Page 15 of Kristoff

Luckily, Celia’s one of those people that will go through the day doing their work happily. Living in a community this small, anyone with a job is grateful for steady income.

If there was a way to make any changes, I’d make sure everyone had a decent wage. More than once we’ve “extended credit” to people with nothing to eat. I can’t flat-out say we’re giving them something, at no cost, because it would bring droves of people to our doorstep, looking for a handout. Many more than we could afford to help.

The front door squeaks, announcing a customer. The temperature’s hot enough to keep the doors open throughout the day, but I refuse to live in a place full of bothersome flies. Everyone has their limits.

“Kristoff.” Sydney’s greeting echoes in the room. “When are you going to get the squeak out of this door, man?” Sydney gives the door an annoyed glare as he walks straight in, leaving it open behind him.

Not anytime soon. Not after somebody found their way into the building without us knowing.

“How else am I going to know you arrived, you old dog?” I reach out, offering him a knuckle bump.

“How are you, my friend?” Sydney sidles up to the bar, leaning an elbow against the scarred wood.

“Same old, same old.” I brace my arms, anchoring a hand on either side of me. “What have you got for me today?”

“Cornmeal, flour, lard, lemons, beef, and most of the spices Celia put on the list.” He cranes his neck, glancing around me toward the kitchen door. “Where is the little vixen?”

“Busy with dinner,” I reply with the proper amount of friendliness to remind him he isn’t allowed in the kitchen. Even though we’re not stateside, I still have standards I prefer us to meet. Including keeping the unwashed, dust-covered salesman from around the food being prepared for tonight’s meal.

He inhales deep, closing his eyes, as if he’s experiencing a moment of pleasure. “Ahhhh.” His eyes snap open. “Is that curry I smell?”

“It is.”

He taps the bar with a calloused palm. “How about you have Celia serve me some of her delicious curry while I bring her order?”

“I’ll let her know.”

Sydney heads to the door again to bring everything in. He’s too cheap to pay for someone to ride along and help him unload. Though he is smart enough to have an armed guard with him. A necessity when someone runs this route, carrying valuable merchandise.

I push the door to the kitchen open and stick my head in. “Sydney’s here,” I tell Celia. “Can you go ahead and fix him a plate?”

After pulling a plate from the stack above the stove, she digs a spoon into a pot. “Curry?” she asks, knowing his preferences.

“Yep. He’s bringing in your order now.”

She continues with her task.

I don’t question the things she orders anymore. With most of the eateries offering little more than fish, her kitchen has become rather popular. We’re lucky we get what we do. Sydney is contracted to take everything up to Germantown, and we’d make due with whatever’s left. But as we started providing food for the Faust men, we were able to gain access to more and better provisions. Wait, does she fix curry because he’s coming in? If so, that might be why he has more products available now than when we first started offering meals. Thus, she’s been able to expand the menu and bring in more customers. Brilliant. Definitely a worthwhile return on investment.

I grab a sack of flour and toss it over my shoulder while Sydney hauls the merchandise into the bar. His guard stands at the door, keeping a watchful eye. Even though Sydney has ties to Faust, there are still dangers along the road. If he was on his own, he’d be a prime target for the bandits in the area. There’s also an array of animals that could attack.

The same thing worries me about Brianna trying to walk to the coast. With snakes, cats, men, and regular bandits, it seems unlikely she’d survive more than a few hours. What would cause a woman on her own to venture out into the wild?

Shelving the flour on the bottom rack, I head back for more.

“Now this is why I look forward to coming by,” Sydney says to Celia. Whether he means because of the plate piled high with a spicy curry and jasmine rice or because of the woman herself, is another matter.

“I didn’t think you were going to come by today,” Celia says, following him to the table he normally occupies. “You’re a lot later than usual.”

“I got stuck waiting up the road,” he explains.

He takes a seat in the middle of the seating area, lining up his plate, utensils, and cola before he starts. His guard, a lanky kid with an automatic weapon almost as big as he is, makes a thorough scan of the room from his place at the entrance.

“Everything okay?” she asks politely.

“Yes,” Sydney replies, dismissing her concern. Then he scrunches his brow, turning to me. “Have you had anyone new come by?”

I do my best to act unaffected by his question. “Anyone new?” I ask while hefting another sack of flour.

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