not be paid only with the rents. Last year we came close to spending $ 600,000.

For me all that matters is Eliza... Without selling Deluxes I'd lose Eliza forever. And that can't happen... By no means. That's why I need the money.

That's why I had to accept the suggestion. The promise we had was that I wouldn't let her interfere with business. I bent down and kissed her goodbye.

"Will you be discharged until the afternoon?"

She nodded confirming.

"Then message me when the time comes. Pick you up later."

"Love you."

"Love you back."

And after that I went to the bad part.

Checking my cellphone, I saw that Greta arranged for Barbarah to arrive as soon as possible, but probably that damn thing was going to be late and make me wait, which is pretty typical of her.

It was already a quarter past eleven, so I thought first of going somewhere for lunch while I mentally planned the order in which I'd deal with problems.

As mentioned, my source of income is the sale of Deluxes, which until then was aided by Jim, who facilitated the entry of monthly delivery in Sproustown. Once inside the city, we just stored the cargo and distributed it to customers.

In my line of work I am known as 'Wilkinson', which is a ridiculous name. My real name is Edward Bittencourt, carrying a lot more style. However, I don't deny that it is much more convenient to be known for something that bears no resemblance to my name or origin. If any monster related to the execrables Dragon or Verde learned of Eliza, he'd do everything to use it against me. No one should know the truth... Never.

Tsc... "Wilkinson"... Whoever invented this name was a dunce.

Jim's unfortunate death left me a series of annoyances. The most deplorable of them was the story of the upcoming delivery that had to be stopped at all costs. Another less obvious though still urgent nuisance was the fact that the police would investigate Jim Sanford for information on who might have committed such an atrocity against him. And the mere fact that Jim was being investigated posthumously could lead him to 'Wilkinson', the drug lord.

I decided to have lunch near the hospital and then drove to Bodongo. God forbid having lunch at Bodongo. What a horrible place! That establishment is mine; it's one of the properties I supposed to rent. I preferred to let it work over it being just a place to make the base of operations, since people might find it suspicious if my employees came in only once a week or at similar frequency. Hence the owner lets my employees come and go, and in return I let him use the property without paying any.

Rotten tongues are sharper than knives. If rumors are spread about something suspicious, and if it gets to the police ears, or worse: the execrables Dragon or Verde... Then it can end badly for me.

And as you see, I have to heat my head with these details of rumors all because my employees keep looking as suspicious as they possibly can. Why aren't they a little more discreet? Do I have to prevent myself of everything? Greta is a clown whose lack of humanity stands for everyone's eyes. Who the hell walks bent over like that? I bet today's youth all laugh at her when they even see her shadow.

What's worse is that last employee I employed: Barbarah. She's but a mere child. I recognize that it is the least energy-consuming type of carcass for a roach of her breed, but why not choose one that spends more but at least is discreet? As if she needed the energy every day and all the day along. She uses her energy in battle what? Once every three months at most! Now I have to worry about a child being spotted walking into a third-tier bar like that. If this comes to the ears of scandalous people...

The less she appears in Bodongo the better. But unfortunately today she had to be there.

I arrived at the Bodongo bar, horrible and smelly as ever. The owner may be my tenant, but he has the worst taste and worst possible business insight.

Whatever. Sounds like a 'his' problem.

I climbed straight to the floor where Greta works. The second floor has a computer lan installed, each of which of them maintains direct contact with a remarkable city network signal point. Greta is able to intercept the signals without having to directly clip the modems of places of interest. To cite an example: a place of interest is the SAD: the police unit composed of non-humans like my staff and also the ominous staff of Verde and the Dragon. It's good to keep as much contact as possible with the signal that reaches the SAD for it is in our best interest.

But instead of risking tapping directly the SAD phone, we intercepted the signal before it got there, when it reached the distribution antenna. By capturing and filtering antenna information, Greta is able to get a lot of useful information happening around the city.

Greta may be an old dog, but she knows how to do her job. If I hadn't heard of Jim's death in the next couple of days, something very bad would've happened, but thanks to Greta I was... Let's put it like this: I can prevent myself from the police suspecting me thanks to the information that was intercepted.

Once in Greta's room I asked:

"Where's Barbarah?"

"She still haven't arrived."

I sighed in disgust. That damn brat always made me wait.

"Any news on the police?"

"So far none."

I drummed my fingers on one of the desks where one of the connected computers was, but not hers. She was at the front desk with her computer facing away from me.

"I'm going to need the equipment... When Barbarah arrives I want you to tell her the following for me: she needs to find a way to leave false clues in Jeffrey Sprohic's case, implying as little as possible that he has something to do with paranormal beings or anything with selling Deluxes. ok? This is important... If the damn cops start suspecting that trafficking and / or paranormal beings are linked with Jim's death I already see that I will have the worst wave of misfortune... And they're certainly going to want to parallel the Jim's death with the zombie's death from the shittty way he died... Damnit! Who did this? Couldn't he have used any other method and be less annoying? Do you have information on who was responsible for that pesky death?"

"Not yet. The information I got is that the SAD itself has no information about it."

"Tsc... Not even that... Whatever. Tell Barbarah to do hers well. She knows how to do it. She just needs to work out a way to guide the DEA on the wrong track. If we can lose them for only two days I can clear my trail in the meantime."

Greta nodded her unpleassantly grumpy face and added:

"Although there are no news from the police, it may be of interest to you: a Daily Inquirer journalist was a personal friend of Jim Sanford's..."

"And now that, dammit!" I hit the table "The last thing I want is the newspaper! What kind of person is that woman?"

"An ordinary journalist. But a decided one. I heard from the signal that she's preparing to go to the DEA to get information. Not just for news articles but for personal interest."

"The DEA? Is the DEA the responsible police unit?"

"Jim Sanford was part of the DEA. But since the case will be associated with the death of Gerald McMiller, I believe the SAD should claim the case."

"Tell Barbarah to hurry with the false leads, if the DEA decides to get into the case, they're the ones we need to fool. God forbid if they find out about Jim's illegal involvement with the Deluxes. They'd never leave my ass again! Have Barbarah also check this journalist's house to see what the hell she knows. She got a name?"

"Megan Mourne."

"Tsc... Whatever. Mention this to Barbarah when she arrives. What the hell?" I interrupted myself. I was trying to call on my cellphone for Jack. Jack has a new cellphone he never used. I always buy a new one for him to use every time I talk to him, to avoid any possibility of line clipping. But now I would call and call and the cheeky bastard wouldn't answer. The random always concentrates all misfortune in one period, it's unbelievable!"

I looked back and saw a stunned girl at the door. A girl with long dark hair and pink casual clothes, all matching. The girl looked about fourteen years old at the most, so in sight of an outsider she must be the barkeeper's daughter or someone related.

That little girl who didn't match at all the ambience was Barbarah.

Barbarah arrived without saying anything. She was static, like a streetlight, which flashed the headlight at me and Greta. I wasn't patient enough to explain everything again to that snoring girl who keeps me waiting unnecessarily. Instead I left the task to Greta:

"Greta, explain to Barbarah what she needs to do. Be brief. I need everything to happen as soon as possible. And when you can, call Jack too and let him know about Jim. I need him to clear up with any and all trail that could lead to me."

"Understood."

"Dammit, Barbarah" Where were you?"

"I... I was just warned a while ago..."

As usual she would stall to speak. Sure she was making up an excuse at the very time she answered to cover up her laziness.

"Whatever. Talk to Greta. She'll tell you what you have to do. I have to make a thousand calls and I can't waste time on this. Shit! All happening at once! Not only the police now the newspaper. The last thing I want is to appear in the newspaper. Anyone whose name doesn't even appear in police or press reports in this case will also be investigated by those two execrables: the Dragon and Verde. And God forbid if my real name is one of those mentioned. I need to get out of this mess as soon as possible, you got it?"

Barbarah confirmed it with exaggerated bouncing nods. I pretended I didn't realize the obvious satire because I had no time to waste on that snoring brat.

I headed for the next room, where the equipment was.

The so called 'equipment' was nothing more than a telephone, except with one hundred percent certainty that its line wasn't tapped. Greta took care of that place twenty-four hours a day. And the room was completely isolated, there was no way to catch the signal. The only method we used to make it work was to connect it to one of the antenna receiver computers and reverse it to a telephone antenna. And with this process we became aware of the path that the signal took, as it appeared on the screen. Any signal receiver that picked up a call would be easily noticed by Greta during calls made by that device, and conversely no call could be made without its initialization via computer. It was the only one hundred percent secure phone in Sproustown.

The first thing I did was try to call Jack the bugger again. Jack was an agent I employed. He does a similar job with Barbarah, but he's sllightly more reliable. Not only because I've known Jack for a long time, but also because you can see the way Barbarah is ...

"Hello?" I heard from the other side of the line.

"Hi? Jack?"

"Jack? Who's this? Is it Edward? Edward? How are things going?"

Edward? Jack doesn't call me Edward... That voice...

I checked my cellphone screen: it was Jacques! And I wanted to call bottom contact! And that now!

"Hi, Jacques, you allright? Sorry... I called the wrong number..."

"Hey? How are you? Everything good?"

"Yes... As far to the good as possible. Eliza had a relapse..."

"Ah, so? Nothing serious, I believe?"

Molly hell! I was impatient and now I had to exchange words without substance! I like Jacques, but now it was not the time...

I won't waste your time on such frivolity. I just point out that after what seemed like hours I finally got rid of that call.

This time I dialed the correct number, and there was the reaction I expected. Jack didn't call me Edward. And he didn't really call me anything: because he didn't answer! That! That's exactly the expected reaction!

Piece of fuck. Cheeky lazybone!

Leaving that wretch aside, I still had to cancel the delivery by the boat and devise an alternative way to proceed with it. My two customers who were expecting packages that week were Harold and the Deviant Rouge. The date for delivery of the others is later. I called the last one first because it was more important:

"Hi. Stan? It's Wilkinson."

"Just a moment, sir." I heard the noise around him lessen until he found the perfect spot to continue the conversation.

"Ok. Done. We can talk now."

"It's about today's deliveries... There were some problems... It will affect the delivery of the packages."

Stan is a calm person, but even he changes his tone when something like that happens.

"What!? What kind of problems?"

"Did you see the news? Forget it... Of course it haven't appeared in the news yet... It's this: the cop who facilitated delivery for me died. I am at risk."

- Wilkinson... Você sabe. Eu preciso dos pacotes. Não posso abrir o clube sem a mercadoria principal. E essa noite o clube vai receber um dj de fora, escute: - Ele apontou o celular para o som, onde estava acontecendo os testes do equipamento – Wilkinson... Se você está correndo risco ou não... Isso não me diz respeito, não concorda?

"Wilkinson... You know... I need those packages. I can't open the club without the main merchandise. And tonight the club will get an outside dj, listen:" he pointed his cellphone at the sound, where the equipment tests were going on, "Wilkinson... Whether you are at risk or not... This doesn't concern me now, agree?"

"Yes. Of course not."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I already have everything under control. I'm just calling to let you know... Delivery will arrive differently this time. But don't worry. Deviant Rouge will not lose its main attraction. We will still deliver it on time."

"You better do. We are in the last boxes. I need more. I need the scale to always be respected or I'll lose a lot, you know..."

"Worry not. The packages are going to arrive on time. I just called to let you know that we are changing the delivery method this time, but only for this particular time. I'll keep in touch, ok?"

"Ok, done Wilkinson. I'll wait for your touch."

God forbid I miss the delivery of the Deviant Rouge. In a shit town where there are two more execrable deliverers, if I miss even one transaction of this level he can start buying from one of the others and I may lose the customer forever. It's the last thing I want.

I called Harold:

"Hi? Harold? I called to tell you. I'm going to take a couple more days to make the delivery, ok?"

"What? Who's this? Wilkinson!?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean you're gonna take more days? What happened?"

"I lost my pal... Jim. He got murdered."

"By the gods! Murdered!? How?"

"I don't know yet. I'll get my hands on who did it." A threat that is easier to make than to fulfill. If it was the Dragon or Verde I knew it would be very difficult to retaliate. I would love to catch the bastard, though.

"But you see... Isn't there a way to make it quicker? Two days are a lot. I mean...

I know you must be going through a lot of changes, you probably have to find a new pal, but..."

"It's no use. I'm sorry. I really have to postpone the delivery. You understand... But you will receive. Be sure about it."

Harold insisted a bit more, but in the end gave in.

Who cares about Harold? He is not Deviant Rouge... Later I see what I do with his misery delivery.

Then I called Hughes of the packages. I warned Hughes to make some arrangements about the trucker who was coming to deliver, the one who was going to take him to the boat. I asked him to contact the guy and send him off or something. Of course I'd pay for the lost trip. After all everything has to come out of my pocket, of course. What the hell doesn't come out of my pocket?

Whatever. What really matters is that the packages don't arrive at the port on Thursday.

If Hughes stopped to make his stupid brain work for just a moment he'd consider telling the trucker to hide the goods somewhere until I found a replacement policeman for Jim, and then only bring the merch here spending only part of his time. And bribing the truck driver to do so would cost less than losing the full load and buying it all back.

But if I said that to Hughes the fool then he would ask, "Where do you want to leave the cargo?" "How to hide it from the police, sir?" And stuff like that. And how the hell am I supposed to know!? Do I have to do everything? Hughes isn't able to do anything alone.

I bet he does think with that sloppy brain of his, but he thinks about how he'll make me pay him again by requesting another charge. That must be all he thinks. Maybe I should bribe him with an extra and leave it to him, because I know he can cover it. But the bastard wasn't going to be stupidly contradictory to accept... That would make it clear that he makes a fool of himself just to make more money and if he reveals that he's no fool, he'd lose to make more money in the future.

"Forget Hughes, that moron," I told to myself. I'm not even losing that much money.

Emergency measures would be taken after the idiot Barbarah did her job. But the most important job would be Jack's. I can't leave a clue at Jim's house. I hope that bastard never left any trace of contact with me on his cellphone history or anything like that. That'd be the wise thing to do, but you never know with these cops... You can't overestimate their lack of intelligence. That was why Jack's job was essential: making sure to erase any trace in the house of the failed one and fallen Jim.

After I ended the calls, I opened the door, trying to get back to Greta's office.

"Goddammit" I left the room too fast and now my cardigan had been stuck in the door latch. It was the random with its dirty work. Throws me all the misfortune at once. No matter how small it is.

When I finally broke free of the damn latch I reminded Greta once more, because for that old dog, reminding is never enough:

"Greta, don't forget to warn Jack about Sanford. I need this for today."

"Understood."

"Huh?" The annoying Barbarah asked in a caricated tone. She must've had no idea of what was going on. I ignored her. When it comes to her it's the best thing to do.

Despite being an annoying and slack-off brat with a stupid childlike face of a good-for-nothing, once Greta explained her work she would be able to do it right. Barbarah has never failed in these mediocre services.

But now it was left for me contacting Jack. I prayed that Greta could contact the unfortunate bastard.

And after that, I left and went back to the Blossom General Center, since Eliza was still there. All I had to do was wait for the news from both the police and from Greta and Barbarah. I would love to solve all problems at once; in fact, the thing I hate most about this world is forced waiting.

Unfortunately, however, there are times when the random catches us by surprise and forces us to live the worst of our times.

That's why when I got back to the hospital, I went up to Eliza's room, held her hand tightly and just waited.