#7

He left the child behind and followed Rick. Sitting in the offered chair, Tennessee rubbed his forehead. Rick opened a drawer, took out a glass, and poured a full drink.

“You aren’t, right?”

“What?”

“You aren’t, right? That’s not it.”

By this point, Tennessee was sick and tired of this game of twenty questions. Seeing Tennessee’s expression, which suggested he would rip Rick’s mouth open if he didn’t speak plainly, Rick quickly continued.

“There’s a business the Latin Emperadores have been running lately.”

The Latin Emperadores was the name of the gang Alejandro belonged to, where Tennessee had just retrieved his car and ID.

“They kidnap any child they see alone on the street. There are even rumors that the only ‘normal’ kids left are the families of gang members. Ironically, that’s made the gang grow. People who live on the streets but have families to take care of all want to join the Latin Emperadores.”

The gaze of the men who had been staring at the child naturally came to mind. Tennessee nodded. He had only felt it was strange, not threatening, but they must have been targeting the child.

Crimes involving young children had existed for a long time. It was common for sex tapes featuring children to be imported. Even within the US, selling children for drugs was frequent.

However, in the United States, one could be punished simply for possessing child pornography, and since there were strict rules within the gangs, pedophilia was not used as a means of making money. Furthermore, those who committed sex crimes against children in U.S. prisons occupied the lowest rung of the social hierarchy. They were lucky if they only served as punching bags for gang members. Some were raped or suffered permanent disabilities due to extreme violence.

And yet, for a gang to make money by selling children—it didn’t make any sense. As Tennessee frowned, Rick shook his head. He meant it wasn’t about prostitution.

“It’s drug trafficking. Sometimes they put the drugs inside the bodies of the dead. It’s become harder to bring drugs in as border security with Mexico has tightened.”

Then, lowering his voice, Rick whispered rapidly.

“That’s why I heard they sometimes kidnap kids with the lure of smuggling them into Mexico. The same goes for kids who entered illegally. Some people snatch them up beforehand and sell them to the Latin Emperadores.”

Just hearing it was repulsive.

“Did they think I would sell that kid? Ridiculous.”

“I’m telling you this because I figured you wouldn’t. You have plenty of money.”

“To think they believed I lived by paying tribute to such a gang. It’s insulting.”

The mere assumption that he might have joined forces with Alejandro was enough to make Tennessee feel disgusted.

“…And the kid? You’d sell him?”

“If he were about to starve to death, I’d have to sell him. Though, given the nature of my profession, I might just die, but I won’t starve.”

I know you’re just saying that, Tennessee.

As Tennessee pulled out a cigarette, Rick offered him some marijuana. Tennessee declined and lit his cigarette. Rick let out a hollow laugh and pointed at him without hesitation.

“You’re a funny guy. For a hitman, you pick and choose your clients, and you don’t even do drugs.”

“You’re supposed to pick and choose your clients. If you don’t want to get fucked over.”

“You only try to kill the bad guys. Despite being a murderer yourself.”

Tennessee shrugged. He took a deep drag of smoke and let out a breath that sounded like a lament.

He was a man of few words.

Watching the taciturn Tennessee, Rick thought to himself. Tennessee hadn’t said a word for the duration of a single cigarette. He surely had a sharp retort ready, yet he remained silent.

Unable to take it, Rick spoke first.

“What brings you all the way to Texas?”

Tennessee slid a second cigarette between his lips.

“I know the work you do knows no borders, but there was no need to come all the way to the South, was there?”

“I heard the client lives in Texas.”

As Rick nodded, Tennessee added,

“Do some digging into my broker.”

Tennessee explained the chilling intuition he had felt just as he finished his last job.

“Are you saying the broker set you up? Isn’t that a bit of a stretch?”

Even to Tennessee, it seemed like he was overthinking. This world was simultaneously wide yet narrow, deep yet shallow. If word got out that a broker was compromised, work would dry up instantly.

After all, the world was overflowing with people saying, ‘I’ll pay you to kill that person.’ There was no need to take work from someone who left a bitter aftertaste.

“Look into the target and the client as well.”

“Who was it?”

Tennessee concisely laid out the man’s personal details.

“Got it.”

Since the conversation was over, Tennessee tried to stand, but Rick stopped him.

“So, what’s your relationship with that kid?”

Instead of satisfying Rick’s curiosity, Tennessee seemed lost in thought.

“You said the Latin Emperadores have been snatching kids lately?”

“Mostly runaways. Kids with no ties living on the streets, illegal immigrants, that sort of thing. I’ve heard they even take normal kids with parents if things go south. Though that might just be a malicious rumor.”

“How far have those rumors spread?”

“The kids on the street already know. Not just here, but I heard the youth shelters in the major Texas cities are all full.”

Then Texas is out of the question.

Tennessee changed his mind about parting ways with the child in Texas.

He couldn’t keep the child with him for the rest of his life. Since it didn’t seem like the child would go to the police and say he had been kidnapped, once things were settled, he could take him wherever the child wanted.

But with such grim things happening right now, Texas wouldn’t work. Or perhaps it would be better to take him completely out of the South to another state.

The South was a conservative place in many ways, to the point where the death penalty was still maintained. Tennessee imagined a child being adopted into a conservative Catholic family.

A child who had to go to Mass every weekend. A faint smile played on his lips, and Rick’s eyes widened at the sight.

By the time Rick and Tennessee stepped out of the office, the child had already eaten more than half of his hamburger. Two waitresses were clinging to him, fussing over him and stroking his black hair because he was so cute.

Rick let out a scoffing laugh from behind.

“What’s your name?”

“…I was told not to talk to strangers.”

“Is that so? How old are you?”

“….”

Finding him adorable, the waitresses continued to chat with him lightly. It was just playful teasing because he was cute, but the child looked so displeased that he frowned and put down the hamburger he was about to eat.

“Your drink is empty, I’ll get you another.”

The child stared blankly at the waitress as she took away the glass that still had a bit left. Then, spotting Tennessee approaching, his face lit up as if a switch had been flipped.

“Here, yours is ready too, Tennessee.”

Tennessee accepted the food without refusal. Greasy Southern food wasn’t to his taste. Tennessee wasn’t someone who cared much about taste or ingredients, but Southern food was exceptionally sweet, salty, and oily. The way they offered sweet tea instead of a regular drink, and that drunken-sounding accent, were all the same.

No, in truth, Tennessee didn’t hate the South that much. He didn’t mind the accent. Perhaps it was because the first person he ever knew with a Southern accent was always drunk.

‘Go get me a beer.’

When his mother, suffering from severe depression and heroin addiction, lay in bed, his father—who would call prostitutes to the living room to do the deed—would make Tennessee do the chores.

It is quite a pity that while one lives a new day every day, they cannot be free from an old past.

“Tennessee.”

The child leaned closer to Tennessee as he extinguished his cigarette. He looked as if he had a million things to ask.

“Are you called Tennessee because you were really born in Tennessee?”

“Good question, kid. I’ve always wondered that myself,” Rick interrupted. He made a cocktail and pushed it toward Tennessee.

“Cinnamon Toast Crunch,” Rick said playfully. Realizing he was being teased, the child wrinkled his nose.

“I was born in Tennessee, but I grew up elsewhere.”

“The exact opposite of Elvis Presley,” Rick chimed in again. Now that Tennessee was here and his appetite had returned, the child took a huge bite of his hamburger.

“Elvis Presley was born in the next town over, but he grew up in Tennessee.”

4 – Chapter

“What’s the point of teaching that?”

Tennessee gave a reprimand and shook his head, telling the child not to listen.

“You talk too much.”

“Maybe you just don’t talk enough, Tennessee.”

“Are you two friends?”

The child asked the moment Rick finished speaking.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Two different answers came simultaneously. Tennessee left his food as it was and stood up.

He hadn’t come here to pretend to be friendly with Rick. He had no intention of sitting beside him to share updates or giggle over the football team’s record.

The child looked like he wanted more of the hamburger, but he climbed down from the chair as soon as Tennessee rose.

“Payment will be handled the usual way.”

Knowing this was Tennessee’s way of saying goodbye, Rick waved. He didn’t forget to address the child until the very end.

Bye, kiddo. Oh, what was your name? We didn’t even introduce ourselves. I’m Rick.

Across the child’s expression, a clear sign flashed: ‘Warning. Stranger.’ With a face painted in vigilance, the child stepped back and did not answer.

“Tennessee doesn’t talk about himself, but since you asked, he actually answers. You could be in the FBI, kiddo.”

“Let’s go.”

Tennessee cut Rick off with a jerk of his chin. The child, who had been trotting along behind him, paused and looked back at Rick. Rick was waving with a playful smile. With cheeks turning subtly red, the child raised and lowered his hand quickly. It was a greeting so fast it was almost impossible to see.

“Cute.”

Unaware that Rick had burst into laughter, the child followed Tennessee with quick steps.