“She’s not very motherly,” MTB stated.
“I think I should be the cool older sister,” Valia volunteered.
“When I ask for your opinion it will sound like this: ‘hey new guy, what is your opinion?’ But I didn’t say that. Better make it two days.”
“Boss, you really want us to starve that child for two days?” Valia questioned.
I snickered.
“Tell you what, why don’t you give him a knife, we can all turn our backs, and we’ll see how childlike he is. But I’ll bet you five boogleberries you’ll be missing your nose and ears before you get a chance to tell him about all the great opportunities he has in life.”
CHAPTER 19
As I stood outside of the ritzy building watching valets parking cars, I really didn’t feel like being here.
Not just for the event, which I was sure would be teeth-achingly dull, but because I felt another heart attack coming and I didn’t want to die surrounded by the pompous privileged.
“Supreme Kommilaire, so glad you could come!” A bejeweled woman cooed to me.
I was being presented with an award. I didn’t know for what and I didn’t know from whom.
They paraded me around at gala parties like this between three and six times a year. I was invited to more, but I attended as few as possible.
They were all the same, a lot of unbelievably wealthy people showing off to each other. While they did that, I begged for money.
The Kommilaire were not funded by the city government since there wasn’t much of a city government. We relied on these wealthy patrons for all our expenses. I also shook down crime bosses for money, offering them some protection or reduced sentences or something.
The crime bosses were a lot easier to deal with. You gave this, you got that. Here, no one said anything so bluntly. They were buying prestige and recognition.
Believe it or not, these people looked up to me.
“Hank, may I call you ‘Hank,’ you are from one of the first families, right?” a man wearing a three-foot-tall hat asked me.
His wife, wearing an inverted, cone-shaped dress tsked him.
“Don’t be stupid, Uor, he is the first family. Please forgive his ignorance. It runs on his father’s side,” she said.
These people, for whatever silly reason, placed huge importance on how long ago you came to Belvaille or how far back you could trace your lineage. That was of course moronic, since all those original settlers were criminals—or at least all the ones who stayed and had offspring.
So yeah, I was not only one of the first members of Belvaille still alive, but I was the Supreme Kommilaire, who had a lot of folk tales said about him across the galaxy.
Getting me to attend your party was a big deal in some social circles.
As I stood there in my red Kommilaire’s uniform, my tiny cap on my huge skull, I couldn’t wait for this to be over.
“Quite a turnout,” Jorn-dole said.
It was the handsome man I had met at the Athletic Gentleman’s club.
“Sure is.”
“Is this your kind of event now? It seems a bit… dull for you.”
I looked around to see if anyone would overhear.
“It makes dull look like a heart attack,” I said from experience. “But I have to do it now and then.”
“Could you imagine your life ever coming to this—excuse me if I’m being too familiar.”
“It’s fine. No, I never would have guessed all this. But even if I had guessed it, I’d still have to do it.”
“That’s a point.”
I saw a discreet queue forming at the periphery of our conversation.
“Sorry, I’ve got paying customers.”
“Of course. Hope you’re feeling better.”
He walked off and I sucked in some air and tried to relax. If it was obvious from looking at me that I didn’t feel well then that couldn’t be good.
“Supreme Kommilaire, I heard there was a disturbance in the western part of the city a few days ago, something with the feral kids,” an elderly man said.
“Those poor, poor children. They need a good home is all,” his elderly wife added.
“They’re not all children. But the Kommilaire Ministry of Information has all the details if you wish to inquire,” I said, referencing the make-believe department.
“Oh, thank you. We all believe you’re doing a wonderful job!”
After some time I was given a statuette from the League of Something Blah of Greater Blah Blah.
The statue was fine crystal with dainty little points and etchings and in my concern not to crush it, I immediately dropped it and it shattered.
No one blamed me of course. But recriminations blew through the crowd like a bitchy little wildfire.
The guests blamed the host who blamed the sculptor who blamed another member for providing substandard materials. It was pointed out the previous award I had been given was made out of iron so as to avoid this same problem.
It was just another chance for them to piss on each other. These people were so catty.
I helped myself to some fancy appetizers.
Part of the entertainment value I provided these people was to show off my eating habits. They got a perverse sense of wonder or shock watching me consume a hundred pounds of extraordinarily expensive food which I couldn’t taste.
Half the party was literally standing on the opposite side of the refreshments table gawking at me as I shoveled food.
Whatever. I’d gotten enough funding for the Kommilaire, and some extra, so we could hopefully hire more people.
As I was eating, the host and hostess approached.
“We wanted to thank you again for coming to our home, Hank, and hope you enjoyed yourself,” the host said.
I smiled and kept eating.
“We were wondering what you thought of the election,” the hostess added.
I grumbled but said nothing.
“We’re thinking of voting Garm’s ticket,” the host stated calmly.
I stopped.
“What?” I asked. About two pounds of food falling from my mouth.
“Yes. Her ticket. What is your opinion?” the hostess asked.
“What’s a ticket?”
“Oh.” The host and hostess shared concerned looks as if they might have said too much. As if they should be privy to something the Supreme Kommilaire wasn’t.
“Well…” the hostess said, looking at her husband.
“I don’t suppose it matters,” and he magnanimously handed me a slip of paper from his jacket.
My hands were covered in food and the paper was folded like a billion times.
“Unfold it.”
He did so and handed it to me again.
It was hard to read because of my poor eyes and all the creases, but it was a list of candidates for Governor and City Council.
I read it. Read it again. Read it again.
I didn’t understand.
“All these people are dead,” I said.
“Yes,” the hostess confirmed without any irony.
“I don’t get it. How does a dead person serve?”
“Well, I assume they don’t,” the host said, also without irony.
“Then… what… is this how elections work? I’ve never been through one. Do people usually vote for dead candidates?”
“We think it’s more of the status quo,” the hostess said.
“For things to remain as they are. With you as Supreme Kommilaire, the judges making their rulings, adjudicators in the streets,” the host added.
And Garm still in charge behind the scenes? This was pretty shocking in a lot of ways. I really thought Garm had checked out for the most part. Mostly she just appointed judges.