Chapter 41: Cry Out

After gnawing off the last shred of meat from the final bone, Joni patted his belly satisfied—he’d made ten bucks today again.

He was content with his current life; after paying two quarters’ fees last time, he wouldn’t have to spend another cent on security for the next six months.

It hurt at first, but as John said, the money wasn’t gone—it was just paid early.

He glanced at the apprentice wiping the table in the corner, snorted, and walked toward the back room.

He was in a good mood tonight—or rather, as long as sales were normal, his mood was always good every evening!

Lying on the bed, he placed the money box under the pillow, turned on the radio, and listened to the serialized story broadcast.

This was, in fact, the mainstream entertainment for ordinary lower-class citizens in the Federation; though TVs existed, they were expensive, and lower-class families didn’t have the time to watch them like the wealthy did.

They left early in the morning and returned exhausted, too tired to move, let alone sit and watch TV.

Those who truly loved TV would stop by store windows on their way home and watch a little, just to satisfy themselves.

Many stores placed one or two TVs in their display windows to draw in customers.

Why pay to buy one when you can watch for free? That’d be insane!

The serialized story was narrated by two hosts, one male and one female, taking turns voicing the characters—their skillful delivery and dramatic reading made listeners feel as if they were inside the story!

This program was one of the most listened-to broadcasts.

It aired from 8:30 to 9:25, exactly fifty-five minutes—plenty to satisfy, without disrupting sleep schedules.

Joni had just eaten a meal high in fat, calories, and sugar, and now lay in bed; as he listened, he began to feel drowsy.

Half-asleep, he heard footsteps outside, and cursed loudly, “You fucking bastard, what the hell are you doing wandering around at this hour?”

“If you don’t go to sleep, you won’t eat tomorrow morning!”

The footsteps outside vanished instantly. He rolled over, closed his eyes, and sank into the hazy, half-sleep state.

Outside, the apprentice turned on the night light. Five or six youths, about his age, stood inside the bakery.

All of them were eating bread—some unsold loaves remained in the display case, and these were the more expensive kinds.

They piled ham slices thickly on top of each loaf, biting down with every mouthful rich and savory, devouring without pause.

It was as if… they hadn’t come here for anything else tonight except to eat bread.

The apprentice ate too—he’d worked here seven or eight months but had never tasted a single nut bread, let alone those mouthwatering ham slices.

He ate more desperately than the others—as if he weren’t eating bread and ham, but devouring all his past hatred, loathing, and despair!

When they’d finished eating and the clock struck ten, Joni’s faint snores drifted from the back room.

The apprentice wiped his mouth. “There’s only one big bed. His daughter hasn’t stayed here these past few days, and the money’s right beside him.”

“I know him—he can’t sleep unless he sees his money.”

“I won’t split the cash with you—but I have one condition…”

The leader licked his fingers. “I know—you’ve said it a hundred times. Break both his arms!” He shoved the apprentice toward the display case. “Pack up all the bread and ham.”

“Fucking hell, this bastard makes it taste so good!”

The others agreed—the bread was truly delicious. They’d heard it was the best, but had never dared to try.

The bread here cost slightly more than elsewhere; even a penny per pound extra was enough to make lower-class families choose differently.

The apprentice finished quickly and returned to his room, locked the door, pulled the blanket over himself, and heard only his own pounding heartbeat.

For the first time, darkness didn’t keep him awake—he felt safe, and full of anticipation.

The leader twisted the back room’s doorknob—the door wasn’t locked!

He looked at the others; they all looked equally stunned.

None of them knew that in Joni’s mind, the apprentice was a dog—broken-backed, never daring to resist.

He never feared the apprentice would do anything terrible; one shout of “Get out!” and the boy would slink away from his sight.

Besides, all windows and doors were locked—who’d dare enter his bedroom?

The back room was about twenty square meters, pitch-black, nothing visible.

Someone kicked something—clattering noise—and Joni, just falling asleep, sat bolt upright. “Who’s there?”

He switched on the light.

The room’s atmosphere turned awkward—his hand still rested on the nightstand, five youths stood inside, each holding a club.

But then a chilling dread crawled up his spine. Just as he prepared to react, the leader swung his club—

The club whirled full-force toward his head. Joni raised his arm to block the fatal blow—but his arm cracked with a sickening snap. He screamed, loud and raw.

Trembling, clutching his shattered forearm, he scrambled, pissing and shitting himself, rolling toward the corner where bed met wall, hiding there and screaming for help!

One youth slammed the door shut—the screams were trapped inside.

The youth leapt onto the bed, stomped on Joni’s head, and pressed him into the wall. “Where’s the money?”

The fracture didn’t rob him of resistance—it was his deep-seated terror. He stared at these youths, still young-faced, and his heart trembled.

His mind was blank, but instinct drove him to offer the only plan that might save him.

“In my coat pocket. My arm’s broken. Take anything you want—just don’t hurt me!”

The youth pressed harder, making Joni howl. “If you’re lying, no one will spare you!”

Two youths yanked the coat off the hanger and rummaged through it—found only a few bills. “That’s all.”

The leader’s expression turned sinister. He turned to Joni. “I mean your shop’s takings—hundreds of dollars. Don’t think I know nothing!”

Joni could only curse inwardly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—there isn’t that much!” He still hoped—he knew the money box held more than just today’s earnings.

The leader lifted his foot. As Joni thought he’d fooled them, the youth stood before him, raised both hands with the club, arched his body into a taut bow, and brought it down with all his strength!

Even with his right arm broken, Joni could only raise both arms to shield his vital spots against this attack meant to kill him.

CRACK. With a shriek, he flung his arms out, his fat body jerking violently off the bed, writhing and rolling.

The youths climbed on and swung their clubs wildly—these boys had no sense of restraint; their sticks blurred into afterimages.

Amid continuous screams, Joni couldn’t hold out—he feared he’d be beaten to death if he didn’t speak. “Under the pillow! Stop! Under the pillow!”

He’d never imagined this day would come!

The leader kicked the pillow aside, yanked back the blanket, and revealed a “cookie box.”

Clearly, Joni cherished it—the paint was worn off in many places.

He opened the lid and sucked in a sharp breath.

Joni suddenly burst into loud sobs. He hadn’t cried when they beat him—but now he wept uncontrollably; his grief and helplessness were unbearable.

The others crowded around, each face mirroring the leader’s stunned delight.

The leader didn’t take the money out—he simply closed the lid and shoved the box into his chest.

He gave a signal to his companion, who raised his club and smashed Joni’s arms again.

Joni writhed on the bed, sobbing and begging. Only when the leader saw Joni’s arms and hands twisted beyond recognition did he shout, “Let’s go,” and led them all out immediately.

Perhaps sensing the thugs had truly left, Joni finally screamed for help, “You fucking bastards—get your ass over here—”