Chapter 125: Ava's Pastry Shop (2/4)

Chapter 125: Ava's Pastry Shop (2/4)

Dincomb remained silent.

Pyke, however, summoned his courage and spoke up. "The boss isn't that kind of man!"

"Pyke, watch your tongue before the gentleman!" Dincomb barked, reprimanding his companion.

Just then, Mrs. Pavaro stormed inside, her voice shrill.

"The front is in absolute chaos, and you two dare to slack off back here!

And where is your master? Where has he run off to now? I can't find him anywhere. Don't tell me he sneaked off to Pastry Street again!

Oh?

You... you are that man from the other day. What brings you here?"

With a crestfallen face, Pyke cried out to his mistress, "Mrs. Lake, the master has been arrested and detained by the Whip of Order."

"What!" Mrs. Lake gasped, stunned for a fraction of a second before exploding. "Where is the justice in that? Where is the bloody justice! It wasn't enough that they suspended him and cut off his salary, but now they have to lock him up too?"

Her eyes began to rim with a fiery red. She seemed on the verge of weeping, but the fierce temper that had consumed her for so long made tears an unfamiliar weakness.

Glaring at Karen through her reddened eyes, she demanded, "Why are you here?"

Dincomb kept his peace, but Pyke blurted out, "This gentleman is an officer from the Whip of Order."

"You?" Mrs. Lake stared at Karen in utter disbelief. "It was you who led the men to take my husband? You arrested him?"

Karen found no words to offer.

Mrs. Lake lunged forward, intent on clawing and striking Karen. Seeing this, Dincomb and Pyke instantly threw themselves forward to restrain her. Physical contact with an officer of his stature was an act of profound irreverence.

"You belong to the Whip of Order? Everything that day was a facade? You were merely putting on a play? Hahaha! Is everyone in the Whip of Order such a consummate actor? Why don't you all perform at the Grand Theatre instead?!"

"Madam, Madam, you must not say such things, you must not!" Dincomb hissed, desperate to warn his mistress.

"What is left for me to fear saying! Unhand me, let me go!"

Finding herself unable to break free from the two clerks' frantic grip, Mrs. Lake simply collapsed onto the floor. She thrashed her arms wildly and kicked her legs in a frenzy, forcing Dincomb and Pyke to step back and grant her space.

She looked up at Karen once more, a stark, mocking smile carved into the corners of her mouth.

"So this is Order? This is the Whip of Order?

You arrested my husband. Is the charge still dereliction of duty?"

Karen did not answer.

"Heheh... I was always urging him to neglect his duties. I called him rigid, a blockhead. For the past two years, the amount of Blood Spirit Powder we need each month has grown greater and greater. I cursed him nearly every single night.

I screamed at him, asking if he couldn't see our daughter's skin rotting again because she couldn't keep up with the frequency of her medicinal baths.

I screamed at him, asking if he hadn't noticed how our two girls bit their tongues and wore fake smiles every time they saw us, pretending they were fine when they were dying of pain inside.

I screamed at him, asking if he hadn't heard the muffled weeping buried deep in the pillows from their room in the dead of night!

I know he could have easily lined his pockets with far more vouchers without ever having to risk his life on external missions. Our daughters would never have faced a shortage of Blood Spirit Powder. Yet he chose to let me pinch his back until not a single patch of healthy skin remained, rather than compromise!

Fine.

Had he truly neglected his duty, had our daughters gained another half-year or even a year of comfort, I would accept your shackles on him!

But now,

By what right? By what right? By what right!"

"I will investigate the matter thoroughly," Karen managed to utter, before turning to make his swift departure.

Seated upon the floor, Mrs. Lake ground her teeth, her eyes blazing red as she fixed her gaze immovably upon Karen’s retreating figure.

Yet in the end, as her eyes drifted toward the bedroom door adorned with those youthful stickers, she could only lift her head in utter helplessness, allowing the tears to course down the contours of her face.

Pyke knelt down to offer what small comfort he could to his mistress.

Dincomb, meanwhile, followed Karen outside.

Karen approached his automobile and pulled open the door.

Dincomb stood nearby, hovering in awkward silence.

Karen looked at him and said, "Mr. Pavaro's case will be looked into further. For now, your duty is to maintain the funeral parlor and see to Mrs. Lake."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"Very well."

Karen climbed into the vehicle and ignited the engine.

After driving a block away, he pulled over to the curb and killed the engine.

He had never anticipated such grim circumstances within the Pavaro household; he had merely assumed the Pavaro Funeral Parlor was suffering from poor management.

The image of those two girls upon the bed, and the horrific sores marking their bodies, haunted him.

From the depths of his memory, a phrase once spoken by Dis surfaced:

"Your father and mother were killed by my own hands."

Because they had already been corrupted...

Instinctively, Karen reached down toward the pack of cigarettes resting by the handbrake. He opened it, drew a single cigarette, placed it between his lips, and struck his lighter.

After a single drag, he held the smoldering cigarette out the open window, resting his forehead against his other hand. He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling in deep, ragged breaths.

"Hoo... hoo... hoo..."

Only when the burning ember reached his fingertips did Karen release his grip and let the butt fall away.

Then, as if speaking to himself, or perhaps as if there truly stood someone before him who required a deliberate justification, he murmured:

"With my current strength, I am not yet qualified to meddle in such affairs. I suppose I can find a way to procure some vouchers, or perhaps obtain some Blood Spirit Powder to send to their family.

Yes, that is what I shall do."

Believing he had rationalized his thoughts, Karen started the engine once more.

Yet when the vehicle came to a halt again, he found himself parked along a familiar thoroughfare. Directly across the street stood "Ava's Pastry Shop."

Inexplicably, his driving had brought him here.

Karen turned his head, contemplating the sign hanging over the establishment. After a long silence, he finally resolved to step out of the car and walked to the entrance of the shop.

Upon the counter rested several platters of pastries. Deeper inside, upon two sofas, sat seven women.

"Come, step inside," one of the women called out, her greeting dripping with warmth.

Karen took a step forward and crossed the threshold.

The women, who had been rather bundled up moments before, immediately discarded their heavy winter coats to reveal their revealing attire.

Among them, one looked at Karen, a faint, surprised smile gracing her lips.

A man must eat every day, and if given the choice, why not indulge in that which pleases both the eyes and the palate?

They had to entertain guests every day anyway, so if they had a choice, why wouldn't they choose someone young and handsome?

These women were all between thirty and forty, perhaps slightly past forty, but because of their heavy makeup, it was hard to tell their exact age under the ambient lights.

At this moment, another woman inside came out, having just finished sweeping with a dustpan. She glanced at Karen, who was standing right in the center, a soft smile spreading across her lips:

"A fresh fish has arrived, look how greedy you all are."

With that, she calmly stepped around Karen and emptied the trash from the dustpan into the bin outside the shop.

This woman was over fifty, not particularly tall, and wore little makeup, so the marks of time were very evident on her face; she clearly had no intention of competing for this business.

Yet, as she finished throwing out the trash and carried the dustpan back inside,

Karen raised his hand,

Pointing at her:

"You... how much?"

The woman froze, turning her head to make sure Karen was pointing at her, and smiled:

"Really?"

"Really."

"I'm cheap."

"Fine."

"Then follow me."

The woman set down the dustpan, took Karen by the hand, and led him further inside.

Beyond lay a row of partitioned cubicles, the interior of each small room exceedingly cramped, with only enough space for a narrow cot and a stool;

Of course, this place wasn't meant for living, only for sleeping, and even then, it was just a matter of lying down to rest for the span of a few cigarettes before getting back up.

"In here."

The woman led Karen into the cubicle, and Karen sat down on the cot.

"We only go halfway here, but I can provide services for you."

The woman said as she tied her hair up with a rubber band.

Karen spoke up and asked:

"Mr. Pavarotti, do you know him?"

The woman’s movements to tie her hair suddenly stopped.

While smoking, Mr. Pavarotti had once said that age was the refinement of skill.

That was the reason Karen had chosen her;

"Heh."

The woman let out a soft laugh and sat down beside him, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. She took one out, didn't offer it to Karen, but simply lit it for herself,