“Sounds a lot like we’re making a deal with the devil, Em.”
Crowe stood up straight, his back starting to ache from being hunched over the table for so long. Ember, leaning against one of the walls of Crowe’s less-than-clean apartment, gave a sardonic smile and glanced at him from behind her sunglasses. The fact that it was early twilight didn’t seem to dissuade her from wearing the things all day, every day, even indoors.
“I don’t like it either,” his partner replied, “but if we pull this off we’ll be set for weeks. We’ll have time to plan and the ration cards to get who we want.” She moved away from the wall, settling across from him at the table and pointing down to a crude map that lay between them. “All we have to do is get the Fireflies the cargo.”
Crowe shook his head, pushing off of the table and folding his arms as he glared at Ember. This job seemed to be getting worse with each passing second - alternate routes were not something that Crowe enjoyed having to take. “Yeah, that’s the part I’m not keen on. You know I hate working with them, Ember. Every time they show up, the military’s right on their tail, and there’s no fuckin’ way I’m gonna get any closer to them than I have to.”
“Jesus, Crowe, they’re not asking us to take them out on a date. It’s just another job,” Ember said as she glared right back at him. “One that will keep us fine for a long while. Look, whatever’s in these crates, they need it and they need it bad - bad enough for the price they’re asking.” She folded her own arms, drawing herself up to full height in an attempt to stand her ground. She didn’t pull it off nearly as well as he did.
"And if we get pinched, who’s gonna take care of Yasala? Hmm?" His daughter was currently off at the military school for the day, but that didn’t even come close to putting her out of Crowe’s mind. Nothing ever came close to putting the girl out of Crowe’s mind.
Ember sighed, throwing up her hands and shaking her head. ”You always bring her into it when you’re all out of excuses,” she muttered. “Just when you have nowhere left to go…”
"Because she’s the one ‘excuse’ that matters most, Ember, and you knowthat,” Crowe shot back with clenched teeth. His grip on his arms tightened, and his knuckles were starting to go white. Ember stared at him for a moment, then held up her hands, palms toward him in a gesture of relenting. The man was stubborn as hell when it came to his daughter.
"All right, all right," she said, tone low and disarming. "But you won’t have to worry about feeding her anymore if you do this. It’s just one job now, but I can promise you it will lead to others. The Fireflies know their friends, and they know them quite well."
She headed to the window as Crowe stared daggers at her, and she ducked out onto the fire escape. “Let me know by tomorrow morning. Gotta start by tomorrow night if we’re gonna even think of finishing in time.” With that, she was gone, her dark hair flashing in the sunlight as she turned and headed down the stairs.
Alone in his apartment, Crowe sighed, turning back around to look at the map splayed out beneath him. The too-small pile of ration tickets to the side of it was difficult to ignore, and he glanced up to the couch side table. On it was a framed drawing of a man and a young girl, pressed together in a posed embrace and smiling - a gift that she had given him for his birthday last year. Art wasn’t a unique hobby among the survivors of Washington, but art of that skill was far rarer, and it had cost her. She’d never told him what, and he’d never asked.
With a shake of his head, he glanced once more to the map. Weeks, Ember had said. They would be set for weeks. No more having to give her his meals. No more having to stretch out the cards. No more pretending that everything was going to be okay.
At least, for a while.
"Sorry, Salsa," he said to himself as he picked up a pencil and began drawing lines on it. "Daddy’s got some work to do."
