Say a Prayer Ch. 03

The referee rang his bell, which alerted the fighters that they needed to stop, and they did very obediently. They went to opposite sides of the cage and sat down on stools that employees had quietly left for them. They sipped at water and wiped their faces with plain cloths. The referee called out some numbers that were assigned to each fighter. Was there a point system? Delma couldn't figure any of it out.

Over and over, there were several rounds, until the referee declared that Mr. Roiters was the winner. The audience was very pleased. Some women threw handkerchiefs at Mr. Roiters as he exited the cage. Delma clapped her hands politely. The family to her left was more enthusiastic.

With a polite tone, Delma gave the family her goodbyes. Then she pushed her table away so she could get up and make a serene exit.

However, as she left the box, a male employee stopped her and politely said, "Excuse me, are you Miss Delma Abnelon, a Child of Hope?"

She nodded.

"Ah, Mr. Roiters had said that if he won this match, then you should meet him at his apartment, if you wouldn't mind."

Delma blinked at the man. "I'd imagine he's seeking out a doctor right now. He shouldn't have time for me."

"Yes, Miss, he will be treated, but he will go home once he's finished, and he'd like for you to be waiting for him."

"That's quite bold," Delma said, her eyebrows sinking. "I have no business at his apartment."

The employee bowed and said, "Mr. Roiters said that if you refuse, then you might enjoy an outing with him tonight at The Little Tentacle. Would you be willing to stay in one of the waiting rooms here until you can be collected?"

Delma sighed to herself. She rose one foot and tapped the floor with the toe of her boot. "Well ... I suppose that would be acceptable."

She was led through the moving crowd, down a hallway, and into a small room that had a few couches and chairs, a low table bearing magazines, and many fresh flowers in vases. It smelled like a nice garden.

For what felt like a very, very long time, Delma waited in this room. At first, she looked through the magazines. Then she started pacing around the room. Eventually, she actually dozed on a couch for a few minutes. When she woke up, she noticed a mirror on a wall and used it to check on her appearance.

An employee arrived after some time. He lit a few lamps. Then he left. It was rather disappointing.

Finally, a new employee went into the room and asked Delma to follow him to a carriage outside. The carriage turned out to be one of the nicer rented ones. The inside was fairly plush.

She was taken to The Little Tentacle. It was a very fashionable place to eat. The moment she stepped inside the place, her senses were overwhelmed. Men smoked and read newspapers. Mothers kept their impatient children in line. Young couples chatted and giggled. Several meals were being carried around by waiters and waitresses. Cutlery and drinking glasses tinkled and rang all around.

Delma's eyes scanned the ceiling. Dark wooden beams had hanging little chandeliers attached to them, putting deluxe glows in the air. She then gave a soft smile as she admired the rich wooden paneling on the walls. She felt as though she was in a barrel of expensive wine.

The restaurant's hostess approached her with a very welcoming tone. "Are you Miss Abnelon?" At Delma's nod, the hostess said, "It's wonderful to have you. Mr. Roiters has alerted us to expect you." She waved her hand out in a wide circle. "Please, come this way."

The hostess led Delma to a rather intimate looking table in a corner of the building. It was hiding behind a few wall dividers made of paper and strips of wood. There were also a few tall vases nearby with lovely geometric designs painted onto them with shimmery bronze paint.

Clearly bruised, wearing a few bandages, and possibly high on painkilling drugs, Mr. Roiters was seated at the table. He grinned at Delma and stood up. Polite greetings were given. Then Mr. Roiters walked over to the chair across from him and pulled it aside. He seemed completely unconcerned with how one of his fingers was in a splint.

Delma took her place before the table. She sat down as the chair was pushed in place. She took in a nervous breath as the hostess left them alone, and she watched Mr. Roiters return to his seat.

She figured out, then, why his hair was so wavy. He had it braided often.

"I'm pleased to have you," he said with a lazy, rolling voice. His eyelids were lowered as if he was drowsy, but he was cheerful. "Go on and pick something from the menu, whatever you like. I'm paying for it all."

Delma's fingers slid a menu close to herself. Someone had left it for her, it seemed, so she wouldn't have to share with Mr. Roiters. "I'll try to find something with a low price. I'd hate to inconvenience my kind host."

He actually slapped the tabletop, making her jolt in her seat. "Order whatever you like, I said!"

She made a little, delicate laugh, trying to appease him. "I'd love to have the fried chicken."

Mr. Roiter's half-purple face turned nearly ... wicked. Something in his lips, something in his eyebrows, something ... something about him looked dangerous to her. Yet ... for some reason, Delma admired his expression. He was fierce and mischievous all at once.

"That sounds interesting," he said, "I'll have that too. What sides are you interested in?"

"Oh, I don't know." She randomly chose whatever her eyes happened to touch. "The boiled potato cubes?"

With an insistent nod, as if he was trying to prove something, Mr. Roiters said, "Ah, what sort of wine do you want?"

"I don't have any preference."

"Red's a classic. What do you think of that?"

Delma blushed at how he said that. What do you think of that? He had purred that out as if her opinion would have aroused him. He was such an odd man.

"That's suitable," she said to him, putting her menu aside.

They ordered their food, and as they waited on the meals to be cooked and delivered they chatted about the most innocent things. Bookstores, candies, music, and even flowers. His overall tone was still very confusing. He sounded quietly excited, like slowly burning charcoal.

When the food arrived, they sank their forks and knives into the crunchy, steamy chicken. Delma loved the spicy aroma that kindly refreshed her lungs. A tenderness shone in her eyes as she wondered if Mr. Kuno knew how to prepare a similar meal.

"Do you get to eat this sort of food often?" Mr. Roiters asked.

After a short sip of wine, she told him, "My diet is normally plain, although one person has been coming to the Lotus Shell for prayer, and he often brings food as gifts."

Mr. Roiters laughed quickly and forcefully. "So pathetic! He's either too stupid or too poor to give you something as decent as incense or pens." He gulped own far more wine than Delma had expected. Then he told a server to refill his glass. After that, he said to Delma, "Well, don't you ever insult the poor fool. Take all of his gifts. It's your duty as a priestess. Reputation is everything, absolutely everything."

The rest of the meal was pleasant. More innocent topics were passed back and forth. When they were finished, Delma said that she needed to go home.

The man's voice turned regretful and needy. He even pouted his lower lip a wee bit. "Ohhh, are you certain? I've enjoyed speaking with you, and I'd love to continue."

Delma kicked and pushed her seat away, stood up, and primly arranged her fingers at her abdomen. "Please Sir, I have several appointments tomorrow. I must go."

He clapped his thigh and lowered his head with a melodramatic sigh. "Fine, it's fine, but take my card, alright?" He fingered one of his coat's pockets, and he pulled out a small, white card. Delma stepped to him, and she picked the paper up. It was his calling card; his home address was printed on it.

"I'm afraid that I didn't think to bring my own card," she confessed to him.

He waved his hand at her concerns as if he was trying to brush dirt away. "That doesn't matter, does it? You could always bring it next time."

Delma sighed. He really wanted a next time, didn't he?

***

There was an intense, impatient sort of rapping on Esther's office door on this morning. It was startling, but she calmed herself and called out, "What is it?! Come in!!"

A young detective entered, and he burst out to her, "Agent Urvine, there's been a new development in the Masen case! Rotenma Dufan's body was found hanging in her bedroom!"

Esther gaped at him for a moment, her fingers curling and straightening over and over. When her brain was finally able to function, she said, "She's dead? What?"

At least this wasn't boring anymore.

***