Chapter 17

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I had never been a volleyball fan. But today the time until sixteen zero zero, when the match between the Leaping Taurus and the Ptolemy Bulls was supposed to start, was dragging on immensely slowly. Sitting in my seat at the bar or helping new customers, I noticed that I wasn't the only one on pins and needles. The atmosphere at the Goon's table wasn't very healthy either, the bikers led by Anton were noticeably nervous as well. This seemed quite strange to me because from what I had seen at their base, this gang was not very limited in means. Why were they so nervous before this match, for them such sums should not be so significant that they were so worried about them.

At about two o'clock, I remembered that Jiro was a former athlete. Of course, he didn't play volleyball, but he should know a lot more about sports than me and the sofa experts on the forums. My assumption turned out to be correct; the bartender understood not only rugby but also followed other student leagues, in other sports, including volleyball. Without going into the backstory, I told Jiro about my bet, without specifying how much I was betting. The bartender, upon learning that I had managed to place my bet before the pre-match press conference, called me a sneaky bug and congratulated me in advance on my accrual. He had every confidence that the Ptolemy Bulls would win in light of the injuries to their core players that were plaguing the TUNJ team. His opinion reassured me, so when the match started, I was relaxed.

Since there were no customers at the bar at this time, Jiro put the broadcast on the bar's touchpad. So did the Goons at their table. The Bulls won the first game resoundingly, twenty-five to seven. The second game also started with a series of shutout serves, and my uni team was flying five - zero already four minutes after it started. Then I was distracted by my clients, and I sporadically managed to follow the game. However, there was nothing to worry about, our game was so bad that there was no chance of revenge at all, even from my amateur point of view.

All the more surprising was what happened next. The coach of Taurus, apparently already down and not hoping to win, switched the entire roster, letting five freshmen play in the third game. As Jiro explained to me, since everything had already been decided in the game, let the rookies take the court for the first time at this level. And the amazing thing was that these freshmen, who came to the university with me, started playing with such dedication that they made scored two to one! Even I could see that the newcomers were technically inferior to their elders, but they fought for every ball. They weren't afraid to jump with their whole bodies on the floor, jumping in places where there was little chance to get to the ball, and they were dragging! In the fourth game, when it seemed that their dedication wasn't enough to win and the Bulls began to pull ahead again, one of the newcomers to the Taurus threw seven shutout innings.

"That's it-" Jiro shook his head. "Say goodbye to your bet."

"Why all of a sudden? The Bulls are leading in games and in this one, the score is almost equal, now this series of good balls will end, and..."

"There's no "and," the bartender interrupts me. "The Bulls have gone sour, I'm telling you, their hands are down, their eyes are blank, and the coach, look at him, he doesn't know what to do. He needs to take a time-out, but he's just furious, he's shouting at his guys, and he may even come to blows. Your young people today jumped over their heads and do not let go, look at what they are on the rise. Now if your coach is smart, he will rotate, add two or three experienced players who will bring stability to the game, and the job is done..."

Unfortunately for me, it went exactly as the bartender had predicted. In addition, when the score was two-two, the opponent's coach decided to repeat the Taurus' trick and fielded the first-teamers. But, unlike ours, they came out to the game without glowing eyes and played just awful. In the end, my college team won!

"I hope you didn't bet too much," Jiro grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. "I'd pour you something, but you're at work!" and he laughed, the bastard.

The loss of a thousand francs not only hurt my wallet but put me in a state of near-depression. I even felt like calling Lance and telling him what I thought of his gamble. At the same time, I was well aware that no one had forced me to make a bet, and it was solely my initiative. I always knew that I must stay away from all gambling. But after all the sports analysts and experts were unanimous in their opinion that the Bulls' victory was a done deal after the Taurus' coach had talked about the injuries to his leading players. That is, it was simply not Lance's fault that I lost money; his prediction was very likely from a sporting point of view. I was lucky that I was smart enough not to bet all my money otherwise, I would have probably started banging my head against the wall in front of the visitors.

Something similar to my mood prevailed at the Goon's table. The guys were clearly shocked by the outcome of the game. Anton was sitting there red as cancer, nervously fidgeting with his smartphone, either trying to call someone or canceling the number. Judging by the reaction of the bikers, Lance, saying that the gang planned to bet thirty thousand on this match, had deceived me, and to the bookies, they brought a much larger amount. The realization that I was not alone in this gamble on money somehow lifted my spirits. And after analyzing my actions, including my bet, in the evening I was able to convince myself that I acted quite logically.

The risk was justified, I was just unlucky, a one-in-a-thousand chance. If you never take risks at all, you can't achieve anything in life, so I blame myself for nothing. At least in this whole affair, I not only lost money but also managed to establish some kind of relationship with Lance. So you could say, to use an analogy with role-playing computer games, I paid a thousand to improve my relationship with the Goon faction. I agree, a rather pathetic attempt to convince myself that even a loss can be at least somewhat beneficial.

However, a thousand shortfall in my finances wasn't as painful today as it had been a week ago. Somehow my main plan, which had been to save up and have surgery on my hand, had given up after Jiro's words. The more I watched the Goons, Jiro, Illea, and Daas, the less scary the Pilgrimage seemed to me. More and more often I thought of asking Daas or Lance to take me under the Arch. I don't think I could do that for the next new moon, since it would be too soon, and my relationship with the bikers was not yet at a high enough level. But in the next lunar month, maybe I will put myself in the mood for this action. I hope that by then I will be able to get the bikers to agree to this escort.

What do I have to do? To browbeat the reluctance of Meck or Anton to communicate with civilians? It's a fool's errand. Going through Lance makes more sense, but Daas is due back today, and my runs with the head of the Goons will cease. Which closes this door as well. It's much better to find a way to approach Rick and get him in the mood for the game. There's just one big problem: I don't know how to get close to the Runner. He does not appear in the restaurant, I do not have his phone, and his account is deleted, that is, even in the game, I can not write to him. Of course, Ш can ask for a meeting through the same Phil or Meсk, but it's somehow too direct and does not guarantee any result.

On the other hand, why go to all that trouble when I can get the result I want by playing through my boss? He clearly has enough influence with the Goons to get his request complied with. But I have my doubts about my ability to manipulate such a person. It would be best not to try to manipulate him because if the boss were to notice, his attitude toward me might change drastically. Besides, Ten Daas already treats me normally, so just by continuing to work for him and doing him small favors, it's possible to then make a similar request to him. Just ask him straight out. But if he refuses, that's when I have to think of some other way. Yes, perhaps that would be the wisest course of action.

"Why so gloomy?" Jiro misinterpreted my thoughtfulness. "So you lost, and you lost, it's just money." So much for Diogenes, the drunken philosopher. "Look, how everyone in the network is standing on their ears at the results of this match! It's funny to read these experts, who all sat in the puddle in their predictions, and now are looking for excuses." This is how he comforts me, in his own way. "I don't understand these worries mixed up with excuses. This is a sport. If all predictions came true, there would be no point in playing the game. I made a mistake too, do you see that I'm covering my head in ashes?" Yeah, what about him, he didn't bet his money on this match.

Still, there's a silver lining to my reconciliation with Jiro. He's a good man, of course, once you get used to his way of talking. Not that I needed the consolation much, but it made me feel a little better, especially after the bartender had rolled his peculiar humor over all the sports predictions. Okay, I'll assume I paid for a very expensive life lesson. I overpaid a lot, of course, but what could I do, that was fate's rate this time.

Late that night a cab pulled up in front of the restaurant, and Ten Daas stepped out of it, dressed in his usual shabby overalls. The boss was in a bad mood, and as he entered the hall he greeted everyone with a wave of the hand and then ran off to the back room, gesturing to Illea before doing so that he should not be disturbed. This did not, however, prevent him from sending a message half an hour later that my early-morning grocery shopping duties were resumed tomorrow morning.

After seeing her boss off with a surprised look, Aloya asked our chef where Daas had been and why he was in such a mood. But all she got in response was a scolding and a command not to poke her nose where it wasn't asked. Seeing that, I did not ask questions. So the bosses arrived in a bad mood, so what? No yelling, no swearing, not picking on anyone - what else does an ordinary employee need? It didn't stop me from laughing at a couple of Jiro's jokes about bosses and their moods, though.

I tried once again before going to bed at night to find something on the net that could give me the deciphering of what HGD was. But this time, too, all to no avail; the references led mostly to some drugs, sales outlets for everything in the world, and to a children's book, I had read a long time ago. I could not find any subcultures to associate with these letters. For some reason, I have a vague feeling that these letters can somehow be connected to my recent dialogue with Lance. Only I can't catch this "feeling" in any way and can't translate it from a feeling into a guess...

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Early in the morning, there was no trace of Daas's bad mood of the evening. He greeted me with a big smile and even told me a couple of fresh jokes while he was warming up. The weather was fine today, for once nothing was dripping from above, the wind was not trying to get its cold claws under my jacket, and the sky overhead was amazingly clear, so clear that even at the hour before dawn one could easily make out many constellations. When it's so good outside, even jogging doesn't seem like torture, but rather a kind of pleasure. Also, now I don't have to stop every 500 meters to pant.

I can already run five kilometers without stopping, but it's still at my limit, so I've chosen a different rhythm for now. I run a kilometer, and then I switch to walking, take a hundred steps, and then switch back to running. This rhythm allowed me to get to the market almost without panting, which made it harder for me to play the tortured employee in front of the vendors, and it took a lot of work to get a good discount.

On my return to the restaurant, Daas seemed to compliment me wholeheartedly on the fact that I hadn't stopped jogging and had even made considerable progress over the past week. I wasn't fooled by that praise, though, for I heard him mutter afterward, thinking I was busy unpacking my purchases, "Lance would make a man out of anyone..." Or was that just something he wanted me to hear?

"Tell me, what was going on while I was gone?" After the broth was boiling, the boss sat across from me and stared into my eyes expectantly.

I don't think there's anything I'd tell him that he wouldn't already know. So there's no point in hiding anything from him. On the other hand, even if he knows all the news, that doesn't mean I should tell him everything. I started with the usual mundane and work stuff, told my boss about the increase in customer traffic, and about a few glitches in the "smart restaurant" control system. Then I moved on to my runs with Lance, finishing by telling him about my meeting with Blais.

But I didn't mention the betting, the reading of other people's medical records, or anything else related to the Hun's request. The boss would probably find out, but not from me. Not because I'm afraid of any repercussions from the story, but because it was between me and the Huns, and Daas had nothing to do with it. Maybe it's because of the peculiar street ethics instilled in me since childhood by the streets of my hometown. Or maybe it's because when Lance tells his boss about the story, they'll know I can keep my mouth shut. And that I could be trusted a little more.

Since Daas was clearly in a good mood today, I decided to take advantage of it by questioning him. I've been interested in the Pilgrimage more and more lately, and from all my observations, I can think of no better expert on the subject than Ten Daas.

"I don't understand one thing about Blaise's story..." Having said that, I paused to see how the boss would react to the possibility of such a conversation.

"Ask away," the boss nodded graciously.

"When Blaise first snapped and the Goons had to kill him in the reality of Arch and everyone coming back alive, that makes sense to me. Since Lance mentioned that the Deed was done." That's clear. If the Quest is completed, then all members of the Raid, even those who died during the Deed, come back fully alive and unharmed in the Temple. This is the rule of the Face of Ares, which says, "The victors live!" At a lecture on this nuance, I was just awake at the time. This is the main reason why it is better to go under the Arch as a group rather than alone, as the chances of a positive outcome increase manifold. "But here's Rabid's second trip, for which I have a question. Lance said that Blais left with his team, but came out alone. And Lance made it very clear to me that it was Rabid who had outwitted his whole group. And that's where I don't understand... How Blais could come back, because he was in bear form and couldn't come back, he had to be stuck in the Arch forever or die."

"He died there," Daas shrugged as if answering a rhetorical question. "The Face of Aphrodite brought him back, in her mercy... Blaise had told me that himself, when he'd come back from the accident, drunk for over a month, crying on the shoulder of anyone who would give him a drink and listen to him."

"But why?" I burst out involuntarily. "Why did the Three Faced show mercy to Blaise, and not to the men he'd killed? Why bring him back and not someone else from his group?"

"Are you asking me?" The boss's eyes widened in surprise. "God's ways are inscrutable. Or did you think they were just meaningless words? Sadly, we mortals can't understand their motives. But it's not surprising, come to think of it... How can a sixteen-year-old boy from a remote village understand the motives of an old man who traveled the whole world? And the difference between the ThreeFaced and a human being is immeasurably great..."

Why couldn't all my theology teachers speak as simply and plainly as Daas? I think I would have stayed awake in their classes, but these priests would go on and on and on in their rant and on and on and on until the bell rang.

I wanted to ask the boss something else, but his answer threw me off balance so much that instead of asking, I shut up and started chopping lettuce. No sooner had I completed this simple action than Ten Daas spoke first.

"So, did you learn what HGD is in a week?"

These words almost made the knife fall out of my hands. Actually, I asked him about the HGD once, and then he pretended that he hadn't heard the question. And now...

"Why would I want to know about it?" I was confused, and I couldn't think of any better way than to snap back.

"It's not good to lie," the boss grinned and shook his head. "You're a curious guy, aren't you? You've got it written on your face that if you're interested in something, you'll dig into it like a bloodhound smelling a sweet bone. Or am I wrong?"

On the one hand, he seemed to be complimenting me, but on the other hand, I did not like the comparison at all. I had already opened my mouth to make a joke and get off the subject when I caught myself thinking, "Why would I do that? And to justify me would mean to admit that I was offended by his words. So I took a deep breath, leisurely finished my salad, and only then spoke.

"I looked it up online, but I don't understand it," I said, trying to make it clear that I was hooked, but not that much. "There is nothing under that acronym that can be connected with the Goons. Some endless dural offices, insurance firms... A couple of banks still fit. Yes the title of an old high school age book, if you take the first letters of the title, you can put it under HGD."

"What's the book?" Tilting his head, Daas asks.

"Heroes of Good Deeds was written at the beginning of the last century, after the events of the Great Ocean War. The country was then in the deepest depression, all the ports burned or were destroyed, and many families were left without breadwinners. The postwar crisis in all its glory. The book is about a certain group of young people who helped people by offering prayers. That is, they went through the Arch to make life somehow easier for those who were in dire straits: the elderly, children, and the crippled. And they also put in the place of the arrogant bureaucrats and fought against widespread theft and banditry. Thirty years ago this book was included in the high school curriculum, but then it was taken out. And now, of my generation, for example, very few people have read it.?

"Did you read it?"

"When I was fourteen, I found a postwar edition in the attic and spent all night reading it. I remember being very impressed by it at the time, but as soon as I mentioned it at the table, my father gave me a hard time. He told me so much about it and gave me so many examples of how the Arch breaks lives rather than saves them that the idea of the Pilgrimage has since then only made me resent it for a long time."

"So you've read..." Dass rubbed his chin and smiled. "Though life is very complicated, for some reason many of the simplest answers turn out to be right."

"I don't get it..." I couldn't hide my genuine surprise. "What Heroes of Good Deeds of the Goons, these bikers, and one of the most violent gangs in the city?!"

"I keep forgetting that you're still so young," he continued before I could get angry at those words. "You're too trusting to the outside and to what the crowd is saying, for example, on the Internet, on your favorite forums. Never mind, it will pass with age..." His grin is not at all cheerful.

"Let's say..." I didn't argue or make offended looks, I tried to catch the boss at the logical inconsistency. "But it still didn't add up. The Goons not only don't look like good boys, but they're rude, cruel, and harsh - I've witnessed it myself. They can beat you up, and rob you, not to mention the little things like the ubiquitous boorishness."

"And? Where is the mismatch here? Well... Except for the rudeness, in the book, the main characters were polite, yes, but here I think there is a literary device involved. As for the rest. Didn't the characters in the book beat up profiteers? Didn't they break the bones of the pimps who seduced young girls in difficult situations into prostitution? And remember the moment when they found the gang stealing food from the warehouses, they killed them all. Or doesn't that go under the heading of cruelty, harshness, and rudeness?"

That's where he caught me, I should have reread the book because I'd forgotten those moments. But the boss is right, everything in that text was so, it just seemed so right in my early youth that it didn't seem cruel. And I didn't think of the characters in the text as murderers, because killing those who had starved hundreds of people to death by stealing seemed right to me then. At fourteen, I did not think about the fact that it was, in fact, a lynching and an illegal act. However, even now, when I watch an action movie where the protagonist kills corrupt police officers and gangsters right and left, or throws off the roofs of overzealous bankers and officials, I do not perceive it as something that goes against my life principles...

"Forget for a second everything you think you know about Lance and his boys... Now tell me. Have you seen a single drug dealer on the streets of this neighborhood?" Hmmm... Oh, I really haven't, although the neighboring, also not wealthy, bedroom communities are full of them, standing on every corner, selling dope almost without hiding, and we don't have them here.

"No."

"That's it. That's one... Have you seen the battered and spiked prostitutes asking for clients?"

"No."

"That's two. When was the last time there was an attack on women in our neighborhood?"

"I don't remember..." That's right, there wasn't even a single mention of it on the forums.

"That's three... We don't even have any carjackings, not just of motorcycles." I can understand his chuckle; anyone who would think of stealing a lone bike in our neighborhood would quickly realize that he was born with brain dystrophy because there's no other way to explain such foolishness. "And if you look closely if you take the blinders of prejudice off your eyes, you'll notice "fourths" and "fifths," and so on..."

"And what about all those bodies the police periodically find in abandoned warehouses? They find them almost every month!" I make my strongest argument.

"Um..." I was wrong somewhere because the look on Daas's face showed his deep disappointment in me. "Do you think Lance is a fool?" Before I can object, he continues, "The police don't go into abandoned warehouses for simple raids. Ask yourself, how do they find these bodies?" I'm an idiot, that's right, and only someone who knows the warehouses, the bikers themselves, can lead the police to the bodies. "Yeah, yeah, I can see it in your eyes. Moreover, you see, if it were necessary, no one would ever find the bodies. There are so many places where you can get rid of them without a trace... And the corpses - alas, but some people do not understand words and entreaties." I don't agree with him here, but I prefer not to say anything. "Or do you think that criminals will just leave an entire city district alone without their presence?"

"So the corpses are a sign of staying away from us?"

"Sort of."

"Too radical as for me."

"Go and suggest to Lance that he just talk to the drug mafia, and convince him that if he does, they'll stop coming here... Open his eyes to the way street policy should be conducted..." There's nothing I can say about that. It's one thing to say "it's wrong," but it's another thing to at least suggest how "right" it should be.

Yes, I haven't lived long enough, but I have enough brains to understand that a simple "we don't deal drugs" won't be enough. I have no illusions about the nobility of crime.

"The Goons only look like a biker gang," Daas said, noticing the change in my expression. "I'd say they're a gang for all appearances. Even robbing, sometimes. But strange as it may seem, they rob robbers. You've seen the computers at the base, haven't you?" Nodding, I remember that they weren't cheap imitations, but very expensive machines. "Two months ago, some "enterprising" people stole a truck with a container full of these computers. They made only one mistake, they decided to hide this container on the territory of the old river port..." It is not difficult to guess the further fate of these "enterprising" people. Seeing the understanding flash in my eyes, the boss nods.

"And the guys didn't steal everything, but returned the container to the company to which it rightfully belonged, and the computers were a kind of reward for the return... Just don't think that they are such noble knights. That, alas, is not the case. It's much more complicated than that..." the boss sighs heavily. "the Goons are essentially a kind of closed rehabilitation club."

What?! A rehab club?! What a load of crap, my ears can't take as much nonsense as Daas is trying to put on them!

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