He was on a mission.
Sidestepping the performers on the streets, he prowled through the french quarter in search of chloroform. Tonight, he would be doing the dirty work.
It wasn't easy finding the solution. He had to make sure he didn't stray too far from the lower garden district. The New Orleans' main associate was located too far, so he had had to resort to finding it in one of the many shops that lined the quarter.
He picked up his pace and ducked into an alleyway. Pulling down his medical mask so he could access his phone, he texted member #29625, otherwise known as Red. They had learned early on that if they were to communicate when regular phones were easily interceptable by other parties, they'd have to make their own devices. Besides, if a few hackers could figure out how phones were constructed, then they'd have no problem recreating them for personal use. Their phones, their networks, their information. Not easily breached by the casual busybody.
Any luck? he texted. Red responded right away.
Glenda's Grove on Bourbon Street.
Satisfied, he stored his phone away in the pocket of his black sweats and pulled up his mask. That was another plus- wearing a mask during the pandemic wasn't going to attract any unwanted attention. He remembered when he was last sent out on a mission in 2017, when he was only 18, and how he had had to cover his face via ski mask. Not the best look but certainly less attention-snaring than their signature Guy Fawkes mask.
Now, he carefully made his way out of the alley and into the human traffic. New Orleans had always been one of his favorite places to visit, what with all the music and life and history. Although he had to admit, he wasn't exactly over the moon about what he had been asked to do. Of course, he could've simply denied the job and let anyone else take it, as that was how they worked; no task or hacking job was ever forced upon a member. If they took it up, it was willingly, and if they were offered it, they could deny it, free of any reprimanding.
But he couldn't deny that he was curious himself to see who had been leaking members' identities. Well. Supposed members. All the files that he had looked into led to the same conclusion; the people targeted weren't members. So why were they being offered up as scapegoats, and who was offering them up? He'd find that out tonight.
He jostled against tourists on the street, brushing against a man carrying his child on his shoulders. The little girl was enthusiastically laughing and even wore a little pink mask. She caught his eye and giggled, waving at him. He grinned widely, his laugh lines around his eyes conveying his smile, and waved back. Content, she went back to clapping excitedly at the low-strung lights, awed.
Children were the portrayal of innocence. He liked them.
He looked up to see he had made it to Bourbon Street. Turning onto the famous road, he was met with even more life. It had to be no later than 7 pm, yet all the lamps were lit. The sky was painted a purple-blue hue, making the luminescent shops stick out in stark contrast. Performers played their hearts out while people cheered, letting themselves be swayed by the music. Enticing was the aroma of food, drifting to him from open shops. Children begged their parents to buy them ice cream, while some played tag with each other amongst the chaos. Even the adults were entranced by the wondrousness of it all. Life exuded from every which way he looked.
He was rather tempted to stay and forget his mission until a glowing shop caught his eye. Glenda's Grove. Jackpot.
He made his way to the store and stepped inside. Immediately, he was hit with the strong scent of sage. Scrunching his face, he ventured farther inside and swept his eyes over the place. Everywhere he looked, he saw herbs and, what appeared to be, spell jars? Weird combinations of substances thrown together in clear jars, each with its label on the shelf. He warily eyed one that read sour jar hex. He had heard that the witches had joined the fight, but he wasn't sure he believed in the magic aspect. He did appreciate the support, as they could use all the help they could get when trying to dismantle a government completely overrun by white supremacists and an orange orangutan.
Steeling himself, he approached the front of the store to ask someone about what he was looking for but found the wooden counter empty, clerkless. Strange. He walked farther inside, looking for anyone who might be able to help him. As he turned the corner, he happened upon two people talking in hushed tones. The one on the left was an old black lady, short in height and round in shape. She had the grayest hair he had ever seen, tightly wrapped back in a low bun. Her glasses were situated low on her nose, and she wore a floral blue blouse. She looked up from the other woman as he drew nearer, welcoming in her expression.
The other woman almost stopped him in his tracks. To say that she was beautiful would be an understatement. His eyes widened a fraction at the sight of her smile, which retreated upon locking eyes with him.
Regaining his composure, he opened his mouth to speak, but the older woman beat him to it.
"What is it I can help you with, darling?" He noticed that her words carried an air of comfort. He always had felt like a little boy again when it came to old black women speaking to him.
He shifted his eyes to the younger woman who dripped with curiosity. Upon seeing his flash of hesitation to speak in front of her, she took the hint. Impressive of her to be able to gauge a reaction that well, he thought.
Readjusting her black mask and straightening her handbag, she leaned in to hug the shorter woman. "Well then, I'll be on my way now. Wouldn't want to keep Ralf waiting," she said, as she kissed the old lady's cheek. The woman swatted her kiss away and mumbled something about social distancing, which only made the taller girl throw her head back and laugh. "Diseases won't matter when the government wipes out the lot of us, you know." She winked at her, cast one last glance at him, and sauntered away. Without turning around, she raised her hand, index finger pointed, and called out, "And thank you for the mask, Glenda!"
He narrowed his eyes at her retreating figure. What mask? He thought. The one she had on? The store's bells tinkled as the door closed behind her, disrupting his train of thought.
The woman, who he now knew was known as Glenda, shook her head and sighed. "A handful, that one. Always wants to be where she shouldn't".
This confused him, but before he could question her about what she meant, she spoke again. He figured that speaking first was her thing. He found he didn't mind it.
"Sorry about that. Now, what was it I could do for you again, dear?" She smiled sweetly, clasping her hands together.
"I'm looking for a d-", he paused, "a chemical. It's called chloroform. You wouldn't have it, by any chance?" He asked.
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "Now why would a fine gentleman like yourself be looking for chloroform at the brink of night, in a witch shop, of all places? You're not up to any good, are you?"
He cracked a grin. "Now that seems to me that you're not too bothered by the idea." He tilted his head at her. "Tell me, Glenda, do you believe in punishing those who do wrong, who hurt innocent people?"
Glenda's eyes alit with a passion, similar in nature to the one he harbored. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "Of course I do."
"Very well, then. A little friend of mine told me I could find chloroform here. And I'm a man who believes in justice, no matter how it must be served. So, I ask you again, Glenda, would you happen to possess the chemical?"
With a brief pause, she nodded and turned to walk to the back of her shop. He heaved a sigh of relief and followed, stopping at the counter to wait for her return. He wondered what else the supposed witch kept behind there.
She returned shortly and set down a large, plastic bottle on the counter with a heavy clunk. His eyes swept over its label and then he looked back up at her. He grinned.
