Scriostóir - 10

Cerdic listened as Manny talked, tapping his pen on the desk. When the boy finished, Cerdic asked, “What makes you think he’d be interested, and if he were that we can trust him?”

“You should have seen him, sir. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in forever and while his clothes are clean they’re more than worn in places. I’m betting they’re the only good ones he has, for when he’s letting someone pick him up. If he wasn’t so cute he’d probably be shit out of luck trying to make what money he does the way he does.” Manny paced the office, turning to say, “He reminds me a bit of Hamlin. And he does the same thing only for a hell of a lot less.”

“You’re sure he’s telling you the truth?”

“I’ve been watching him big time. He goes into a room with who ever. Sometimes he comes out a few minutes later and splits fast, but sometimes he’s in for a while. So yeah, I think so.”

“Interesting. You can find him again?”

“Yeah. I told him I might have a proposition for him. He said he’d hang around.”

“Good. Go get him.”

* * * * *

“Damn,” Godric said as he looked at the outside of the house. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Me and some other guys and my boss I guess you’d call him.”

“Sweet.” Godric waited for Manny to open the door and then followed him into an entry foyer. From there, Manny led him up a flight of stairs to the living room. It was modern and bright, a window taking up the entire far wall with sliding doors leading to a terrace.

A man sat watching them. He looked Godric over carefully before standing, coming over to offer his hand. “I am Cerdic Wyndham,” he said by way of introduction.

“Rick Ward,” Godric replied, hesitantly shaking Cerdic hand. It took everything within his power not to react to his first view of the man he’d been searching for for the last thirteen centuries.

Cerdic nodded, eyeing the young man thoughtfully. “Tell me a bit about yourself, Rick,” he said, going back to sofa, indicating Godric should take a seat in the chair opposite it. “Manny, you may stay as well,” he said when the boy seemed about to leave the room.

“There’s not much to tell, sir,” Godric replied. “I ran away when I was thirteen, learned how to survive on the streets.” He shrugged, being careful not to meet Cerdic’s eyes.

“Using your body from what Manny has said,” Cerdic commented.

Again Godric shrugged. “When you need money—“

“I understand. How old are you, Rick?”

“Almost seventeen, sir.”

“Why did you run away?”