Six: Meeting with Otis

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Silence is the ultimate weapon of power.

-Charles De Gaulle

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2052 Old Germany

“Where is the child now, Otis?”

“Well, like I said, the Durenbergers found him, although they don’t really have much need of him since he’s not communicating, so they dumped him on some poor schmucks in the city who run a half-way house for kids, the Lebendsgarten home for the orphans. It’s located in the eastern section of the city, outside the conflict zone and behind the Durenberger blockade. Why are you interested in him anyway?”

Mwamba thought on the question for a moment, carefully constructing his answer, knowing full well that Otis was an informant for many beyond the Reckoners, and as such he was always collecting information. Although it may seem innocuous to know a person’s life story, or even hints of it, when you have more enemies than friends, it’s better that nothing is known about your past. The past has a way of reliving itself, of ever seeking to once again burst forth in the present. Mwamba wanted the past to stay there, and thus chose his words carefully.

“Listen, you’re a smart guy, Otis, you put things together in such a way that information goes from irrelevant to pertinent, that’s why you do what you do.” A compliment, good way to start off. Already the fine-tuned radar in Otis’ head was becoming numb with the swelling of pride. “So if you say there’s a connection, even if you can’t explain it yet, then I think it’s worth looking into. Now if there is such a connection, then whoever has been burning these towns could be the very same who kidnapped the Durenberger kids. If so, then by finding out what happened to this kid, I might be able to find out what happened to them, got it?” Otis smiled at the indignant remark, comforting himself instead with the pleasure that it was his suggestion and gut feeling that Silence decided to follow, his. Although he didn’t give two shits about Crimson Reckoning or their weird philosophies, he did know Silence well enough, and knew what a stone-cold killer the man was, and so respect from him was something rarely given, and he took it as the infrequent honor that it was.

“Bludgeon? I think we have what we came for, enjoy the fruits of your labor MacKrouger, we’ll be in touch.”

Although the massive Briton had been casually snoozing while the two men conversed, as soon as Mwamba spoke he silently and deftly opened the door and the duo darted out without another word. Otis pulled the door shut, and saw the two of them disappear into another abandoned building, leaving only a set of footprints behind.

Sitting back again in the plush leather seats of the limo, Otis gruffly whispered to himself, “I hope I never have to tango with those fuckers.”