If Balthazar could go a day without encountering unwanted complications in his life, he would gladly have paid any price, even if money in this instance somehow proved to be an issue. He was tired of dealing with things that he did not really have to deal with, problems that foisted themselves on him like a plague. This was the sum worth of humanity, getting in each other's way. Sometimes it proved useful, other times, and usually, a bother of insurmountable proportions. Great things could be accomplished by great minds, and be undone by small ones, whether deliberately or not. It didn't really matter. Balthazar held no claim to greatness, but he saw how the wheel turned, and that was close enough.
His present concern was the transportation of a package, a small one, which he would have liked shipped in the mail today, but inconsequential matters kept getting in the way, things that needed doing, both his own and others' as well, since most people liked depending on someone else for no other reason than they did not want to bother with every matter themselves. It was irritating, this enforced helplessness. Humanity should have long ago broken the cycle of dependence, but it had decided it didn't want to. It was easier the other way. Balthazar was complacent in his own turn, to be sure. He told himself it was okay because at least he was self-aware about it. That was the difference he cared about.
The package in question was a matter concerning his employment under Boy Benjamin. He could have cared less personally whether it reached its destination, having much more vested interest in tracking down Cotton Colinaude at the moment, but he knew that responsibility was responsibility. It was something he had to do, and he was rapidly running out of time. He wondered if he had enough gas in his Impala, and he couldn't remember. What he could was that gas prices had been steadily declining after a prolonged rush skyward, as if someone had been conducting a test, as all conspiracy theorists and cynics had already assumed. What were they at now? Were they levelling off again, or would he once again be pleasantly surprised, should the need be confirmed? On a recent trek he'd found prices remarkably low on the highway, lower than in town. he wondered if that was still the case, and why that might be, why it would have happened in the first place. Had it always been so?
He caught himself dawdling again. The package needed to get into the mail. That was his main concern, not gas prices or Cotton Colinaude, or even his wife's birthday, which would consume his time soon enough. She expected great things, as always.
The keys, he knew, were in his pocket, so that was one concern he need not worry about, another thing he could not help but feel superior over. It was an all-too common concern for others, but he had never allowed to be one for himself. Why should he? Be aware, he told himself. That was the only thing to be, the only real matter of importance. There was so much to be aware of. He had to choose, categorize importance. He glanced at his watch. He had to go.
The Impala gleamed in his garage, the dark evergreen shining in the hollow space. Aside from the car, there was nothing else, no clutter, inside here. There were spaces he didn't manage so well, but here, Balthazar triumphed. His wife didn't seem to mind. Besides, she favored the bus. The Impala was the only car they owned.
He clicked the Impala unlocked and sat down, admiring the interior for a moment. The car had been a dream. he had always been able to afford it, but he had allowed himself to anticipate it. That, and the wife had brought a few matters to the table one day. Priorities, she said, such as a college fund for the child she was expecting. No, she had not been pregnant at the time, nor gotten so afterward, but she was always expecting to become pregnant. It was her dream. Balthazar's dream fit into it nicely. He wanted to leave a mark on the world, and if having a child and raising it to continue his legacy was a good way to start, then so be it. He wanted to make an impact, a roll in the positive direction. He didn't need glory or fame or even an entry in the Britannica. Those things were out of his control. You didn't seek them out, at least not in every case. Your work did that for you. Balthazar sought work that would do that for him.
Boy Benjamin and this package were not going to do that, but Balthazar would humor them in the meantime. No, Cotton Colinaude would help him. He would continue doing what he needed to do until he he could finally do what he wanted to. If he tried to do it the other way, there would be suffering, and he would not let that happen. He would not be responsible for more of that.
At least more than what he needed to under the direction of Boy Benjamin, but he rationalized that well enough. If he didn't do it, others would, and they would be worse. Balthazar could live with that much. Boy Benjamin's operation was a quiet one, which had benefited from the sudden departure of the Cad from the city. It was not gaudy and it did not make itself obvious. Even under the Eidolon it had managed to thrive, when so many others fell. Rumor had it that the Cad had not so much departed as disappeared, and the coincidental, simultaneous absence of the Eidolon himself since that time made it all the more likely. There was much said about those events, even though no one knew anything.
Which was a good thing, and the usual thing. No one knew anything about Boy Benjamin, and certainly less about Balthazar Romero. Everyone knew about Viper, the new overlord who had once written for The Traverse Tracks under the name Peter Cooley, and Godsend's attempts to bring him down. That was common knowledge, but Cooley had for years worked under the same anonymity the Cad had used so well, and that Boy Benjamin now enjoyed. There were no police files on him.
Balthazar had one, but it was unrelated to his present activities. He was fine with that.
The package, at least, was already wrapped and addressed. All he needed to do was secure postage and insurance. It wasn't going far, not even out of Traverse, and not even outside the Boy Benjamin family. This was a special package meant for a special person. It was a message, a broken watch. Balthazar himself no longer wore one. He didn't need to. He followed the path of the sun, and didn't concern himself with tracking the night. Oh, he was awake then, too. But matters moved about more freely then. It was when he was most busy.
As he drove, Balthazar thought about what he was not doing because of this package. He had been told of a contact on the subway he should be looking into. There had been no other information, nothing about when he should try and catch it or whom he should be looking for. He had spent days now trying to confirm any such details, and had made no progress. Boy Benjamin had become his annoyance. That had never been the case before. Balthazar believed in dedication, even without conviction. To split his priorities, and leave what should have been his main interest behind, would have been unthinkable in the past.
The wind was indeed changing. He was inclined to let himself be carried with it, but he couldn't do that, yet. So he drove in his car with the package of the broken watch, to get this latest task out of the way. He felt a ting of resentment toward his godfather for making him do this. Anyone else could have. Why make him? Especially against a man who had formerly been like a brother to him? Why send him to deliver a message Ratbeard would never know he had a hand in delivering?
Of course. The message was for Balthazar himself. Keep your enemies closer. Boy Benjamin was not so subtle as he would probably have liked to think. Still, Balthazar congratulated the old man silently. It was a far greater gesture than he would have expected.
The end was coming closer than he had thought. He had his own motivations. Boy Benjamin apparently felt obliged to contribute. Nothing brought people together more easily than a path of destruction.
Whatever Ratbeard might have done to Boy Benjamin, he had crossed Balthazar first. Balthazar was inclined to forgive him, if not exactly forget. They had parted ways months ago. Now he had made an enemy of the boss, and that sealed his fate. Balthazar was curious about what might have happened. He made a new resolve for the week, as if he did not already have enough. He would be there when the package arrived.
As it were, he arrived at the post office when the resolution came to him. Gently picking up the package from the passenger seat, he walked in, made arrangements, and told them to make sure it was understood that this was a fragile item they would be carrying.
No comments:
Post a Comment