Juice and Whiskey (2)

"There are two main powers in Orange Town."

His finger tapped two spots on the tabletop, as if placing chess pieces.

"The market and the black market. The market is aboveboard, three streets north of the docks, open from morning to night. Fruit, catches, cloth, ironware, ship supplies—thirty percent of the goods unloaded at the docks flow into the market, and Morris has it firmly in his grip."

"Morris?" Barlow repeated the name.

"The mayor's second son. His old man is Edwin, who's been mayor of Orange Town for twenty years. People in town say Edwin's chair was piled up with Orange Town's fruit. Every time dockside goods change hands, he takes a ten percent cut. On the surface, he's the mayor, but in truth, every major deal in Orange Town needs his approval in the end. He handed the market to his second son. Morris is younger than his father, greedier than his father, and crueler than his father. Some people at the docks refused to accept it, and the next day, holes were drilled through their ships' hulls. They reported it to the mayor. The mayor said he would investigate, and after more than half a year, nothing came of it."

Koldo's finger moved to the second spot.

"Then there's the black market. By day, it's nothing but a dead-end alley. At night, it opens. It sells everything—stolen goods, smuggled goods, contraband, people. The one in charge of the black market is called Melton. No one knows where he came from, and no one can say how many years he's been in Orange Town. He rarely shows himself, but whenever he does, he always wears a long gray-blue coat, collar raised and hat pulled low. The dockworkers call him Ghost."

He raised his eyes.

"I don't know much about either of these forces. But one thing is certain: both are stronger than the Sea Serpent Gang. The Sea Serpent Gang can rule the docks not because they're strong, but because they're useful. Morris's goods pass through the docks and need people to load and unload them. Melton's 'goods' pass in and out through the docks and need people to turn a blind eye. That's what the Sea Serpent Gang does. They're Morris's laborers and Melton's watchdogs."

His voice lowered.

"And most importantly, Morris and Melton don't care about the paltry profits from the docks."

The tavern fell silent for a moment.

Paltry profits.

Barlow smiled.

Koldo shivered for no apparent reason.

Mila lifted her whiskey glass.

She looked at the liquor in the glass and remembered the sensation of that scar-faced man's throat breaking between her teeth in the alley, remembered the dozen or so corpses sprawled across the dockside stone road.

She raised the glass to her lips and tipped back a mouthful. The instant the liquor rushed into her mouth, her brows knotted sharply.

The burning heat seared from the tip of her tongue to its root, from the root of her tongue to her throat, then all the way down, exploding in her stomach.

Her throat tightened. She forced it down, pressing the liquor into her stomach. Her brows remained furrowed, but her lips stayed tightly pressed together, refusing to let the breath burst from her nose.

Roy's hand reached over, his palm hovering above her back. Before it could touch her, Mila raised her right hand and flicked the back of it outward, knocking his hand away.

"Cough." She coughed once, brief and squeezed from her throat.

Then she set the whiskey glass back on the table. The bottom struck the tabletop slightly harder than it should have. Her eyes remained fixed on the liquor in the glass, not looking at Roy.

Roy withdrew his hand and rubbed it against his knee.

Koldo's gaze moved from Mila's face to the bottle of whiskey in the middle of the table.

"My lords, this tavern belongs to you now as well. Among the Sea Serpent Gang's businesses, aside from the docks, the Red Skull Tavern is the biggest. It's a bit rundown, but the valuable thing is the location."

Damian set down his whiskey glass.

"Stop calling us lords. We have names."

Koldo's shoulders tightened slightly. His gaze swept from Damian to Mila, the four faces half-lit and half-shadowed in the tavern's dim morning light.

"Uchiha Damian."

"Uchiha Barlow."

"Uchiha Roy."

"Uchiha Mila."

The four names fell into the tavern air one after another.

Koldo turned those four names over in his mind more than once.

Mila pushed her whiskey glass away. Its bottom scraped briefly across the tabletop.

She stood up.

"I'm going to tear that black market apart."

Her tone was as flat as if she were saying, "What's for dinner tonight?" It was neither a sudden idea nor an impulse stirred up by the whiskey. It sounded as though she had decided long ago.

Damian stood as well. He did not look at Mila. His gaze rested in the direction of the docks beyond the window.

"As mayor, Edwin shouldn't have turned Orange Town into such a mess."

His tone differed from Mila's, like a stone weighing down the tabletop.

He had started hauling cargo at the docks when he was seven. The docks of White Wax Town were spotless. Shipowners and cargo owners negotiated prices face-to-face, and laborers were paid that very day.

No one took a cut. No one collected "dock fees." No one dealt in "goods" in the alleys.

White Wax Town was tiny, so tiny it had no name on any map. But White Wax Town's docks were clean. Orange Town was a hundred times larger than White Wax Town, its docks a hundred times busier, and its money ten thousand times greater.

But when there was too much money, people stopped being people.

Roy finished the last mouthful of whiskey in his glass. He drank more slowly than Mila, mouthful by mouthful, letting that burning heat slowly flow down from the tip of his tongue. Then he set the empty glass on the table.

"Then from now on, Orange Town will have only Uchiha's voice."

His voice was not loud, but all four of them heard it.

Damian took a step, went around the table, and headed for the door.

Barlow pulled the ledger from his clothes, tucked it under his arm, and followed.

Mila drew the dagger from her waist, spun it halfway around in her hand, sheathed it again, and followed as well.

Roy was the last to rise.

He walked to the door, his hand already resting on the door panel, then stopped and turned around.

His gaze swept from the left side of the hall to the right.

"It really is too rundown."

He released the door panel, pushed the door open, and morning light flooded in, casting his shadow across the floor.

"Remember to renovate it."

The door closed behind him.

Only Koldo and Joey remained in the tavern. Morning light squeezed through the gaps in the windows, falling across the empty tabletop and the whiskey glass Mila had drunk from.

There was still less than half a glass of amber liquor left inside, its surface glinting quietly.

Joey emerged from the innermost corner behind the counter. He was still clutching that rag. He had gripped it for so long that his knuckles had turned white. He looked at Koldo, while Koldo looked at the closed door.

The footsteps of the four gradually faded into the alley as they headed toward the docks. Joey's lips moved, and an extremely soft, dry sound came from his throat.

Koldo lowered his head and looked at the four glasses on the table.

Damian's and Roy's glasses were empty. Barlow's was half full, and Mila's had less than half remaining.

He picked up Mila's glass and swirled it. The amber liquor left a thin trace along the glass wall before slowly flowing back to the bottom.

"Joey."

Joey's neck stiffened. "Yeah?"

"Find a carpenter. Replace the floor, replace the chairs, replace the tables..." He looked at the notch in the tabletop at the center.

"Keep this one. Clean the shelves behind the counter, throw out the empty bottles, and tear down those wanted posters on the wall."

Joey's grip on the rag loosened a little. "Koldo, they... what exactly are they?"

Koldo raised Mila's whiskey to his lips and drank the remaining less-than-half glass in one gulp.

He did not answer.