"Oh my, you children don't have to keep coming here for me." Greeting customers like that was surely a bad business strategy, but I wouldn't expect good ideas from a person barely keeping her arcade afloat in the first place.
Mrs. Benson, seated at the counter with a soft smile, looked at Lia and me quite warmly. Sebastian and Eric seemed to have quite a wide set of connections, as a couple of groups from other schools had made their way here, attracted by how cheap things were, like some kind of secret spot or a rare location.
"We enjoy coming here, in fact," said Lia. "And it's nice to see you too, Mrs. Benson."
"Oh dear…" Mrs. Benson laughed. "Please make yourselves at home. You kids can treat this place like your own."
Lia nodded, and the two of us moved to play some games in the arcade for a bit. The other customers here were making the place look a little more lively. That was always for the best.
"Ah," Lia turned to me with a sly smile. "Are you good with games?"
"I am not sure."
"Haha, let's try playing the crane game then."
I nodded and the two of us stopped in front of the crane machine. It was laden with figurines and models from fairly old shows, about 7-8 years old. They had also gathered a bit of dust.
The two of us stepped up to the crane game. I put in a coin and grabbed the handles first. Lia watched and pointed at one figure, a doll of a cartoon character popular at that time.
"Get this one, it is nostalgic."
I nodded and moved the machine. As the claws made their way around, I spoke.
"Ask Mrs. Benson about her son—any friends or contacts she might have."
Lia nodded, coming a step closer.
"I'll also try to figure out if he has gone to another country. It would be clearer if I knew what exactly he did for his studies."
Was she making an inference based on his job prospects? That was a little rude, perhaps. When I pressed the button, the claw machine sank down, completely missed its mark, slipped past the doll before it could grab it, and went back up.
"Hm."
"My turn?"
"Sure."
Lia and I spent a few more minutes playing the machine, trying to get the dolls out. Turn after turn, both of us failing. Of course, this was only our second priority. After enough time had passed, I turned to her again.
"I am going out for a smoke. I think now would be a good time to ask her."
Lia looked at me and smiled.
"You're really a smoker?"
I reached into my pockets and flashed the box of Marlboro that I carried around. It shouldn't be that surprising. That was enough to get her to believe me, as Lia and I headed to the storefront—she to the old lady and I outside.
***
"Tch. This time that old lady better sign on this thing."
Three people wearing suits over their vividly patterned shirts walked through the narrow streets. Miles, the leader of the ragtag group of three, frustratedly cracked his knuckles as he harrumphed complaints with every step.
"But brother," said Akash, one of the three. "We also have to make sure that video doesn't go anywhere."
"Tsk, damn it. I was trying not to think of it!" Miles cursed. "Akash you bastard, don't pile problems on my head! The boss is already going to chew me up because of this—"
"—Hey Miles."
Miles turned toward the one who hadn't said anything this entire time: Finley, the third of their ragtag team. Finley pointed ahead, into the alleyway.
There, near the shop that they were targeting and heading toward yet again today, was a familiar face.
A boy, almost indistinguishable in a crowd if not for the long bangs that fell on his forehead and sides.
"That's him, right? That's the brat who took the video."
Miles smirked.
"Yeah, it was him and a girl."
"No shit bro…" Akash said. "Should we…?"
"What do you mean…" Miles smirked.
"Of course we should."
The three of them stepped ahead. Even if it was troublesome, Miles wanted to let out some steam. They were going to rough him up, though honestly, he would have been fine seeing the kid just tremble and tear up a little, too. That would satisfy him; no need to throw punches.
Miles cackled and walked ahead. He was about to raise his hand and call out to the kid when the kid himself turned their way. A cigarette was in his hands.
He stopped for a second.
"Huh?"
Right about now should have been when the kid would turn away and run. But instead, he smiled. He smiled, just a little, but there was no mistaking the turning up of his lips.
The kid held the cigarette in his mouth, pulled his hair back, reached into his pocket, and grabbed a hair tie as he slowly walked toward them.
"Huh…?" Miles mumbled again, louder this time. "Why is this kid…"
Then, he chuckled.
"Oh, so he wants a beating. Can't say no to that."
A beating was wanted.
A beating would be served.