Page 20 of Mayflower

But then, kindness is the superglue that binds broken pieces together. The Change left us with lots of them. The two most unlikely people are by my side. He and Candy, the brothel owner.

I met Candy several times on my trips to Port Mrei a year or so ago, when I used to come to town to get my mind off Zion’s business. I used to drink, watch the girls dance, catch their smiles, and pretend that life was normal. I never used their services, not my thing. But they all knew me.

One day, Candy found me at the port, came with a stack of Port Mrei tokens they used for barter.

“I don’t know how much it costs and what you can do, but tell me the price. If I can afford it, I will pay you.”

She confused me at first. I didn’t know what she could possibly ask for.

Turned out one of her girls had a daughter with a severe medical condition, in need of surgery and treatment. Nothing they could do here, in Port Mrei. Ayana—maybe. We fly in surgeons and specialists occasionally. But it would cost a fortune to fly a doctor here, and to be honest, Ayana didn’t give a shit about Port Mrei residents.

“The little girl needs treatment,” Candy explained, all businesslike. “She and her mother need to go to the mainland. There’s a clinic there. Sure, we can smuggle her out. Don’t look at me like that. We could, in a second. The problem is that once she gets to the mainland, she won’t be able to get past the coastal control and will be kept at one of the contamination camps.”

I nodded. She would. So, Candy needed me to get the girl and her mother across to the “safe” counties. The request was expensive, and Candy couldn’t possibly have anything I needed.

“Tell me what you can do and the price,” she insisted. “We lost a lot. We can’t go anywhere. We can’t escape this.” This meaning the island, the shitty clientele, the poverty, the fact that their lives would only get worse.

“I would offer my unlimited services to you,” she continued, determined. “But I heard you are not interested in those.”

I studied her with curiosity. An entire brothel of women were willing to pool their funds together to give one little girl a chance to live a good healthy life—that was rare.

And then, just then, I got a text message.

Mac: How is everything, kid? All good here. Hope you are well. Maureen sends her thanks, blessings, and a hug. I told her you are not into those. She says someone needs to teach you how to hug.

If this was not a fucking sign, I didn’t know what was. The message made me smile.

Mac once said, “Do not underestimate the power of coincidences.”

Coincidentally, he just sent me a message for the first time in a month.

I raised my eyes at Candy.

Hers were hesitant. “I understand you are a busy man. This is a lot to ask. And you don’t have a reason to care. But perhaps?—”

“I need the names of the woman and her daughter,” I said. “Social security numbers. IDs. Passport pictures. Pack the minimum.”

I looked down at my phone and replied to Mac’s message.

Me: All good. Sending you a live package. Need you to take care of someone. Talk to you tonight.

Mac never said no. In fact, Mac enjoyed this. That was his calling, being the leader of the “not so free world,” those who were left behind, minorities, crippled by an unjust justice system. Granted, I had unlimited funds and nowhere to spend them except playing Santa for his non-profits and a handful of social projects he started after the Change. Helping people get out of the contamination zones. Sending youth to colleges. Finding housing for those who lost theirs but were left behind by the shitty government. Appealing internment camps. Sending the promising kids abroad. And on and on and on. Too many to count.

“You didn’t tell me the price,” Candy said as I was typing a message to my guy at the border patrol on the mainland.

I didn’t look up from the phone. “The boat leaves at 6 a.m. sharp. The girl and her mother have to be at the port at 5.30 just in case. Tell the guards they are waiting for me. They will have passes ready. On the mainland, it’s four hours inland. They will be met and transported out of the contamination zone. Someone will take care of the farther route and accommodation.”

“You didn’t tell me the price,” Candy said louder, for the first time with slight panic in her eyes. Mind you, Candy was the last person who would ever show vulnerability. A decade of prostitution would teach you that. “We might not have?—”

“Do you want them to go to the mainland and the hospital or not?” I finally raised my eyes to meet hers.

“Yes.”

“I don’t sell services, Candy. I do favors. Favors require favors in return.”

She blinked slowly. “I am saying I don’t want to owe you my life. And I am not sure I can match the favor.”

Huh. A woman used to being in charge, now nervous.

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