Page 91 of Ruthless Lullaby

There's a pause on the other end of the line. I can practically hear the gears turning in Maurice's head. “How much?” He finally asks. I was expecting the question. Maurice was always easy to manipulate with money. His addicted brain is probably already thinking about stuffing it into a slot machine in Marble Monkey.

“Three hundred.”

“Thousand?”

“Do I look like a guy who plays small?” I ask. Three hundred thousand dollars should be more than enough to takehis mind off Mindy for now and get him to focus on the job. I know he’s going to bite.

And just as I expected, he does. “Alright, Maron,” he says. "I’m in. Is three months going to be enough to set this up?"

"No, it won’t. Which is why I need you to help me get things going," I counter, my voice firm. "First things first, book a luxury hotel in New York. Something with plenty of space for press conferences and interviews. We need to make a statement and show the world that Tramoxine is the next generation of medicine."

"Right. Remind me, what's it good for again?" Maurice asks.

"It's a fucking miracle drug, Maurice," I tell him, my voice full of pride. "Mental health conditions, trauma, PTSD, insomnia – all the shit people suffer from. It could even heal your addiction, dear brother."

“You think?” he seems to hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Hundred percent,bratok.”

"Well, about that…" Maurice sighs and goes silent for a few seconds. "You think you can save me some? You know... for my troubles."

My brother's unexpected comment throws me slightly off balance. I furrow my brow. He wants to take Tramoxine? All this time he refused to admit that he’s got issues. Can it be possible that he’s finally starting to take responsibility for his shit?

“I know we said we’re not going to talk about this, but…” he continues. I can hear him fidgeting with something, probably a pen. Maurice does that when he’s nervous. “Listen, Maron, Iknow I’ve not been easy to deal with. Especially last night. So, if this medicine can help me, I’m all in.”

I can barely believe what I’m hearing. I was only calling him to give him a task, hoping that we could avoid talking about last night. But this? This is completely unlike him.

“Hey, am I talking to Maurice here?” I ask, feigning curiosity. “Because if not, I’ll happily trade you for him, whoever you are.”

“Very funny, Maron,” Maurice says. “Listen, after I screwed up your birthday party yesterday, I stayed up all night thinking.” He sighs. “I know I can’t keep doing this to you and my family. I can’t keep doing this to myself. Because if I do, I’m just going to end up on the street, or even worse, dead in a ditch. I want to change, Maron. And as for Mindy, I know I can only blame myself for losing her. She deserves to be with someone who treats her well.”

What the fuck?

I’m still struggling to comprehend that I’m talking to Maurice. He sounds like a completely different person. Has he really come to his senses? Is it possible that the scene he caused sobered him out? Or is he simply using a different tactic to manipulate me? I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

"I’m glad you see it that way,” I tell him, my voice a lot less strained than before. “You'll be the first in my circles to try Tramoxine, brother. But you absolutely cannot drink alcohol while you’re on the pill, you understand? It’s a lethal combo."

"Don't worry about it, Maron," he says. "I'm dead set on kicking this drinking habit, anyway. I know I acted like a major asshole at your party."

"Alright, let's just move past it,bratok," I say. "Let’s focus on the job, instead. Speaking of which, have you got an update on Shirkov’s kidney?"

"Oh, that? It’s sorted," Maurice says, a hint of pride in his voice. "They are shipping it in a few days. Will be in New York days before the deadline."

I can’t help but be a little impressed. This is not the conversation I was expecting at all. Far from it.

"Good job, Maurice.” I give a nod of recognition. “Who is the donor?"

"Twenty-year-old woman in Bangladesh, who recently passed away from a terminal illness. She agreed for her organs to be used after her death. For money, of course. It will go towards caring for her nieces. Food, school fees, bus fares… that kind of stuff."

Jesus Christ.

I can't stop myself from thinking about the desperation poverty can drive people to. I should be used to it by now, but whenever I encounter it, it never truly leaves me unfazed. For a brief moment, I'm grateful for being born into a privileged part of the world.

"Fine," I say, my tone softening just a fraction. "Good job, Maurice. Proud of you, brother. Keep this up and we can talk about a pay rise. The kidney will be the first milestone of your progress."

"Thanks, Maron," he says. I can almost see his smug smile through the telephone line.

I nod, even though he can't see me. "Keep me posted on the kidney. And in the meantime, let's focus on making this launch party as big as we can. I want the press to talk about it for months."

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