It used to be a church, a small church that had been redone and revamped into a dinner hall. Now it was crowded with kids everywhere and a large seven-feet-wide table, plates everywhere as chairs sat stacked on top of each other off to the side. He walked to the back, away from everyone. Inside was a makeshift kitchen with pots and pans laid around, scattered and full. Spice hit his nose — enough to make the average person cry.
"Hey Florian, you look awful. Did Mama give you a beating?" said a man of small stature with a bubbly voice.
"Big bro got beat 'cause he was taking too long," laughed a kid as he sneaked out of the room. Another older kid, no more than 17, grabbed him by the arm.
"And where you going? Give back what you took," said the kid.
"I didn't take nothing," he hissed back.
"Please JJ, don't steal. It's a bad thing," said a young voice — a girl stirring a large pot that smelled of sweets and cooked vegetables.
"Sister does it," he replied.
Walking up, Florian squatted down to his level, making eye contact before glancing up at the older kid, who let go of the boy's wrist. Putting his hand through the young kid's jacket, Florian found a bag full of candy. Looking at the bag, then the kid, he ripped it out of his hands.
"After dinner we can go and get sweets, but stealing is not okay," Florian said, voice calm and sweet.
"Okay," the kid said, lowering his head.
"Never look down. You make a mistake, you look up and face it, okay?" Florian said.
"Okay, yes," he replied, looking into Florian's eyes.
"Good. Now go help set the tables and wash your hands," Florian said as the kid ran off.
Minutes went by as he worked in the kitchen — cleaning pots and dishes, cutting meat and vegetables, mopping the floor when someone spilled broth. After an hour, he was bringing out large plates to the hall. Several tables were set up, kids of similar age sitting together, each small children's table having one older kid watching over them.
Everyone was stuffing their faces. Florian ate quickly, cleaned his plate, then headed up to his room. The church and its separate buildings were all connected into one.
Putting on his coat and packing food into a container, he grabbed a bottle of water and began to head out.
"And where are you going? Finishing dinner that quickly — you hate us?" a young woman asked, standing in the doorway.
"Got to find my evil clone. She missed dinner and Mother is gonna be up my a—" He stopped himself before he cursed, glancing back to see a tall dark woman in an outfit similar to Mother's.
"Is she okay? Where is she?" she asked.
"No clue, but maybe the people at work will know," Florian said.
"Hmm, okay. Be careful. I heard the mob are outside searching for someone or something," she said.
"Don't worry, I won't be going anywhere dangerous. We live in the outskirts of everything and everyone, so nothing to worry about," Florian replied, a smile on his face.
"Florian, find your sister and tell her Mother is going to beat her when she comes back late again," she said.
"Of course, Steph," he said, passing by her and catching a glimpse of her eyes, blue as the daytime sky.
The city was quiet — too quiet for anyone's liking. The little home he had was only about a year away from collapsing under its own weight. Looking far into the distance, he saw the large buildings looming on the horizon.
Hopping onto his bike — black with red lines, an old model — he took off. Where others had smart bikes that connected to their helmets, his was still gas-powered and regular. That's how he liked it.
Every hundred feet stood a large building. After thirty minutes of driving, he reached a small shop called Miss Min Noodle House. Inside, people were crowded wall to wall. He caught the cashier's eye and waved.
Going into the back, the smell from the kitchen stirred his stomach.
"Let me have a chicken wing," he said to an old man.
"No, you always late. Go! And your sister never come," said the old man.
"What do you mean she wasn't here?" Florian questioned, worry setting in.
"Called out the other day, said something came up," the old man replied, his wrinkled face growing angry.
"Who knows where she is?" Florian asked loudly.
"Mark should know. He's the last one to have seen her," said another man.
"Where's Mark?" Florian asked.
"Outside, smoke break," the man said.
Florian grabbed a chicken wing and ran. A pan flew toward him.
"Thank you, sir. I'll pay you back," he called out as he ran outside.
"You never do," the old man said loudly.
A man stood out back, a cigar in his mouth and a bottle of cologne at his feet. He glanced over and held the cigar out toward Florian.
"Nah, I'm good. Trying to quit," Florian said.
"I get that. Damn, it's like we never get shifts together anymore. That old man hates seeing us together," the man said.
"Yeah, but I work with you next Monday," Florian replied.
"That's good. How's your sister?" the man asked.
"That's what I came to ask you," said Florian.
"Last I saw her, she said she had this gig in the city that was gonna pay big. All she had to do was keep a lookout," the man said.
"You know where that was?" Florian asked.
"No, but anything involving the city — you know who to ask," the man said.
"Yeah, I do. Damn, you didn't hear anything else?"
"Nah. Just said it was in the city with high-level people," the man replied.
"This is gonna be a long day," Florian said.