Chapter 16

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From the reaction of Jiro, who tensed up at first and then relaxed sharply, I realized that a fight or some kind of gangland showdown was not in the cards.

Before the leader of "Denim Cool" could take a couple of steps, Phil got up from the table, while the rest of the Goons remained seated.

"Aloha, men!" Blais stepped closer, palms out in front of him.

"What do you want?" Not caring at all about appearances of politeness, the stocky biker greeted him with a direct question.

"Yes... I'd like to talk to the cyborg." The leader of the "Denim" is clearly not thinking of any conflict, he looks more like begging than insisting on something.

"You can challenge me too," Phil answered, folding his arms across his chest.

"Nah," Blais said with a wave of his hands. "Just to talk... A personal matter."

"Pye," the biker nodded, visibly relaxed, then pulled out his smartphone and dialed. "It's Phil... Rabid's here. No... Alone... No... He wants you... I mean to talk..." He listened to the answer and handed the phone to Blaise.

"Hongi... Not so much..." Alas, I can't hear what's coming from the phone speakers and can only make out what the leader of the "Denim" is saying. "Yes... Exactly... Really... It is necessary... Not for myself, I ask... Wait, Lance!!!" But from the looks of it, the other side had already switched off. "Kronos to Gaia's soul!" Blaise cursed. "He hung up the phone!" The bandit's mood is clearly near the lowest point, but he's not going to bully. "Okay, guys," he waved, handed the smartphone back, and turned to leave. "All good."

"You too," Phil said, but only sat down in his seat when the door behind Blaise closed completely.

When Phil sat down, the bikers whispered about something, but I couldn't hear what they were saying from my seat.

"Do you know what just happened?" I asked Jiro quietly.

"I guess so," the bartender shrugged.

"Would you mind telling me?"

"Not my secrets," he winked at me. "Let me teach you how to mix "sex on the beach..."

Before the day was over, I could get nothing out of him about Blaise's visit. Jiro answered with nothing but snide remarks, and when I insisted, he sent me to go to Lance and ask him. When I was on my way home, I asked him another question.

"Why did Blais call Lance a cyborg?"

"Why are you so clingy today? Аh?!" Jiro said, throwing on his jacket.

"What is it hard to answer?" He and I had already made up today, so I risked a little push.

"It's hard..." The bartender frowned. "You have to see it... It's hard with words... And that's it, I'm going home."

After shaking his hand and saying goodbye, I thought about the fact that when Jiro said "you should see it," he clearly twitched, as if he remembered something impressive, but not very pleasant.

It is clear that "cyborg" in this case sounds allegorical, like a nickname, not that Lance is a real semi-robot. Our technology hasn't come to this yet, and I don't think it will soon, because even titanium implants of small bones are still a very expensive and rare operation. Maybe it has something to do with Lance's Face? But that's just nonsense! I don't know anyone among the Heroes who could be called that, and how would Blais know the Face of the Goons' commander...?

I was jogging this morning, but I couldn't see anything extraordinary about Lance that would make him a cyborg. Maybe I'm on the wrong side of this mystery, though, right? Cyborgs, for example, are sometimes also called policemen in special units. Maybe Lance used to be just that, and his nickname comes from his past. That seemed the most sensible idea to me.

I thought that Lance's attitude toward me would change for the better today after I serve the bikers. But even if it had, the goon didn't show any sign of it, still being taciturn. Besides, he was still running ahead, keeping a decent distance from me.

The jog went on as usual until we reached the roundabout. I was just resting, and the biker was jogging leisurely in small circles nearby when a human shadow split from the half-destroyed fence. Goon noticed the silhouette at the same time as me and immediately narrowed his circles.

Within a couple of steps of the freeway-lighted place, the stranger raised his hands, showing empty palms, and said:

"I see you don't change your habits, Lance. Hi."

I immediately recognized Blais by his voice, which was confirmed as soon as the man stepped into the light.

"You were told everything yesterday," the biker's voice was calm, but he clearly tensed up and stood so that he was between me and the leader of the "Denim".

"I really need to," Blais said begrudgingly. "My mom..."

"Your mother is certainly a wonderful woman," the goon interrupted him. "But she's also as mistrustful as a flock of second-year med students."

"She says it's serious this time..." It's obviously not easy for Blaise to ask, but he overcomes himself. "Please... I owe you!"

"One time was enough for my guys, Rabid... Or do I have to remind you why no one will go with you?"

"I'll restrain myself!"

"If so, you won't have any trouble convincing your own." I can't see Goon's face, but I can tell by his intonation that he's grinning.

"If... If something goes wrong..." Blaise was at a loss for words. "They won't make it... Yours will make it!"

"So, to put it bluntly, you're not sure you can restrain yourself, but you don't want to screw your own!" Lance is clearly getting angry, and that doesn't go unnoticed by his companion. "And my boys can be let down under a stone?"

With a long stride, the biker breaks the distance between him and Blais. The "Denim" chieftain dodges a right side kick, but it was a trick. A sharp uppercut and the Goon's opponent collapses onto his back. But as soon as he falls, he jumps up, only to fall again, this time from a direct poke to his forehead with an open palm. Not to make the same mistake again, Blais doesn't try to get up immediately but rolls backward. Except it's no use, Lance is faster and doesn't give him time to get up, pressing his foot to the ground.

"I hear that suggestion again... Your body will float up somewhere in the bay," Lance pointed to the river with a nod.

Instead of resisting or lashing out, Blais instead lies still.

"See, I didn't snap," he says, apparently implying that he didn't return the favor.

Biker removes his foot and takes two steps back. Rubbing the bruise on his side, Blais gets to his feet without any sudden movements.

"I haven't had a breakdown in a month. So your guys are risking almost nothing."

"That's not what Meck told me the other day," Lance seems to be alluding to my case.

"Meck is exaggerating!" You could mistake Blaise's smile for sincere so open, and charming. "There was nothing there, just punched a "civil", the usual stuff."

"You were a bastard, and apparently you still are," the Goon commander almost snarls back. "The usual thing is... Meck exaggerates... Yeah?"

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Having said that, in two quick steps Lance is next to me and pulls me out of the shadows and into the lighted area.

"You just wanted to squeeze his sides, didn't you? Do you recognize the kid? He says you almost ripped his fuckin' arms off. And you know what? That's what Meck said."

Blaise recognized me immediately and instantly faded, deflated like a balloon, slouched down, and got even smaller.

"I'm sorry, I..." He's not talking to me, he's talking to the biker. "I wouldn't have asked if..."

"Are you really trying to piss me off?" Lance interrupts him again.

"So, no?" I don't understand why Blais would ask him again when it's already clear.

"Don't make me do anything wrong..." the biker almost growls.

Still, even Blaise's stubbornness had its limits; when he realized that Lance would not yield, he waved his hand, cursed, and disappeared into the shadows of the narrow passageways.

Lance turned to me after watching Blaise's silhouette until it disappeared completely into the piles of construction debris. I sat on some crate, showing him that I wouldn't budge if I didn't get an explanation. Of course, it was just a bluff; the biker could have told me off or ignored my posture, but surprisingly, it worked.

"You're not going to settle down, are you?" Lance said with feigned fatigue in his voice, looking at me. "I'll have to tell you something, or you're going to get the boys all riled up and asking questions..." He seems to be referring to the Goon's shift at the restaurant, so I nod in response to his suggestion. "Ask."

"Blais wanted to go through the Arch?"

"Yes." Kronos, and he's not much of a wordsmith, I'll have to formulate my questions more clearly.

"But for some reason, he doesn't want to go alone or with his gang..." I pondered aloud. "Is it something to do with his Face?" I said the first thing that popped into my head.

"It's not customary to talk about other people's Faces," the biker says, pausing for a long moment between words. "But I think you can make an exception in the case of the Rabid. You've encountered one of his Face manifestations, after all..." He paused for a moment and then continued: "He had a countenance to match his personality... The countenance of Mort, grandson of Polyphonta, son of Agrius."

Polyphontus... Something familiar. More like Greek myths than Roman or something like that. It keeps coming back to me, but I can't catch it. I don't know any Mort, and Agrius isn't exactly a familiar name. And to have the nickname Rabid?

Оh! I remember! Polyphonta was a companion of Artemis and openly despised Aphrodite, not shy to show it. There was sort of a conflict between the goddesses over her, it got to the point where Artemis even aimed her bow at Aphrodite, but she defended Polyphonta. The enraged goddess of love did not give up her revenge. During one of her hunts, Poliphonta fell in love with an ordinary bear! So strong was this love, that Polyphontae gave birth to two sons from the bear, and one of the sons was called Agrius. These sons were more beasts: huge in stature, with a tendency to cannibalism, they ate all the strangers who wandered into the protected forest. Also, according to one version of the legend, they could turn into bears in a fit of rage. So Blais got the Face of the son of one of these werewolves?!

"Did his Face retain his father's werebear abilities?" I asked a leading question.

"That's the trouble..." Lance sighed. "The things that enabled Blaise to become the unquestioned authority among the youth of his neighborhood - that is, the strength, the ferocity, the outbursts of rage - all that his Face had multiplied. So he could really tear your arms off." I remembered that moment, and a chill ran down my spine. "I think if it hadn't been for us, Blais's gang would have gradually taken over the poor southeastern part of town until they got in the way of the Families, and they'd have been slaughtered. But we keep them in line and we don't let them grow up." Gee, I thought the "Denim Cool" was one of the most harmless gangs but in fact, it's a little different, and if it weren't for the Goons, the streets of this neighborhood would be an order of magnitude more dangerous.

"But if he's so strong, why doesn't he go alone under the Arch or with his own?"

"He is Rabid... And that's not an exaggeration... Here in reality he can control himself, but there... Beyond the Threshold... As soon as he loses his temper he turns into a huge brown bear, weighing over a ton, with a nearly impenetrable hide that doesn't know who's friendly and who's not, and rips at whichever one's closest. Meck, Fel, An, and Kreys went with him once... Meck was the only survivor, and the others were killed by the clutches of Blais, not by the enemies granted by the Face of Ares."

"Did Meck kill him?" During a pause in the story, I ask.

"They killed him together, Meck finished him off..." Lance clarified. "The rumor was that he'd been under the Arch again, with his guys, but he'd come back alone..." My imagination quickly conjured up a picture of a giant bear tearing people apart, tearing their arms off, for some reason. "It was not an option for him to cross the Threshold alone, because once he transformed, he would no longer find a human in himself."

"Ahem!" Now that's a story, but something about it doesn't add up for me. "Knowing this about my Face, I would NEVER go to the Arch again! Is he a retard?" Despite his outbursts of rage and brutality, Blaise didn't strike me as that dumb, not a genius, of course, but not stupid either.

"Blaise has one good thing about him... he loves his mother unconditionally." I felt a little tingle under my shoulder blade. "He'd throw himself off a bridge and bash his head through walls for her."

"So he was asking for her?" Despite everything, Lance had just told me about the leader of the "Denim", now his refusal to help Blaise seemed wrong. No, I understood the biker commander's motives, but a man willing to risk everything for his mother commanded my utmost respect.

"Why are you frowning? Don't you approve of my refusal?" Kronos, I didn't follow my facial expressions. "You think I'm an insensitive bastard?" No, I didn't think so, but if I had the chance to get my mom back, I'd do anything, so Blaise's motives are more than understandable to me! "Don't look so understanding; I can see what you're thinking. But, first of all, I can't make the boys go with him, I can't order them to." That's where it's quite clear; to make somebody walk the Arch is a straightforward way to break his neck by slipping on the spit of a random passerby. "The second follows from the first point; if I agreed, I would have to go myself... And that's... That's difficult... Very... The risk is multiplied..." And here I don't understand his explanation, but before I open my mouth to ask, "Why is that?" he continues.

"Most importantly, Blaise's mom is a very delusional person. She's as healthy as an elephant! Believe me, we checked! But whenever she finds a mole on her body that she hasn't noticed before, she immediately screams "I have melanoma". She coughs for two days, she says it's at least lung cancer. If she cut herself, she went straight to the hospital, "Aah, I got blood poisoning!" I don't even want to know what she came up with this time of sickness and what she's driving her son to. I'm sure she doesn't have any disease other than hypochondria, so there's no need for Blais to go to the Temple. What are your eyes widening? Do you think I didn't tell him that? So we told him, told him many times, and Fel even brought him the doctor with her medical records, who told Rabid everything. Only he trusts Mama more than he trusts medicine. And that's his problem!" Lance raises his voice. "I won't risk my men's lives for someone else's hypochondria," he said calmly, even mundanely, as if it were a fact of life.

If it is true what the biker says, he is one hundred percent right. But his story also hints at the fact that the Goons are engaged in "escorting," as they call it. Leading people under the Arch so that they can be Heard!

"One question?" Lance nods, and I continue. "How much do you charge for escort services?" I'm really curious. Maybe if they don't charge too much, I could ask them to take me out, for instance, on the next new moon, especially since they owe me a favor now."

Before I had time to finish my thought, I found myself suspended by my legs and dangling upside down in the air.

"You-" Lance loosens his grip, and I hit my head on the sidewalk. "You're out of your fucking mind!" He lifts me by my shins one more time and lowers me sharply, but this time I manage to put my hands under my arms and protect my head. "Who are you comparing us to?! With those scumbags who escort for money?!" This time he doesn't try to knock me to the ground, but shakes me like a sack of yams, so much so that my teeth clench. "With those scumbags that are willing to give any shit a chance to be Heard for the sake of money?!" I get scared because Lance's rage - it's unadulterated!

"I'm not shit!" I have time to shout out before another shaking.

"What?" My shout clearly confused the biker.

"I've been prayed for a curse." Oh, it's not easy to talk calmly and measured with my head hanging down. "My arm is damaged, and the doctors can't help it," I told Jiro's theory as fact.

Goon puts me on my feet. The expression on his face indicates extreme dissatisfaction, but he no longer radiates rage.

"Tell me about it. In detail..."

I felt a little shaky. What happened frightened me, especially since Lance was stronger than even Blaise, and I could feel it in his grip. And the biker's rage was no less than the rage Rabid had felt after I'd accidentally broken his nose. However, since my story is no longer a mystery to many, I tell it quite calmly...

"I didn't mean anything bad. I just wanted to know for myself. I have my faults, of course, and I'm no Messenger, but I'm no shit as a person, either," I finished my story.

"Okay... I'm sorry for using force." His words are empty, and I can see that he doesn't have an ounce of regret in him. "But everybody's got a sore spot... Consider it the one you stepped on." The look in his eyes hinted at it: You got off easy, too. "But you've explained yourself, I understand you, and... Peace?"

"Peace..." I held out my hand cautiously, but Lance just shook it. Emphatically gently, rather than breaking my bones by squeezing with all his strength, which, for a second, seemed like a real possibility to me.

"I thought that because Daas vouched for you with us, you knew a lot about us. But now I see you don't. Remember, we don't escort anyone for money. We don't escort anybody for favors in return. We help... Yes, yes, we help. Just like that... But only to those we see fit to help. It's our choice, our stone, our redemption..." I'm not sure that everything I know about the Goons connects with altruism, or maybe I misinterpreted his words, which is more likely. "I won't tell you more... Ask Daas, if he sees fit, he'll tell you. That's it... Let's run back it's been too long already today..."

As I moved my feet and stared at the biker's back, I found myself thinking that he was a much worse actor than Daas. I could see the motive behind his story about Blais. The whole story about Rabid he told was just to remind me that Meck had saved me from the ringleader of the "Denim". Plus Lance spun the details to make me feel much more indebted to Meck and, by extension, all the Goons. It wasn't for anything immediate, but as a bookmark for the future, in case I was useful to them in some way, and one could press that feeling of gratitude for the rescue. Lance was clearly not a schemer and a bad actor, so it was easy enough to figure out the motivation for his story. Except that his anger when I hinted that the Goons were escorts was genuine. Maybe I had really stepped on his sore thumb...?

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