Page 9 of A Life Betrayed

“Sir, did you know…?” the boy called out.

Rayan stopped and looked at the kid, whose plump cheeks were ruddy from the cold.

“On any given night in Canada, 3,491 women and 2,724 children sleep in shelters because it isn’t safe at home.” The boy spoke in a practiced voice as though he’d carefully memorized each statistic. He picked up a pamphlet in his gloved hand and held it out to Rayan.

Rayan stepped over and took it, glancing down. On the cover was a picture of a woman holding a little girl close to her chest. Beneath the image was the name of an emergency shelter.

“How old are you?” Rayan asked.

“Six and a half,” the boy said, grinning proudly. “My mom works there.”

A woman with two bottles of water emerged from the store and sidled up beside the kid. “We’re actually just around the corner,” she said, gesturing toward the end of the street. “This time of year always seems to bring an extra demand for our placement services.”

Rayan took out his wallet and removed a clump of bills from the fold. He pushed them into the slot at the top of the collection box on the table.

“Thank you so much,” she said with a smile. “Your donation will go toward food and clothing to help families get back on their feet.”

Rayan nodded and continued into the store, the pamphlet still in his hand. After his meeting with Professor Hofstein, he’d looked up utilitarianism—an ethical theory promoting actions that ensured the greatest good for the greatest number of people. Rayan had never really adhered to a life philosophy. He’d always found living hard enough without the luxury of determining how he went about doing it. But living hadn’t been hard lately, and in the absence of struggle, he’d felt a growing need to make sense of where he stood.

Hofstein’s mention of redemption had caught on something, tugging like a hook. Maybe it was childish fantasy to think a future of good deeds could cancel out those of the past.How much good would it take to cancel out mine?

Mathias sat in one of the VIP rooms at the back of Le Rouge, tapping out a cigarette from the pack in his hand and placing it between his lips. Across the table, Narcotics head Filippo De Luca leaned forward to light it for him. It was unusual for Mathias to find himself at the club on a Monday evening. Or any evening, for that matter.

If there was one positive thing about being on the council, it was that Mathias had to frequentLe Rougefar less often than he used to. Lucio stood in for him as the Collections rep at division head meetings, and Mathias didn’t make an appearance unless a particular item of business called for it. As for the Quintino, they preferred their meetings to be held during daylight hours, opting for places that served better food and less pussy.

“Two shipments in six months?” De Luca shook his head, bringing the flame to his own smoke and taking a pull. “No longer looks like a coincidence.”

“The man’s blasé about it, too—doesn’t seem to think it’s a concern,” Mathias said. “Give me the numbers. What are we looking at?”

“They’re down. Have been for months now. What with the seizures and the flood of product making its way up from Colombia—at two-thirds of the cost, mind you—the arrangement’s no longer proving as lucrative as it was when we began.”

“So you’d recommend pulling the plug?” Mathias asked, exhaling a stream of smoke.

De Luca splayed his hands. “I mean, we could sit on it, see if things pick up. But if they stay the same, we’re better cutting our losses.”

Mathias tapped the end of his cigarette against the ashtray in the center of the table.

“Obviously, in this situation, there are wider implications with that course of action,” De Luca added carefully.

“Truman.”

“Exactly.”

“If he’s underperforming, not keeping his eye on the ball, we’re well within our rights to terminate the agreement. There might be hurt feelings, but this isn’t fucking summer camp,” Mathias said. “I’ll discuss it with the boss. I wanted to get your take first.”

De Luca nodded and moved to top up their glasses.

“While I’m here,” Mathias began, “do you know of anyone involved who’s caused issues, kicked up some attention?”

De Luca cocked his head. “Not that I’m aware of. What’s this about?”

“Turns out the Feds received a tip-off about our little operation.”

“You’re serious?” De Luca’s eyes widened. “You don’t think it could be…?”

Mathias paused, his drink raised halfway to his lips, the possibility only now occurring to him. “No,” he said, dismissing the idea. “He’s stupid but not that stupid.”

Yet the thought lingered. After he’d finished up with De Luca, Mathias walked out to where Jacques was waiting in the hallway, and together, they made their way toward the entrance of the club. One of the hostesses stopped him when they reached the door.

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