Michael Bunker - WICK

The waiter smiled at the three diners and held his pencil and note pad up in front of him. “My name is Paul, and I’m going to be your waiter today. May I take your orders?”

Charlie pulled up a chair next to Ace and plopped down in it demonstrably. “My name is Charlie, and I’m going to be your hostage today!”

“I see you’ve done this before,” Peter said to Charlie while shaking his head.

“Only about a billion times a day,” Charlie said and folded his feet up underneath him on the chair.

“So it usually turns out alright?” Peter asked Charlie.

“Usually. But don’t try any funny business, mister. My Dad has seen it all.”

“I’ll bet he has.”

“Your order?” the waiter repeated with an insistent smile.

Peter ordered the chicken fettuccine alfredo with mushrooms and a garden salad. Ace ordered spaghetti with meatballs and an extra order of garlic bread. Elsie ordered lasagna with a salad and a piece of apple pie. The waiter wrote it all down, nodded his head at everyone at the table, and then disappeared into the kitchen with the order.

Peter got up from the table and took the bag of gold up to the bar. The entire transaction took place out in the open, and there was no attempt to hide what was going on, nor was there any sense that the transaction was out of the ordinary. The tall man went painstakingly through the bag. He carefully examined and tested each item, weighing it before telling Peter what he thought of it, it’s eventual meltdown weight, and what he could give Peter for it as part of a wholesale transaction. When he’d gone through the whole bag of gold items, he turned to Peter and asked him how he would like his payment.

“How do you suggest?” Peter asked.

“The gold I can give you in coin, buttons, or bars of different sizes. You’ve quite a bit of value here, so I recommend that you get half of the value in silver coinage, though. Pre-1965 dimes and quarters. That’s what people want now. Then get the other half any way you want. Fact is, not many people out there are able to take or exchange large pieces of gold. You did well to find me. Everyone doing business takes silver, and most people around here take .22 shells or buttons of real copper. Some people take metal wire, spools of thread, or straight nails for small items.”

“I’ll take it like you recommend,” Peter said, nodding his head. “Half in silver coinage, and the other half in gold coins of a quarter ounce or less.”

“Okay, it’s a done deal then.” The tall man went through the process of counting out the silver coins, and then the gold. When Peter nodded his approval, the man put the coins into two separate small pouches made from some kind of leather or skins, and then handed them over to Peter.

“Wait right here,” the tall man said to Peter. “I’ll get your other items.”

When the man returned, he placed a small plastic bottle of gun oil, and a cheap gun cleaning kit on the bar. Then he reached under the bar and pulled out a ceramic coffee mug and two bottles of cheap vodka. “I already charged you for these, so they’re yours.”

“What’s with the coffee mug?” Peter asked.

“You said you wanted a sharpening stone.”

Lightning fast, the tall man flipped the mug over while simultaneously, with his right hand, reaching into a sheath hidden beneath a white cloth he wore around his waist like a sash or cummerbund. He’d just started to withdraw a hunting knife, when—out of nowhere—Ace was almost magically standing next to the restaurant owner with the revolver pointed to the man’s head.

How Ace had moved so quickly across the restaurant with no one noticing him, Peter could not say. Instantly, though, there were a dozen other guns from all around the restaurant pointing at Ace and Peter.

The restaurant owner, for his part, cut his eyes towards Ace and smiled.

“Everyone calm down!” he said, as he slowly pulled a hunting knife from the sheath.

Ace cocked the pistol, showing no emotion or fear on his face.

“I said, calm down,” the man said.

He moved slowly and dragged the knife blade at an angle across the rough bottom edge of the coffee mug several times, turning the blade to do the same on the other side, showing Peter, without words, that this was an adequate way to sharpen a blade. He nodded his head slowly at Peter, and then returned the knife to the sheath. Ace de-cocked, and then holstered his pistol. He turned and walked back over to the table as if nothing had happened. Slowly, the other guns in the room all returned to rest as well, and the noise in the place returned to its previous level. The restaurateur smiled and then put out his hands as if to ask “is there anything else I can do for you?”

Peter looked at the tall man and thanked him, but before the man could leave, Peter asked him another question.

“How do I know that you don’t have hired bandits out there who will rob us now that they know we’re carrying gold and silver?”

The tall man smiled again, but it wasn’t a chilling or malevolent smile. The brief standoff hadn’t shaken him a bit. It was a knowing smile, as if he’d heard it all before and now he was just going through the motions of his day like he always did.

“You don’t. However, I will tell you this, if you get down the road and you conclude that I’ve cheated you in any way, feel free to come here and kill us all.”

“You seem quite confident that no one is actually going to do that,” Peter said.

“I’m a realist,” the tall man said.

Peter picked up the things he’d bought, and with full hands, he nodded his thanks to the man.

“By the way,” the man said, “my name is Nick. I don’t have time or the inclination to worry any more. The bombs cured me of my idealism.”

“I was going to ask you that,” Peter said. “Why is this place so special? Why isn’t it bombed out or burned like most of the rest of the buildings in town? Why aren’tyou being robbed when it’s obvious there is so much evil going on around here and in the rest of the world?”

“Well, sir—” Nick said.

“Peter,” Peter said.

“Well, Peter, those are a lot of good questions. We aren’t robbed here because I pay a lot for security; and I have more security than the average person would be likely to detect without looking for it and knowing what to look for. We aren’t bombed out and burned because I’ve made agreements with both sides in this current conflict, and they studiously avoid damaging my business. In exchange, I handle moving a lot of their plunder—for a fee of course. Morally, it might seem questionable. Practically, I do a lot of good for everyone involved, and I don’t harm anyone. Currently this little town is in the hands of the FMA, and to be honest I prefer it that way, but if things turn around again, the town will change hands and we’ll be under the control of the MNG. Granted, things are worse under the MNG, and fewer travelers like you are willing to pass through town when the MNG is in charge, but either way, my business goes on. So, whether the MNG or the FMA are in power, I will simply attempt to be my own man until someone runs out of money. Like I said, I’m not getting rich by selling food.”

“It seems dangerous to count on the caprices of war,” Peter said.

“Damned foolish. But you’ve been out there. What else should I do? Count on its niceties? Go hole up in a bunker somewhere?”

“I understand,” Peter answered. And he really did.

It had been dark for hours. Cole was standing in the back of the meal line waiting to get supper when his new work friend Robert walked up behind him and grabbed a tray from the pile.

Robert snorted. “These trays can hardly be called clean ,” he said aloud.