Chapter 3: Fabula Palliata Hotel

 ”Mack, get in my office, now!” Gregor called into the kitchen from his open office door near the cooler. The small restaurant had three cooks packed into the small space and all of them, including Mack, tried not to laugh at Gregor’s whiny voice. Theo and Romulus were the other part-time cooks, and all of them had been pulled into the owner’s office already for various minor offenses during the shift. The chefs took small bets between themselves as to who would get called into the office most at the beginning of each shift.

 ”Right away, Boss,” Mack called out and shook his head. His boss spent more time micro-managing the cooks than doing anything else, and he was getting sick of it. It would be different if the rotund owner could cook, but the most notable achievement he had seen so far was when Gregor started a grease fire that got the kitchen shut down for three days. The sad part was, the owner hadn’t even been cooking, but instead caused the fire by waving his pudgy hands around in a tantrum about a debtor calling him, knocking the full grease pan onto the grill. The fire should have been extinguished almost immediately, but the fire extinguisher wasn’t kept up-to-date, and the handle had been broken some years previously; the fire chief wasn’t amused when he did the evaluation.

 He double checked the ticket order and set a timer so he could flip the meat on the grill. Tapping Theo on the arm, he pointed to the old hand-held timer and gestured between it and the grill. The skinny cook nodded and gave a thumbs up before Mack slid past him and over to the open door of Gregor’s office. “You needed me?” he asked trying to polite despite his annoyance while trying to keep his face blank.

 ”You lied to me! You said you left Treasured Petals because of differences in managing styles, but I just got a call claiming you assaulted the owner before leaving. I should fire you!” Gregor growled out and glared across the messy desk.

 Mack could only see the owner’s head behind all the papers, boxes, and terminal screen, so he kept his eyes locked on the fat man’s smaller ones. “I didn’t lie to you. I left because of the way the owner attacked me and threatened me. You’ll notice the Military Police didn’t mention anything when you did the background check as I was signing on to work for you. If I had done anything illegal, they would have informed you.”

 ”I heard it from Sibilla herself you attacked her and would hurt my waitresses! You’re fired after this shift,” Gregor yelled and jumped to his feet. He sputtered when his massive belly knocked over a stack of papers and glared at Mack like it was his doing.

 ”I’ll be back in a few days to get my last paycheck,” he said, shaking his head. “How much did she pay you?” he asked while watching his now ex-boss’ face.

 ”HAH! What makes you think that?” Gregor answered with a grimace and cut his eyes towards the terminal screen.

 ”Must have been a nice sum,” Mack muttered and shook his head. Turning around, he took off his apron and tossed it on the counter next to the sink.

 ”Hey man, what’s going on?!” Theo asked and glanced between Mack and the owner’s office questioning.

 ”Fired because the fat ass got paid off,” he stated in a dull tone and shook his head again. “Sorry guys, I won’t be working the rest of the shift.”

 Romulus’ large bald head shook in mock sadness. “It’s cool; we saw what Gregor did to Sam. It has been slow tonight, so no problem. Good luck,” the giant said and stuck out his hand to shake Mack’s.

 ”Again, sorry guys and good luck,” he said and shook Romulus’ hand. The larger man’s hand almost completely engulfed his, but the giant kept his grip light. He shook Theo’s hand as well and told them to call him some time to hang out. They promised they would sometime soon, and Mack cleaned up in the sink.

 ”Where do you think you’re going!” bellowed Gregor as he wobbled out of his office.

 ”Sorry, but I’m not working for free like you did with Sam. You fired him and had him work the shift, then wouldn’t pay him,” he accused and shook his head when Gregor began cursing him out.

 Maxine stuck her blonde head in the door, took one glance around, all but threw the new ticket at Theo, and hightailed it out of there. After cleaning up, with Gregor breathing down his neck, Mack picked up his things and left out the back door. He knew the crooked owner would cheat him on his last paycheck, but saw no reason to work for the man any longer after being fired. “Sibilla” he cursed her name under his breath and cursed again the day she decided to mess up his life.

 The walk back to his small apartment took fifteen minutes on most days, but he took his time, strolling along at a leisure pace to allow him to work through his anger in the crisp air. He had moved out of Sang and Patricia’s condo two days after they had sex, something they hadn’t repeated or even discussed and found himself reasonably happy again for the month he’d been living alone. The new year was fast approaching, and there were banners of a red fist on a field of black to signify the Republic’s liberation of Beorus IV. The Imperials were the first to find Beorus IV and the Native Beorusians, but the Republic felt the Imperials had subjugated the natives and launched a full-scale invasion to liberate them. He’d read up on the subject and thought the Republic were the ones enslaving the natives, but it wasn’t smart to mention it aloud. People who spoke out against the Republic’s goals and actions tended to find themselves in the tender care of the Military Police, an experience many didn’t come back from altogether healthy or at all.

 As he walked up the front steps of his apartment building, he spotted the landlord, Aron, sitting on a wooden bench in the lobby and reading from a tablet. The balding older man looked up with a small smile and waved with his free hand. “Mack, how are you today?”

 Breathing out, he shrugged trying to feign indifference. “Having a rough day, Aron. Anything interesting on the news?” he asked to try and deflect the questioning away from his day. The older man wasn’t swayed and looked Mack over, dark eyes searching his face.

 ”Lost your job?” Aron asked and scratched his unkempt gray beard. The question was more of a statement than a question.

 ”Yeah, old employer paid off Gregor to fire me. I’ll have your month’s rent, though,” he answered, trying to assure his landlord.

 The proprietor waved away his assurance of money and sat up, groaning a little. “You need to work for yourself, Mack. I keep telling you to open up a place of your own. You might say the girls ran the Treasured Petals but anyone who graced your club in the last few years knows it was you that kept everything civil.”

 He grunted and shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of the strip club. The idea was tempting, being his own boss again. He stopped and mulled over the notion after second or two. If Sibilla was messing with his affairs, maybe he could open up a strip club and take customers from her; she wouldn’t be able to fire him that way. Shaking his head, he thought it to be a dumb idea to antagonize the already unstable woman. “Tempting Aron but that would lead to disaster. No, I think I’ll try to hire on with a freighter crew as a cook. I’ve always wanted to go into space.”

 Aron shook his head. “I still think you need to stand up to that woman. I heard your fight with,” he paused for a moment collecting his thoughts, “Roxie? Is that the tall blonde with the huge breasts? Anyway, when she was trying to get you to go work for Sibilla. I’ve been back to the club once, and it doesn’t have the same feel; all the women aren’t nearly as excited to dance.”

 He grunted in response, remembering when Roxie had found his apartment. She’d seen him coming home from work one day and followed him back, peppering him with questions and demands to work for Sibilla. His already frayed nerves from a day with Gregor finally made him snap at her. He’d told her to flame off and bother someone else; she hadn’t taken his outburst well and started screaming at him. “Yeah, that was Roxie. Sorry about that by the way. I’m going to go up, shower, and change before looking for another job.”

 The older man nodded, a small jerk of the head, and scratched at his comb-over. “It might be a good idea to find something on the other side of the city or another city entirely.”

 ”I know,” Mack answered and trudged towards the lift. Aron didn’t say anything else, but it was clear the older man was worried about him. His apartment was a carbon copy of his old apartment, except for the small kitchenette beside the bathroom, in the Eternal Dove’s building, having been built around the same time and by the same developer. He hadn’t replaced his destroyed terminal with a new one, so the desk sat empty and the bed was much lumpier than his old, comfortable one. Other than that, everything was the same, down to the wallpaper in the bathroom. At first, it bothered him to have a room so close to his old one, but after a day or so he got used to the familiar layout and felt better about leaving the club, except the lumpy bed.

 Sitting down in the only chair, he stretched out against the padded cushion and pulled out his tablet. The bills were getting close to being due, and he had to get that out of the way before he forgot. The new year was also the tax season for the planetary government and failure to pay was rewarded with a prison sentence. He couldn’t use the tax guy he had utilized in the past because Tony worked with Shroud, so he would have to do it himself or find another accountant to do it. One option was to put the information into the government’s AI, but it was common knowledge you got none of the usual tax breaks.

 Clicking Tony’s contact information on his tablet, Mack waited for a minute for the call to connect. “Time and Tides Tax Office, Tony speaking, how may I help you?” a tired masculine voice greeted.

 ”Tony, it’s Mack, how are you?” Mack asked, frowning at hearing the boisterous and energetic accountant sounding so tired.

 ”It’s tax season, Mack. I’m swamped and understaffed. I can’t do your taxes this year, Shroud rules, but I know someone who can do it for you if you want.”

 ”All I need is my info from the last few years Tony, I’ll do the taxes myself,” Mack answered drumming his fingers on the table.

 ”Your funeral kid,” Tony muttered and the sound of typing filtered through the speaker. “Okay, brought up your records and will send it to you now. If you run into any trouble be sure to read over the old tax forms or call me back for Donny’s number. I’ve got to go, good luck.”

 He heard the call drop and a moment later his tablet chirped signaling a new message. Looking through the file, he realized how vast and complicated the records were and groaned. Not wanting to start on the laborious task of taxes just yet, he got up and took a shower to relieve his cramped muscles. After his shower, he threw on clean clothes, left the apartment, and went down the street to a small terminal cafe to work on the taxes. He had a week or so before everything was due, but knew he needed to knock everything out sooner rather than later.

 Red-Line Terminal Cafe was a small hole-in-the-wall store that catered to the need of the low-rent apartments above. The doorbell chimed twice, a tinkling sound that echoed and irritated in his ears, as he stepped through the open door. A heavy smell of grounded re’tun beans assaulted his nose, making his nose wiggle. All of the off-worlders talked about coffee, Fraps, and numerous other specialty drinks, but on Beorus IV the only bean that would grow in the harsh soil, and could be brewed into anything edible, was a small red bean called re’tun. He breathed in the earthy aroma and smiled. “Ro’lund, how are you this evening?” he asked when he’d spotted the owner.

 Ro’lund stood two heads above Mack and was almost as big around as he was tall. The gargantuan Beorusian was the life and soul of the shop, always finding a kind thing to say to his patrons. “Mack! My friend, how are you today!”

 Walking up to the wooden counter, Mack looked over the selection of auto-beverage selections and pressed Ro’lund’s “homebrew” button. “I’ve been better Ro, how’s the wife and kids?”

 The much larger man shook his head, jowls wobbling and broke into a huge grin. “The kids are eating me out of house and home! My wife is doing well, shine on her soul. She’s had another round of treatments that is wearing her thin, but my wife is strong and will kick this!”

 He couldn’t help smiling at his friend’s optimism. The Native Beorusians began falling victim to a genetic malady that broke down their bone structure shortly after the Republic liberated them. No one wanted to mention the entire species hadn’t had issues before the Republic came, even when the Imperials were cohabiting with them, but it was whispered and theorized it was the Republic’s doing. “She is a strong woman,” he agreed and watched out of the corner of his eye as the cup filled to the brim with dark liquid before stopping.

 ”I don’t deserve such a determined woman, but she chose me, void the poor fool, but I love her all the more because of it.” the shop owner smiled and dabbed at an eye that was tearing up with a pudgy finger.

 ”Let me know if you ever need anything, Ro. I’ve got to sit down and do my taxes,” he said with a small groan and an accompanying small smile.

 ”Why my young friend, if you need any help, any help at all, just come get me. I’ve been doing our taxes for years and years and know many of the secrets.” The larger man broke out into a fierce grin and continued, “but you’d have to take my baby girl for a night on the town.”

 He remembered Ro’land’s “baby girl.” She was a little taller than her father and all muscle. Where her father was fat and jolly, she was muscular and abrasive. “I’ll keep that in mind, Ro,” he muttered and all but ran to an open terminal, much to Ro’land’s evident amusement by his rolling laugh.

 Sifting through the tax forms was a pain in the ass for him, and he spent two hours just reading through the old documents trying to understand what was required. He debated sending his information to the government AI and be done with it, but as he read the reports over again, he realized it wasn’t as hard as he initially thought, just time-consuming. With the advancement in technology, every transaction that goes through a citizen’s account is tracked and taxed if it is classified as income. The hardest part for him was proving what were gifts, income, and charity through electronic messages and receipts. If he had left it to the AI, every transaction going into his account coming from a business or a large sum of credits from an individual would have been taxed as income.

 Something that surprised him was the items and buildings listed under his assets. Along with his car, his mother’s condo, and his storage unit, he also owned a hotel on the other side of the city near the planetary dock. He’d completely forgot about winning it in a card game some years ago. The friendly game of cards had taken an unfriendly turn when he’d won a large pot with a lucky hand. Wishing to win back his money, one of the lieutenants for the Fare Order workers put up the property against Mack’s previous winnings. He remembered checking out the building some years ago, but was disappointed by the gutted building and promptly forgot about it in the wake of Daciano’s death. Since it was registered under his name, he had been paying property, planetary, and zoning rights on the building for almost four years without realizing it. He was glad to see the government saw the building as worth next to nothing as well because it hadn’t been too expensive to pay for, but it was certainly higher than his mother’s condo and his car’s taxes combined.

 Another grueling three hours later, and four more cups of Ro’land’s brew, he finished the forms and hit send. Standing up and stretching, he looked around the small shop and at the various patrons. One guy was trying to be discreet while watching a pornographic film and the woman at the terminal behind him was trying not to look over his shoulder, but failing by the look of incredulity on her face. The small woman on the screen was currently taking a Native Beorusian’s gigantic blue-gray cock down her throat. He admired the woman’s gusto as she tried to gobble the enormous shaft, but shook his head and left the terminal cafe after paying and saying goodnight to Ro’land.

 The next morning, he woke up early, got in his dirt covered car, and drove to the other side of town where the building he owned was located. He was disappointed by the derelict building. The gray monolith rose on a street corner, five stories tall, with most of the windows broken out or boarded up. On the sidewalk, there as a large broken metal awning that lay across two sets of double doors that were boarded up. Sighing, he walked carefully through one of the broken street-level windows and let his eyes adjust from being out in the morning sun.

 It was obvious the building had been an expensive hotel by the husks of two large chandeliers, long since picked over for anything of value. Broken bits of old glass, wood chips, and twisted metal debris littered the floor while the boarded-up windows allowed slivers of light to cast dark shadows around the large room. The scene reminded him of something out of a horror story. Shaking his head, he stepped back out into the street and took a better look around. He expected to see more buildings that should have been condemned, but was pleasantly surprised by the many businesses there were open. What he took to be completely abandoned buildings when he first drove up were actually just run down buildings. This section of the city, so close to the planetary docks, was in a lower income area and the shops catered to the various laborer jobs.

 Two men in bright red jackets further down the street stood out against the dirty gray buildings. He realized his building was within the Dockside Crew’s territory. The knowledge wasn’t good or bad, as he’d kept his club relatively neutral when dealing with the various gangs and factions in the city, but it could be an issue in the future if he decided to do anything with the building. Turning back around, he looked up the large building, the tallest by far on the block, and wondered what he could do with it. He had a funny feeling the city wouldn’t buy the property from him as they probably made more money off the taxes he paid them over time rather than owning it outright and leaving it to sit empty. Sighing again, he peered back into the destroyed room and spotted a figure near one of the broken counters that had served as a concierge desk.

 ”Hey,” he called into the large room. The figure froze and turned around to face him, keeping their hands inside the oversized black jacket.

 ”Wh’t chu want,” a young voice called back and inched deeper into the room and away from Mack.

 ”Just to ask a question about this place,” he asked, keeping his hands in plain view. He figured the kid was going to bolt but didn’t want to ruin the opportunity to get information.

 ”Been ‘bandoned fer years. Wh’t some’ne like chu want wi’f it?” the small figure answered. The boy didn’t stop moving deeper into the building.

 ”Just looking,” he called but noticed the figure had disappeared into one of the back rooms. Stepping back into the building, he looked around for signs of people living there without venturing too far into the dark lobby. “Wonder if I’d have to evict the homeless if I wanted to fix it up,” he muttered and looked around before laughing. “Yeah, this place is a goner.”

 ”Not necessarily,” a feminine voice called out behind him.

 Whirling around, he spotted a slender woman in a patched gray jumpsuit and bright blue eyes. Her face was covered in grime, and her brown hair looked lopsided from all the tangles. “Hi ma’am,” he started and stopped again trying to get his heart to stop thumping in his chest. She had startled him, thinking himself alone other than the kid that ran off. “What do you mean?” he questioned after he took a breath.

 The sharp-eyed woman stood outside the broken window looking at him while he regained composure. “Most of the damage is cosmetic,” she said and stepped closer extending her hand out. “Marcie’s the name, and I work with my father across the street at the hardware store. I grew up playing in this building so know it fairly well. When we saw someone checking out the building he sent me over to see if you might need someone to escort you home, this isn’t the best neighborhood.”

 It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, not compared to some, so he took her hand and shook. The firm grip surprised him for someone so small, but he ignored it and smiled. “I seem to remember this district was one of the upscale areas in town before the Republic came.”

 The woman gave an unladylike snort and released his hand. “That was in my grandfather’s time. He talks about this building being a famous hotel the Imperials used when visiting. I guess I can see it how it might have been in the past, but everything of value was gutted out of this place long ago.” Marcie took a step back and looked up the abandoned building with a small smile creasing her dirty face. “She was built to last all those years ago and even with the rise and fall of the Imperials, the various gangs, and the vultures roaming over her she has stood the test of time. All she’d need is a makeover, and she’d shine brightly again,” the woman said, her voice sounding a little sad towards the end of her reminiscent ramble.