Fathomless Fortunes [slash]

Chapter 6 - The enemy

He was standing in a dark alley, the faint noises of a busy city muted in the background. He knew his way around here; back in the days as a patrol officer he had roamed this part of the city often enough. And he had arrested some drug dealers here as well.

"Is this the way to greet an old friend?" A familiar voice, face blurred in the shady half-darkness of the alley. Mocking, bitter.

"I'm sorry, Damien. I really didn't know it would turn out this way. But it's our job to uphold the law. I couldn't let you continue like this. You sold the drugs we confiscated!"

A scoff. "Always the knight in shining armor, high and mighty. You don't have a greedy ex-wife or a bunch of debts. Honor won't pay the rent."

"Damn it, I still spoke for you to the guy from internal affairs. They could've arrested you. But they offered you that job as prison warden instead."

A bitter laugh. "And how well that turned out. They were talking of closing all the prisons to replace them with with cryo sleep ever since that crazy guy presented his invention to the world. Do you remember the day at the precinct when we were all watching that press conference on tv? We had a good laugh afterwards."

He couldn't help smiling although the situation was all but funny. "Yes. We joked about stowing our freshly-caught criminals in the big freezer in the cantina."

"I was two weeks at my new job when they told as we were all sacked and not needed anymore because those freezers where they stuff people in now don't need to be guarded," Damien said with a flat voice. "And guess what? No one else wanted to give me a job afterwards."

Of course it was all true and extremely back luck. He felt back although he knew that at least that part was not his fault. "I really didn't come here to argue with you again. I wanted to see how you're doing and I wanted to help you."

"Help me? You could have kept your mouth shut." The voice was sharp as a razor now. The friend, once trusted and well-known, was almost gone. But he couldn't give up now.

"But if you really want to know how I live now, come with me. I'll show you something." The figure started to walk without waiting for an answer.

The streets, one more shabby than the next, blurred into each other. Finally, a door, with a beaten sign over it: "Soup kitchen."

Inside it was warm, bright and bustling. Two dozen men, all more or less dirty and with tattered clothing, sat at long tables and greedily slurped their soups.

"Good evening! I haven't seen you yesterday, are you okay?" A young woman, wavy hair like a golden halo, smiled at them from behind the counter. She was wearing a designer shirt, protected by a stained apron. He couldn't make out the name on the tag she was wearing. Something beginning with E.

"Thanks, dear. I was in the other soup kitchen in Brompton Lane yesterday."

"And your friend?" The woman's smile was almost blinding, warm, and sweet.

"Oh, him? He just wanted to see your good work, love." It sounded friendly, but there was venom in it.

"If you have some free time, you could help us out," the woman suggested. "We always need volunteers." She reached out to fill two bowls with soup. "Enjoy!"

They took some free seats and ate in silence. He wanted to say something, anything, but it was all wrong.

"So now you know how I'm doing." A last slurp of soup, a wolfish grin. "All thanks to you and your good intentions."

He couldn't stand the gaze. Instead he looked back to the counter where the young woman was just taking off her apron and grabbing an unobtrusive, but no doubt very expensive handbag. "See you tomorrow!"