In the three days that led up to the improvised celebration, Sigurd coordinated with the town guard and rendezvoused at the crime syndicate’s warehouse. Together, they saw fit to redistribute the ill-gotten gains of the criminals back to those they had wronged. It was yet another added injection of happiness into their previously miserable lives. At the same time, Sigurd’s commitment gained him some recognition from the town guard.
Soon enough, the day of the party arrived. Sigurd, Mia, and Nia arrived in the late afternoon. Still wanting to keep an eye on them, Sigurd invited Barry and his men to participate as well. The bakery had been livened up since he was last there; lights and decorations adorned the outside, the entire structure seemed more vibrant than ever, and numerous people littered the outside, all enveloped in cheer and laughter.
The joyous atmosphere was infectious, as the group smiled at the welcoming warmth emanating from the building. “And here he is, the man of the hour!” one of the people said, referring to Sigurd.
He was paraded inwards, coaxed within by the cheers. The inside was decorated gorgeously, the walls had received a fresh coat of paint and had been cleaned up extensively. It was even more packed than the outside, and he, the girls, and even Barry and his men were greeted by Jerry and his mom with excitement.
They were showered in praise and presented with food and drink aplenty. One thing that caught Sigurd off-guard—amid all the booze he was also given—was a warm drink, similar in taste and color to the coffee he so longed for. He’d noticed Jerry taking notes when he spoke of the exotic dishes but never expected him to replicate them.
A few hours into the party, the food and drink kept coming non-stop. Sigurd kept his wits about him, drinking at a steady pace. He didn’t want any more accidents happening. It astonished him the speed at which dishes were brought out, but what surprised him the most was when Jerry’s mother took him by the hand.
“Come, mister Sigurd, I have a gift for you!” she led him into the kitchen, where Sigurd saw the brains of the operation.
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Jerry was there, like some sort of one-man army, preparing all the dishes the party was enjoying. Alongside him, manning the oven and helping out in other ways were two other boys. “Will, Timothy, keep an eye on the next batch!” Jerry instructed.
“This is amazing!” Sigurd remarked.
“I told you, Jerry can do so much more than I can. His friends are as awesome as he is,” Jerry’s mom answered. “But I won’t be outdone. This isn’t even your gift, that’s over here!”
She further dragged him along into the room further back, closing the door behind them. Inside was a storage room, with shelves filled with bags of flour and other consumables. Beside the door was a small metal hatch, and it was clear the room served some other purpose.
Wasting no time at all, she plopped Sigurd onto a large, elevated bag of flour. The softness of its contents cushioned his fall. He was laughing at first, going with the flow, until he realized what she was doing.
She straddled him, undid the buckle on his belt, and then proceeded to pull down his pants. “Uh, Jerry’s mom? What are you doing?!” he stammered.
“I told you, I have a gift for you,” she replied, her breathing growing hot and heavy. “A big, strong, dependable man such as you need a little break, and I’m here to give that to you. There are certain things only I can do.”
Sigurd’s eyes darted nervously from left to right, and a cold sweat trickled down his nape, as she proceeded to gently grab wherever she pleased.
Confused by the situation, caught in the woman’s spell, and powerless to resist, Sigurd nervously let out, “Ma’am, please. Your son is on the other side of this door!”
“I don’t care,” her ditsy, normally air-headed voice betrayed her mature charms and true intentions. “Besides he won’t be coming back here.”
Just then, they heard Jerry yell out to them from the other side, “Mom! Are we needing any more materials?” Sigurd froze.
Jerry’s mother opened the metal hatch and peeked out, and Sigurd panicked; it was at just the right height to obscure him, as well as her body. Only his mom’s head was visible, “Not really. You’re doing fantastic, keep at it, honey!” She closed the hatch again.
“Now then, let’s continue,” she got to work. “Lay back, relax, and let me handle this!”
As he lost himself to the pleasure, unable to move and unwilling to get away, Sigurd felt two pairs of cat-like slit eyes watching him from the doorway. It had been cracked open, and his mischievous, curious daughters watched on, captivated by the show.
The party raged on for several hours after that, with everyone enjoying themselves to the fullest. And though Sigurd’s night, in particular, had ended in a highlight, what mattered to him was that he had begun fulfilling his self-imposed journey. People were helped, a criminal organization was taken down, and they were the first of many to come.