Stuck at the Galleria

Intermission: The Division (part 4)

The Arc de Triomphe.

One of the world's largest triumphal arcs, it is one of the most majestic and grand structures created by man. In France, it is known as a symbol of French pride and strength.

But in Greyson City, it's the symbol for entrance to the Galleria's food court.

Nor and I walked through the atrium into a big chamber full of restaurants, all of which were divided by long, winding white columns.

"The design of this part of the mall always bugged me. It's like, half of this is Greco-Roman, and the rest is French. Make your minds up, people!"

"Huh?"

I tensed up. Architecture jokes: bad. "Never mind, whatever. Why are we coming here?"

"It's dinner time. The Crew and I aren't gas-powered, you know."

"Dinner?" I questioned. "At 2 a.m.?"

"What, is that not normal?" She shoved me a bit, and I gave her a joking eye roll before turning to her, but it looked like her focus was elsewhere.

"Stupid vending machines, tempting me with your precious cargo."

I wished I could have bought a can but I was broke. Just before I said I couldn't help, though, I spied a $1 bill tucked under a nearby table.

The romance fairy had smiled upon me.

"I'll buy," I said, picking up the dollar from the ground.

"What a gentleman! I'm flattered by your chivalry, oh brave knight."

I stuck my tongue out.

"So, Trevor. You're crazy to get out of this place but you haven't told me why. Is your family like filthy rich or something? That didn't stop Cici."

"Nah, no, we aren't rich. Just average with a pretty loft, I guess," I said as I put the bill into the vending machine. A can of Trevor's T came out, to the surprise of absolutely no one.

"Pretty loft? You're kidding."

"No, really!" I say, throwing the can. She catches it without a hitch. "The higher ups at Lowell Soft Drinks gave it to us. Dad had to get SOMETHING for his trouble, didn't he?"

Nora looked at the can for a bit. "Wait... your dad is the tea dude?"

"Yeah," I said with a shrug. "Nobody had the idea to put cranberry juice in iced tea before 1990, apparently."

"THAT's the secret formula?"

"Yeah. Would have made us rich, too, but then he sold it to Lowell for practically a penny. It's their tea now, my dad just markets it." I sighed. "And boy, do they keep him out of Greyson with that."

"Aw, don't get down about it." She put her arm around my shoulder as she took a long swig from the can. "He's got to be doing it all for you and the family."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. He's a good guy."

"That's the spirit," she said, kissing the can one more time just before throwing it away off into the distance. I thought it would hit the ground anticlimactically but the can had other plans, and so it dropped into a miles-away trash can instead.

I would have congratulated her on the sick basket, but I got distracted by a tapping that came after the can landed.

Footsteps.

My first idea was that they were from the Crew, but they would have said something if they saw us, and the sound of the shoe was less sneaker and more... fancy dress shoes, like the ones my dad always wore.

"D'you hear that?" I asked Nor, whispering. She nodded, but nothing more.

The footsteps stopped, and the person spoke. "Irving! How nice of you to join us tonight."

The two of us turned around to find a boy. His hair was slicked back a bit and he stood tall and proudly. Somewhat cockily, even. He couldn't have been older than 17, but he was dressed in a gray suit, and he had a head on both myself and Nora, so he was certainly imposing enough to look the part.

I shot a glance at Nora, who was still silent.

"I see you've brought a friend, eh, Nora? Mind introducing him to me?" He dug into the lower right pocket of his suit jacket and drew a long black stick out, pulling it up to his face. Its outer rim started to glow a bright blue.

"Leave him out of this." Her voice was rough and stank of anger.

"It's my business to know who he is, Irving." He took a puff from the cigarette, which somehow emanated smoke from the now green rim despite not ever being lit.

"Those things are bad for you, Alf," she says. Not one ounce of distaste had left from her words as she changed the subject.

"They're not real. I'll live." Another puff. "Besides, you're not my mother, Irving."

"With your intelligence, I might as well be," she grumbled. He responded with a spiteful stare, but it gave way to a sardonic smile as he turned to me.

"I don't think we've met, sir. The name is Alferto, Alferto Crowley."

I couldn't help but trip over my own name as I stammered, "I'm T--Tree. Tre! Tre. Listman."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tre. Care for a puff?"

"Thank you, sir, but I... I think I'm OK."

"Your loss, Monsieur Listman." Alferto shrugged as he blew a circle out into the air. It smelled of apples, Granny Smith apples. "I'm not sure if your cohort has mentioned it, but a looooong time ago, we made a deal."

I didn't really wish to ask, but somehow it escaped me anyway: "What... what kind of deal was it?"

"You could call it a pact. A peace treaty. Miss Irving wouldn't recruit anyone for her group of, ah, outcasts, and in return, she got to keep her idyllic life here at the Galleria. But you haven't done that, eh, Nora?"

I turned to her. She bit her lip.

"I think your friend here hasn't told you everything," said Alferto. "Tsk, tsk. Classic Irving."

"Ugh!" She broke her silence, and her fist started to clench as she pulled her right arm upward. I took hold of it before she got any further.

"Wow, even HE knows you've got anger issues, Irving. That's got to be record time."

Nora tugged away from me, but I held firm. I knew I couldn't let him get to her.

"Anyway, about that pact. I'm not very pleased by your friend breaking it, Mr. Listman, but you seem to be a stand-up kind of guy, so I'll let you choose."

"Choose?" I asked, not really wanting to know what the options were.

"Of course. I wouldn't be a gentleman if I didn't let you do as you pleased!"

Nora glared at him.

"It's simple, really. I have friends here, at the Galleria. Powerful friends. They're not slouches either-- the real McCoy. And I think you could be valuable to our numbers, Tre."

"I... I'm flattered, sir, but I don't think I'm the guy you're looking for..."

"Nonsense! I saw your performance in Tagged, and I see great potential in you. You're clever, Tre. And clever is exactly what I need."

I wasn't sure what to think of all of it, so I turned to Nora. She didn't say anything, but the look on her face said it all for her. You're not seriously considering this whacko, are you? He's insane!

"Mr. Crowley, can I ask a question?"

"Anything."

"What happens if I decline your, um, your offer?"

He smiled and turned his head downward. "I'll make this clear quickly. If you're not with us, Trevor..."

I heard the clicks of a dozen Nerf guns cocking and a snarl from behind me.

"...that means you're against us. And trust me, Listman, you do not want to be there."

I gulped.