The rest of the day passed in a blur of customers, orders and increasingly desperate glances at the clock.
By eleven thirty, Crossroads had finally begun to empty.
Mattheus cleaned the counter while trying not to think about the dishes waiting for him in the kitchen.
Four customers remained around one of the tables, arguing cheerfully about the Knights’ chances of winning their next game.
He had no idea which sport the Knights played and he was too tired to even care to ask.
The front door opened and Tony entered with a black duffel bag hanging from one shoulder.
Mattheus immediately straightened.
So it’s today.
The older man wore one of his usual dark suits beneath a long coat and he looked as if he had spent the entire day doing something exhausting but would sooner bite off his own tongue than admit he was tired.
“You look like shit, kid,” Tony said.
“Good evening to you too.”
Tony grunted and walked to the table nearest the bathrooms and the staircase leading to Mattheus’s suite.
He placed the duffel bag beside his chair before sitting down.
“Beer.”
“You know, most customers say please.”
Mattheus took a bottle of Messina from the refrigerator and brought it over.
Tony took it from his hand, popped off the cap using a ring and took a long drink.
“Better.”
Mattheus returned behind the counter and checked his Inventory.
He would need to buy a few more barrels of Guinness and Moretti, and he was also running low on Coke and Sprite.
As he restocked everything through the app, the minutes went by, and shortly before midnight, the last few customers finally finished their drinks, paid, and headed out.
Mattheus wished them a good night, watched the last man stagger through the door with the help of his friends, and locked the front door.
Tony watched him approach.
“Got them?”
Mattheus nodded.
“I’ll be right back.”
He went upstairs and returned moments later carrying a large black case with both hands.
He placed it on the table, entered a code into the lock, and opened the lid.
Dozens of vials rested inside protective padding.
Most contained clear or lightly colored liquids, though several were filled with pills or powders.
Each vial had a note attached to it with the name of the person for whom it was intended and the condition it would cure.
Tony stared at the case for several seconds before reaching out and carefully lifting one of the vials.
“This one’s for Frankie’s girl?”
Mattheus checked the note.
“Cystic fibrosis.
Yes.”
Tony placed it back gently.
“The instructions are attached to each vial.
Most of them only have to drink the contents once.
A few require several doses over a few days, so make sure they follow the instructions exactly.”
“They will.”
Mattheus closed the case and slid it across the table.
Tony picked up the duffel bag and held it out to him.
Mattheus stared at it.
“What’s this?”
“Take it.”
“Is it another tip?”
Tony had already given him the money for the cures (Mattheus could not have bought them otherwise).
“Not from me,” Tony said.
“I told those people the guy providing the cures only charged what it cost him.
No profit.
Some of them wanted to give something as a thank-you.
Whatever they could afford.
”
Mattheus hesitated before accepting the bag.
If the money had been given willingly as a thanks, he saw no reason to refuse it.
Hell, if someone had offered him a cure for cancer four years earlier, Mattheus would have given them everything he owned: all his money, the house he inherited from his Nonna, the world itself if they asked.
In his mind, he saw his yaya lying in a hospital bed, thinner than she had ever been, her hair gone and her hand feeling impossibly fragile in his.
Mattheus pushed the memory away before the tears could come.
He was not going to cry in front of Tony (the old man would never let him forget it).
Mattheus placed the duffel bag on the table, pulled the zipper open, and his mouth fell halfway open.
“What the—”
Tony reached inside, and Mattheus stepped back when the older man pulled out a shotgun.
“If you’re robbing me, at least don’t shoot the furniture.
That shit was expensive.”
Tony gave him a flat look.
“Smartass.”
He checked that the weapon was unloaded, placed it across the table and began showing Mattheus how to handle it.
“This is the safety.
Keep it on until you need the gun.
You load the shells here.
Don’t put your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot.”
Mattheus continued staring.
“Why did you bring me a shotgun?”
“Because Gotham’s dangerous.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“It’s only a matter of time before some goon walks in here and tries to empty your register.”
Mattheus glanced toward the (empty) cash drawer.
That would be disappointing for everyone involved.
“With a shotgun, you don’t need to be a great shot,” Tony continued.
“Someone tries to rob you, point it toward the fool, and he’ll start reconsidering his life choices.”
“I think being turned into Swiss cheese would make reconsidering anything difficult.”
“In most cases, you won’t need to shoot.
They see the shotgun, they run.
Then word gets around that the kid at Crossroads is armed, and the other thieves leave you alone.”
Mattheus examined the weapon.
“I’ve been open for nearly three weeks, and nobody has tried to rob me.”
Tony gave him a long look.
Mattheus looked back at him.
Tony continued looking at him.
“Oh.” It clicked.
“Ohhh.”
Mattheus had spent three weeks congratulating himself on avoiding Gotham’s criminals (meeting Catwoman did not count—she did not try to rob him, quite the contrary), but it would seem Gotham’s criminals had kept him safe?
Huh.
Funny how life worked sometimes.
He placed a hand over his heart.
” Aww, Tony, I didn’t know you cared about little ol’ me that much.”
“Don’t get all sappy on me.”
Mattheus grinned.
“Hard not to.” He rested a hand beneath his chin, pretending to think.
“Do I have to call you Godfather now?”
“Shush it, kid.” Tony huffed.
“I just told people you’re under my protection.
That’s all.”
Mattheus’s grin widened.
“Sure, Godfather.”
“It’s hard to find an honest man in Gotham,” Tony grumbled.
“Especially one who sells good beer.”
Mattheus pretended to get serious.
“Of course.
The beer.
Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you liked me.”
Tony pointed the unloaded shotgun at him.
“I said don’t get sappy.”
Mattheus raised his hands.
“Whatever you say, Godfather.”
Tony rolled his eyes.
“Good.
Now pay attention.”
They spent the next hour going over everything Mattheus needed to know.
Tony made him repeat each step until he was satisfied Mattheus would not accidentally shoot himself while loading the weapon.
Afterwards, Mattheus put the shotgun aside, retrieved two more beers, and sat across from him.
They talked about Mattheus’s need for an employee, about Chiara, who was already driving Tony insane, and so on.
Time slipped by unnoticed as one beer became two and two became several.
After the hectic week he had had, a few beers with a friend was exactly what he needed to unwind.
By the time Tony stood to leave, it was almost four in the morning.
He put on his coat and picked up the case of cures.
“I’ll be gone a few months.”
“I know.”
“So you better still be here when I get back.”
Mattheus smiled.
“Where else would I go?”
“Kid, with you, I don’t rule anything out.”
They stopped at the door.
Mattheus wanted to say something meaningful.
Something about how grateful he was, or how Tony had become the closest thing he had to family in this strange world.
Then he imagined Tony’s reaction and reconsidered.
“Take care of yourself, old man.”
Tony snorted.
“You too, kid.”
Mattheus unlocked the door.
Tony stepped outside carrying the case, then turned back.
“And hire someone before you drop dead behind the counter.”
“Everyone’s suddenly an expert on running my pub.”
“Anyone with eyes can see you need help.”
“Goodbye, Tony.”
Tony raised one hand without looking back and walked down the street.
Mattheus watched until he disappeared around the corner and for a moment, he stood alone in the doorway, staring at the empty Gotham street.
He stepped inside and closed the door.
He locked the Crossroads through the app, picked up the duffel bag and headed upstairs.
His phone vibrated before he reached the top of the staircase.
Mattheus pulled it from his pocket and looked at the notification.
137,000 SP deposited
He stopped walking.
“One hundred and thirty-seven thousand?”
Either those fifty-seven families had been far too generous or…
“You sneaky old bastard.” He chuckled and opened his balance.
[Current Balance: 142,702 SP]