If my headache hadn’t chosen that specific moment to beat its fists against the back of my skull, I might’ve stayed strong and completed my walk home. Unfortunately, I chose the path of least resistance, which was giving in and resigning myself to at least listen to the guy.

“I’d have to be an idiot to get in your car. Actually, it doesn’t look like it will survive much longer, so maybe it would be fine. Anyway, if you’ve got something to tell me, cut the shit. Tell me.”

He withdrew the signed cheques before I could get a good look at the amounts written on them. I wasn’t jealous or anything, more just interested in seeing how much the guy was paid to cheat my mom out of forty thousand krad.

Oh. Wait. Cheat my dad out of forty thousand krad. There was nothing to gain by Mom participating in the race to begin with. At least financially.

“Hop in the car, Oliver. Do you think I’d hurt you? I’m merely the middleman. I don’t like to cut ties with someone who might appreciate my services someday in the future.”

I frowned at him and placed a hand on the roof of the car, dodging the biggest stains of rust and bird poo.

“I’m not getting in. Deal with it. Unless you think that some little old granny in one of these houses is going to turn up her hearing aid to a million percent and eavesdrop on us, then you can tell me whatever you need to tell me right here. Right now.”

My headache was receding. I needed a good solid nap to kick it completely, but for now, I felt like I was controlling the conversation. I wasn’t invested. Either the dude would cave and tell me something interesting, or he’d demand something from me in return and I’d shove it back in his face and stalk off.

Fuck. Being sick and in pain has really killed my mood.

I’d never been the kind of person to blow up or even get annoyed by trivial things, but all of a sudden I felt like there was this dispassionate lump somewhere inside me that boiled and rolled around whenever my headaches reared their heads and someone got on my nerves. Perhaps it was just the tail-end of puberty being a bitch, but it was remarkably poor timing.

Seeing that he wouldn’t make any progress, Car-man turned off the vehicle and opened the passenger door.

“Fine. Then just at least sit inside. You can keep the door open if you’d like.”

I gave in. He was about as wiry as I was, and I doubted he’d be able to keep me in the vehicle if he tried something.

I brushed crumbs off the seat and pushed old fast-food wrappers onto the floor. There was an ecosystem of food bits in the crevice at the back of the seat, so I sat forwards and leaned back with almost comically poor posture. The inside smelled like cigarettes and sweat. My feet struggled to find a clean spot in the footwell, not helped by the wrappers I’d flung down there.

“Sweet ride,” I told him. “Why don’t you take one of those cheques and get it professionally cleaned? This thing is a car cleaner’s wet dream.”

He chuckled and offered me a cigarette. I frowned and squinted my eyes at him, so he put it in his own mouth and lit it instead. He was considerate enough to blow the smoke out the window.

“I like it like this. No one steals a car that looks and sounds like mine. Plus, the chicks dig it.”

“I bet.”

“So now you’re here. That’s good. You’re probably wondering why on earth I’ve showed up and offered you the world on a silver platter. That’s fair. You following?”

I shrugged. “Not much to follow. My mom and I have moved on from the whole thing. I don’t think I care as much as you think I do.”

“I think you might care more once you hear what I have to say.”

“Then go ahead. I haven’t done anything to stop you, but you’re still wasting my time. Go.”

He grinned. The cigarette between his lips glowed, and a puff of smoke exited the corner of his lips. “You may remember the night we first met. I wasn’t in the best state, but I gave you a very plain clue. The man I was looking for, Vlad, is your guy.”

I hesitated. I still didn’t know his motivations for telling me this, and I couldn’t trust a single word coming from this guy’s mouth. If he was playing me, he’d probably wait until the very end of our conversation to ask me something.

I would wait.

“The thing is, I’ve had a slight bust up with my friends-in-higher-places recently, and I need to do something that will get me back in their good graces. Alternatively, I could do something that puts someone else in their…well, bad graces.”

He said it as though it would be particularly dangerous to be on bad terms with whoever the face behind the curtain was. My earlier investigation had urged me to point the finger at the members of Blast Off, but the way he spoke of the operation made it sound more prevalent than the work of one guild. Just how prevalent, I didn’t know.

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“And how do I come into this? You want me to tip off the Peacers? You think I’d be a good scapegoat in case things go wrong? You can submit an anonymous tip, you know.”

“I know, I know. But if I do that, I may as well paint a big X on my chest and walk around with my shirt off. I thought you might be interested in revenge. And I read that article — you could do with some positive PR, and taking down a criminal isn’t a bad way to do it.”

I laughed and shook my head at the absurdity of the situation. My breath sent dust flying from the dashboard, swirling around and mixing with the smell of cigarettes. It was an improvement.

“Fine. I’m in. But stop pussy-footing around and just tell me what you want. Give it to me straight, boss.”

He cackled and offered me a cigarette yet again. I brushed him off just like the first time, so he shoved it back in the pack.

“Great. Glad to be workin’ with ya. Pretty much, a few interesting things are going to arrive in your letterbox at some point over the next few weeks. You’re going to take them, compile them, then put the pieces of the puzzle together. I can’t make it too easy, otherwise folks might ask questions, but you already know the final answer, so it should be easy enough. Once you’re done, send off your claims to the Peacers and let them do the rest.”

I thought through, trying not to screw up my face when I nearly laughed at how boring the concept would if it were a who-dunnit movie.

Sounds like a pretty crap plan.

“Okay, cool. And I assume that the evidence you send me isn’t going to be anything that only you would have access to? That would kind of defeat the purpose.”

He nodded. “Don’t you worry about that. This isn’t the first time I’ve skinned a cat, and I know many more ways to do it. Just do your part and I’ll do mine.”

I swung my legs out and pulled myself from the car before he could dive further into conversation or ask for my contact details. The last thing I wanted for my holiday was to be in constant contact with a criminal. Based on the plan he had in mind, I would be able to steer clear of him from now on.

He called out to me once I’d slammed the door and got back to the sidewalk.

“Oi! You wanna hear more details? I can tell you what they’ll do to him when you dob him in! And I’ve got some more work if you want it. Paid work.”

I shook my head and kept walking, not making the mistake of answering him. He trailed for another fifty metres, then peeled off and revved around the corner.

The engine fired, a sudden loud bang in the otherwise still evening.

“Good riddance,” I mumbled. There was not a chance in hell that I would mention the encounter to anyone. I’d have to start checking the mailbox each morning just in case Mom or Dale happened to crack open any of the little mysteries that the guy was bound to start sending me.

The Guy. Car-guy. No name given. Interesting.

I couldn’t tell if I was getting myself wrapped up in a world of high-crime, or very, very low-crime. I’d pictured men in black suits with tattooed faces and buzz cuts, but instead I was confronted by a frazzled-looking madman with a consuming fondness for shitty cheeseburgers and tobacco. He obviously wasn’t at the top of the tree, but I’d expected something more impressive.

Criminals aren’t impressive. What’s that saying? ‘Every criminal is stupid, because if they were smart, they would be something else.’

It was tough to know just how much of that saying was the truth. The propaganda-ish overtones really came through once I actually thought about it.

Regardless, I was not going to ditch B&B for a life of crime. I’d made twenty thousand krad in what was basically the blink of an eye, and all it took was manipulating a few deadly beings and a quick tour of the local hospital.

I tried to silence my brain for the rest of the walk home. I’d grown used to some level of discomfort, but even drowning everything else out wasn’t making my headache go down.

**************

When I got stepped in the front door, I was pleased to see that Dale was home from wherever he’d ran off to. It had ticked past six o’clock, which meant he was in the clear to start off his drinking for the night. I cracked open the fridge to get some cool air, surprised to see not a single alcoholic beverage.

“Woah, what’s going on here? Did you finally buy a beer-fridge? I’ve always thought that would be a worthwhile purchase.”

He chuckled from his place on the couch.

“Nope, nope, just trying something a little out of the ordinary. I believe some call it water. It’s pretty good, and a whole lot cheaper than beer. Also, it helps to be sober when one is coming up with ideas for taking down shitty blogs that snipe at kids.”

I grabbed an apple and sat next to him. “So you’ve seen it?”

“Indeed. I wanted to read it all, but unfortunately the quality of writing was not high enough to tempt me into throwing a few hundred krad their way for a subscription. Same goes for the quality of content. How would you like to destroy them?”

He asked it with such a genuine expression that for a moment, I thought he was serious. Knowing what I now knew about his battle capabilities, I had no doubt that giving him a big stick and dropping him off outside Bingus and Butthead’s offices might produce some positive results.

Of course, the jail time wouldn’t make up for it. And the articles that would spawn from that debacle would be a nightmare.

Fine. Dale going psycho can be crossed off the list.

“You sound like my friends. I told them that I planned on sitting still and doing nothing about it until the tide of bullshit washed over me, and they didn’t seem too pleased. Would that be a mistake?”

He sipped his favourite new drink and slumped down into the couch a little more.

“I think that on this occasion, they’re right. Passivity doesn’t work with these guys, it’s like they see that you’re doing nothing, so they think they’ve got everything right. Of course, they seem to already think that.”

“So what’s your suggestion? Give me some options.”

Dale sat back up and rubbed his hands together. He was enjoying this.

“The way I see it, you have two options. Both will work if executed correctly. The first is to align yourself with Asteroth. They’re so blinded by their pixel patriotism that they’ll flip the script and start gushing about you. Of course, the opposing sides may pick right back up where they left off.”

Eh. “That sounds like I’m leaving things up to chance. Second option?”

He smiled ruefully.

“The second option is to lean into it. Take everything they say about you and make it appear so true that you gain the love and affection of everyone on the Harkon side.”

I sighed. It looked like I was going to have to pick a fight, regardless.

“Fine. And how would I go about that?”

He jumped up from the couch and pointed at my face.

“Let it rip. Crush Asteroth.”