The morning coffee was bitter. Bill had run out of sugar, and it was foul. He tossed it in disgust. At least the toast was good. He followed his usual routine of breakfast, a shave, and to get dressed before he even opened a window. He'd put on the radio to listen to any news. Nothing new. More Italians arrested for smuggling, Indians beaten in home invasions and prohibition advertised like the latest draft notice.
It was an odd thing to still hear of draft notice even after the war was over. The conflict in Europe was something nobody spoke of outside of the Allies winning. Allies consisted of the British, French, Danish, Dutch, Swedish, Irish, Scottish and Switzerland. From Bill's knowledge other nations were either neutral, or aligned with the axis or in a federation. Far as he was concerned he wanted to draft, fight, survive, and get back home to see his mother's birthday. He was deployed for the entire duration of six years. His mother passed away within two years of his deployment.
He'd been given his father's knife before deployment. When the handle broke Bill turned it into a push knife. To his benefit he'd been able to stab his way out of close encounters by punching with the blade first. It proved very useful in life threateningly close encounters. His time working in the fishyards before the draft proved well. The fish were tough to gill and behead. He'd need to punch a knife into its gills, then chop its head off with a cleaver. The punch into human throats, ribs, and guts was so much softer. He'd be in shock from his first kill. Since then he'd been so desensitised to it he was complacent from the resistance from the fish gills and head.
He'd finished his toast. Dressed appropriately to meet Mr Kipper. Mr Kipper was a well presented man that owned half the slums unofficially. Everyone went to him for extra labour hands, bouncers, thugs. Name it he'd have it. He did not however negotiate on price. That's where Bill came in. Like the rat known as Four Fingers, Bill's job was to fix Mr Kipper's external issues to remove his involvement.
Bill left his allotted room. He locked it and left the key with the matron of the hotel. She was a motherly type of woman that liked his ethics, and affirmative outlook. The walk there between the factories and moving vehicles manned by overtired drivers was chaotic yet organised in a way that everyone abused each other but gave courtesy to avoid conflict. Because in the crowded and unregulated factory district conflict created a traffic jam with halted production. Which would get those fighting killed by those being held up. To which nobody would be dobbed in.
Reaching Mr Kipper's house he knocked nine times. A signal Mr Kipper requested personally out of safety. His schizophrenia made him quite paranoid. He hid it well. A big man answered the door, his son Jeremiah Kipper. Bill never got over the seven foot twenty year old.
"Jeramiah. Is your father awake?"
Jeremiah had a chip on his shoulder, but he was good lad. He acted like he was the boss outside of the presence of his father. That changed immediately when senior Kipper was in earshot and in sight.
"He'll be down in five minutes. Come in" he steps aside for Bill. The walking door was broad too. Bill and Jeremiah knew it wouldn't stop a bullet or a well placed knife strike.
He makes Bill a coffee out of courtesy. "Thank you Jeremiah. You've never made a bad coffee yet."
Senior Kipper walks down the stairs in half a suit, half indoor attire. "You couldn't have shown up last night?"
Bill knows he's being rhetorical. "I bring good news. A loud person lost his four fingers. Insulted the foreman last I heard."
Senior knows Bill is talking about the rat four fingers. He's given a cup of tea from his son. "Im sure the foreman won't miss a loud man on the production line. Compensation?"
He's referring to payment. Bill points out four fingers from his hand waving them slowly. "Not yet paid."
Senior looks to Jeremiah. "Junior, get me that thick package from the back room."
Jeremiah leaves the room. Senior looks tired. The tea wasn't doing him any good. Bill gives him his coffee. "You need it more than I do"
He takes the coffee begrudgingly. "Don't start giving your boots away. I got a....human resources issue. In Cantonese"
Bill understands. "Figured that nugget would show up. How many complaints and any pursuits?"
Senior sniffs, and sips what is now his coffee. "Three of both. Quite emotional."
Bill knows the groundsman Thomas in the main yard in the fish yards will offer more details. It's not senior's job to know details on problems but solutions. If he did it would require executive decision. "I'll chat up Tommy. He could use the bad jokes."
Jeremiah comes back with package. It's thick, with a paper filling. Hands it to Bill with a nod, different to how he acted earlier. Bill finds this funny which annoys Jeremiah. Bill leaves Mr Kipper's house without the expected seven foot escort.