The Price of Loyalty
After the profound conversation between Clarity and Jake, Jake turned and left, his mind racing with ways to prove Clarity's innocence. It was a daunting, near-impossible task, but he knew he had to find a way.
Meanwhile, Clarity was lost in thoughts of his mother and where he would find shelter for the night. The sun had completely set, and a heavy silence descended upon the city—a city that was chaotic by day and full of cruel contradictions by night. Clarity took a deep breath and whispered, "Where will I sleep tonight?"
Inside the gang’s headquarters, Jake entered with tension etched on his face. He looked up to find the Boss before him, backpack slung over his shoulder, ready to depart. Standing beside him was André—a short, pale-skinned boy with reddish hair. Though André was deaf and mute, he was the Boss’s most skilled fighter and his most cunning strategist.
The Boss signaled to André with his hands. André moved instantly, standing behind Jake, pinning his arms, and forcing him to his knees with a firm grip. Yet, Jake remained calm, his expression cold and unshakable.
A faint, chilling smile touched the Boss’s lips. "Where is Clarity?"
"He... he isn't the one," Jake replied steadily. "He didn't cause the fire."
"And your proof?"
"I don't have it yet, but I will find it soon."
The Boss turned to Erik, who stood nearby. "Erik, from today, Apollo is in charge of the Northern District. You will handle things until he recovers. I am returning to headquarters tomorrow."
Erik’s smile widened. "As you wish."
Jake spoke up, his voice edged with annoyance. "Boss! I urge you to reconsider putting Apollo in command. He’s been nothing more than a weapon-cleaner in the warehouse; he knows nothing of leadership!"
"I find him suitable for the moment," the Boss replied dismissively. "By the way, did you send our 'guests' to that house? I believe it is Clarity’s home."
"I did."
"Then your responsibilities in that matter are at an end."
Jake’s tone became serious. "Since I am no longer in charge of that, I must warn you—people like them must be handled with caution. They are scoundrels, just like their leader, Charlie. I am sure you know that well."
Erik scoffed, "Spare us your advice. As if we would collapse without you!"
Ignoring Erik, Jake continued, his gaze fixed on the Boss. "I will leave the command of the Northern District to Apollo. I will take over his job in the warehouse instead. I will fix what the fire destroyed... I will surrender all the responsibilities I once held. In exchange... no one is to lay a hand on Clarity."
Erik shouted, "Who do you think you are, ordering the Boss around like that!"
The Boss simply said, "As you wish."
He approached Jake, placed a hand on his shoulder, and patted it lightly. "Since you were a good leader, I will grant you a chance to prove what you said. You will show me your proof when I return to this building."
The Boss turned and left, followed by André.
Clarity entered a narrow alley, having heard of a courtyard where the destitute sought rest. The sight was harrowing; so many people, homeless and hungry, silently sharing crusts of bread. As night deepened, he sat near an elderly man who looked utterly exhausted. "Are you alright?" Clarity asked.
The old man looked up, staring at the sky with a grateful expression. "God has provided us with much. I am well, my son."
The man turned toward Clarity, his face a map of suffering and wrinkles. "I am very ill. May I ask a favor of you?"
"Please, I will do whatever you wish."
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"This bag," the man pointed to a bundle beside him. "Could you give it to my grandson? He works all week and rarely returns. He promised me a beautiful home and to pay for my treatment, but he is a bit late..."
"I will do it, sir. Don't worry. I hope he returns to fulfill your wish," Clarity promised. "May I lie down here for a while? I am exhausted."
"Of course," the old man gestured to the red rug he was sitting on. "This space is my home, so please, be comfortable. And yes... there is plenty of food."
Clarity accepted a piece of bread, ate, and lay down, pondering the plight of the poor in this decaying city. The rich possess everything here, he whispered to himself, and the poor have nothing but a rug and a crust of bread.
Doubt began to gnaw at him again. If the Boss is evil... are the Governor and his son any better? What have they provided for me, for Jake, or for these poor souls? Those scoundrels divide the wealth among themselves and never look back at us.
Could the truth be hidden behind all this evil? Why is the path to justice so obscured here?
Clarity drifted into a restless sleep, and a shadow of memory surfaced...
He was twelve, and a massive man was looming over him. Clarity was weeping, shielding his face. "Stop! Don't hit me... Mother... Mother!"
"Shut up, you brat! Today, you and that madwoman are out of my house. I don't care about her empty threats!"
Clarity screamed, "That house is ours!"
The man leaned in, hissing, "Your mother hasn't even paid a quarter of the rent. I've waited long enough. I am furious."
As the man raised his hand, a child’s voice shattered the air: "STOP!"
It was Jake. He ran forward, clutching an envelope stuffed with cash, gasping for breath. "Here is the entire amount! Leave Clarity alone."
The man grabbed the money, inspected it with a greedy, smug smile, and muttered, "Good." He turned and left.
Jake rushed to pull Clarity up. "How did you get the money?" Clarity asked, trembling.
"It was the Boss," Jake replied. "The person I told you about before. When I asked him for the money, he agreed without conditions. He only asked me to return to him again. He asked me not to run away. So, I won't. I gave him my word... and you, promise me you’ll stay with me and not run away."
"I promise," Clarity whispered.
Clarity opened his eyes slowly, realizing it hadn't been a dream—it was a memory he could never bury. A deep, murmuring voice infiltrated his consciousness. He couldn't understand most of it, but the last sentence was crystal clear:
"Your grandson ran away... and he stole the money."
The old man began to cough violently. Clarity bolted upright and turned. Standing right there was... the Boss! Clarity froze. It was only the second time in his life he had seen him—that massive frame, the long hair, the sharp features, the sun-bronzed skin.
The old man, gasping for air, leaned on the Boss’s shoulder. "How could he run away! He promised me a beautiful house. Perhaps he is building it right now!"
The Boss replied, "I thought so too, so I came looking for you. But I found you in this state. If he had stolen the money for your sake, I would have forgiven him, but he ran away with his lover."
"Please, find him. Punish him," the old man pleaded.
"I will," the Boss promised. "I only came to ask if I had your permission to punish him."
"Take that bag. Give it to him—it is a keepsake from his mother. And... I am truly sorry."
"Think nothing of it. How was the food today?"
"It was good. Thank you."
The man began to cough again, spitting blood. Clarity jumped up in a panic. "We have to take him to the hospital!"
The Boss looked up at Clarity, his eyes cold. "Who are you?"
"There’s no time for questions! The man is dying!"
The old man slumped against the Boss, his strength failing. The Boss lowered him to the ground, blood staining his clothes. Then, with unnerving calm, the Boss approached Clarity.
Clarity stood paralyzed. The Boss picked up the bag, turned, and walked away, leaving the man to choke on his final breaths. Once he was gone, Clarity’s strength collapsed, and he fell to his knees. "He just... he let him die. Just like that!"
People gathered around the man. Two minutes later, one of them said, "He’s dead. Let’s bury him." Another wept, "We’ve lost five people this week. I feel like I’m next."
Clarity stood up, leaning against the wall, staring into nothingness. His heart hammered in his chest, and a sharp pain twisted in his gut. Is this all their life is? I’ve been such a spoiled brat, constantly complaining despite my own comfort... The world is truly cruel to those without money.
And who is this Boss?!
Clarity walked out to the main street, watching the arrogant, well-dressed people pass by. His mind drifted back to a conversation with Jake in Clock Park, a year ago.
Jake pointed to a man wearing a gold necklace. "Look, Clarity. That man owns the largest slave market." Jake smiled faintly. "We’ll take over his market tonight. His gold will be ours."
"Then give me a share later," Clarity said.
"You’ll have your share, don’t worry. But what will you do with it? Men don't wear gold."
"Who said I’d wear it? I’ll sell it! "
" And how will you do it? Don't you see the guards behind him?"
"We won't go after the guards," Jake gestured toward the little girl holding the rich man’s hand. "We’ll go after her."
"You’re kidnapping his daughter!"
"Yes. It will be easy to get his market that way."
Clarity was jolted back to reality when a man shoved him hard. He fell, and his silver watch slipped off, only for the man to crush it underfoot without a glance.
"STOP!" Clarity screamed.
The man turned, furious. "Do you want to die?"
Suddenly, Jake appeared, gripping the man’s hand with such crushing force that the stranger shrieked, begging him to let go. "Apologize," Jake demanded.
"Why should I!"
A passerby whispered, "They are from the gang, be careful."
The man struggled to free his hand, eventually shouting, "I'm sorry!"
Jake released him, and the man fled. Jake reached out his hand to Clarity, who took it with a sigh of relief. Clarity smiled painfully. Yes, Jake is the one who lifts me every time I fall.
They headed to Clock Park. Jake handed Clarity a bottle of water and sat beside him under the large tree. "It’s good the park isn't closed yet," Clarity said.
"It is closed," Jake replied. "But I’ve become friendly with the owner lately, so he let us in."
Jake handed Clarity his watch. "Don’t drop it again. It’s the symbol of our brotherhood."
Clarity held the watch, puzzled. "It didn't break!"
"I removed the two broken links. What matters is that the hands, the time, and the owner are fine," Jake smiled. "Your wrist is thin, so it’s fine."
"Thank you. Oh, by the way... hasn't it been a year? Weren't you supposed to bring me some gold?"
"When was that? ...Oh, wait. Haha, right, I remember. Yes, I remember it was supposed to happen, but I forgot."
"I know very well that you were lying to me," Clarity said softly. "You pretend you have plenty of money, that you’re happy and comfortable... but the opposite is clearly true. You’ve worked hard in the gang for a long time, yet you’ve only received a small fraction. I don't know why you push yourself like this!"
"It’s not like that. It doesn't matter. I’m getting paid now."
"Jake... is the Boss a good person?"
"In my eyes, he is."
"Then... what happened with the warehouse?"
"I told the Boss you weren't the one who did it, and that was that."
"Just that? Ah, of course, you are the Boss’s favorite assistant. Wow, just imagine how much he respects you! I was worried for nothing... that’s truly wonderful. I feel relieved... this is the result of your hard work."
Jake smiled, playing along, while inside him, a different story was unfolding. In that very moment, Jake found himself wondering... if the Boss was perhaps very different from what he had always believed.