Glass 1: Cabernet Sauvignon

In the port city of Marseille, a celebration was being held to welcome the incumbent President of the National Assembly, Émile Marcon. The charismatic leader, who championed himself a man of the people, was making his rounds to meet with the country’s people as a way of cementing himself as a dependable leader that the common man can count on. He arrived to the city hall in a black car that was flanked on all sides by police cars. Officers were also stationed to watch over barriers that were placed to contain the public for the safety of all attending.

The car carrying the official stopped before the staircase leading to the city hall and an officer quickly hurried over to open the car’s door. The official stepped out to a wild chorus of cheers from the public. He basked in their praise with a smile and a wave. Immediately walking down the steps of the city hall to meet him was the mayor of Marseille.

Six thousand feet away atop a building overlooking the entire scene were two figures clad in black clothing. The first of the pair was a wiry man with a bushy goatee and olive skin, small wrinkles on his neck and cheeks, and curly hair shaped like honeycombs; in the corner of his lips was a cheap cigarette on the verge of running out. The second of the pair was a glasses-wearing fair-skinned man with a buzz cut and a large mole underneath his left eye; his most noticeable feature was his slightly overweight figure.

“Deux, is the target in sight?” asked the wiry man after taking a hit of his cigarette.

Deux, who had a pair of high-spec binoculars glued to his eyes, replied back with, “The target is almost in position. Tell Un to get in position.”

“Why don’t you do it?” groaned the wiry man.

Deux turned to his partner with a grim look. “Do it now, Trois, or I’ll be throwing every pack you’ll ever buy for the next three years in the Rhone.”

Trois shuddered at the thought and brought out his walkie-talkie. “Un, get ready. The target is almost in position.”

In the building right next to the city hall, the man known as Un confirmed his partner’s words through the walkie-talkie. Un was a tall man with a cleanly trimmed beard and a greasy pompadour, a small scar on his left cheek, and a pierced right ear. He tucked the walkie-talkie away and walked deeper into the room. “Did you hear that?” he asked a hidden figure with their back against the wall and their knees brought in close to their body. “Once Trois gives us the signal, it will be your time to shine,” said Un.

“Un, the target is in position!” notified Trois.

“You heard him,” Un told the figure. “Now, be a good killer and earn your keep, Arachne.”

The figure stood up and stepped into the light. They tilted their head down as if to express their obedience and walked towards the window. In the blink of an eye, they disappeared from the room.

A jarring scream, followed by others, shook the entire crowd below. Émile Marcon, the newly elected President of the National Assembly, fell to the floor without warning. His body, ever-growing cold, was surrounded in a pool of blood that spilled from a very clean slice on his throat. Police scrambled forward to take care of the situation while a few officers quickly escorted the mayor back inside the building. It all happened so fast that no one could call themself a credible witness of the incident.

Back in the building, the figure known as Arachne appeared before Un. Un, with a smile as demonic as they come, wiped off a red streak on Arachne’s face. “Another successful mission,” he said with a sneer. “Let’s go before we get caught in the chaos.”

"Hey, manager, do you have any dragée?”

“Ah, I’m sorry, but I’m out of those for today,” apologized the manager. “But if you want, I just had a shipment of jelly beans come in.”

“Eh? Who likes jelly beans?” The boy and his friends made a face.

“Then how about gummy bears?” offered the manager with a patient smile.

“Okay, we’ll take those instead!” said the boy. The boy and his friends bought the candies and left the shop with a wave and farewell.

“Well then, it’s time to close up for the day,” said the manager, stretching out his back. After cleaning up the shop and closing the lights, he flipped the sign to “Closed” and locked the door. Although he may appear to be a run-of-the-mill candy shop owner, especially when dressed in his uniform of khaki slacks, loafers, and a striped long-sleeved collared shirt, this was just the side of him that he outwardly presents to the public.

When off-hours, the manager makes his way back home to his condominium in a section of the city known simply as District Royale. In that district, known for being a breeding ground of luxury and reeking of money, there was a massive condo hotel called “Bijou Noir”. It was there the manager lived—Room 340.

“Ah, Monsieur Cab, welcome back,” greeted the concierge.

“Good work as always, Isaac,” greeted back Cab with a smile. The concierge couldn’t help but swoon at the manager’s handsome smile.

Cab was a handsome man in his late 20s—or maybe early 30s?—with a head of silken wavy hair the color of chocolate chestnut, piercing eyes that seemed to shift between bright sea green and moonlight blue depending on the lighting, and a build that was too firm to be called skinny but too thin to qualify as muscular. He carried about him a cocktail aura of elegance, charm, and a hint of mystery. Heads turn his way regardless of gender, age, or sexual inclination. Some say they get drawn in by his kind nature; others would point to his impeccable style; though a few have even admitted that it was this feeling of the unknown that seemed to ooze out of him that piqued their interest.

No one would’ve ever expected this man who would’ve undoubtedly shone as a model or actor to choose to work as a candy shop owner. But reality always contradicts human common sense, especially those based solely on assumptions drawn from personal opinions and mechanized cultural ideals. Put simply, he is indeed a candy shop owner and thoroughly enjoys his career despite what others might think. So what is this other side of him that he hides from the public then?

Just as much as he was a man of simple pleasures when it came to career aspirations, he was also a man of luxury and high culture. Food, wine, art, music, literature, fashion, philosophy, history, anthropology—his tastes were as varied as there were stars in the sky. As such, his lifestyle, from his living condition to his taste in interior design to his refined dietary palate, was no different from a cultivated noble's. This, which contradicts his otherwise common-man image that he projects outward, is what he desires to keep separate and hidden from others.

Cab took the elevator and exited on the third floor. He arrived at his door and took out his key when he noticed something in the corner of his eye. Clad in a dirty blue towel was a young dirty kid nodding off against the wall. Cab approached the child and could hear them breathing. With a light shake, he softly awakened the child. The child’s eyes slowly opened and Cab was taken aback by what he saw, though he hid it pretty well without even the slightest visible reaction on his face. The child’s eyes had no life to them—they were vacuous like voids of nothingness. Cab had a few ideas of what could be the reason behind them, but immediately brushed them off.

“Hey, gosse, are you alright?” Cab asked the kid. The kid didn’t respond back vocally nor physically. “What are you doing out here anyway?” Cab tried again. Again, no response. Before attempting a third time, one of the most obvious of life’s sounds told Cab what he needed to know right then and there. He turned back to his door and opened it. Before walking inside, he turned to the kid and invited them in. At first, the kid didn’t budge an inch. But when the sound played for a second round, the kid reluctantly got up. They shuffled their feet as they made their way through the door. ‘Is this going to be more trouble than it’s worth?’ Cab asked himself with a sigh.

Cab closed the door behind him and switched on the lights. “You can throw your towel on the couch if you want. Take a seat anywhere you feel comfortable,” he told the kid carefreely. The kid made their way to a small corner in the room and slowly sat down with their back against the wall. Cab watched the whole thing with a detached look in his eyes. Once the kid settled down, he turned his attention back to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of iced tea. Cab brought it over to the kid and handed it to them. The kid simply looked up at Cab with the same vacant expression before accepting the drink. Cab returned back to the kitchen to prepare dinner. While he cooked, he kept a close eye on the child and saw them holding onto the unopened drink with their eyes planted on the floor.

Cab finished cooking and set up the table for two. “Dinner’s ready, gosse,” he called to the kid. When the kid didn’t move away from their spot, Cab walked over and knelt down in front of them. “If you’re hungry, then you should eat. Can you at least do that much thinking for yourself?” he admonished the kid. The kid slowly stood up and followed Cab back to the table. Cab took his seat at the same the kid took theirs. “I hope you’re not a picky eater,” he said with a self-satisfied smile, “Tonight’s dinner is ratatouille! Now, eat up! Oh, wait, I almost forgot!” Cab got up and went back into the kitchen before returning with a wine glass in one hand and a bottle in another. He opened the bottle and poured a glass for himself. He brought the glass to his lips and took a waft. “Nothing completes a perfect day like a wonderful glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.”

Dinner commenced and Cab elegantly dug into his wonderfully prepared dinner dish. On the other hand, the kid didn’t touch their food at all—in fact, they didn’t even make an effort to grab their fork. Cab took a sip of wine. Before he could even place the glass back down, the doorbell to his condo rang.

“When I get back, I better see at least a quarter of the plate gone,” Cab told the kid as he got up to go answer the door. He took a peek through the peephole and saw two men dressed in police uniforms outside. Cab cautiously opened the door. “Yes? May I help you officers?” he asked with a disarming smile.

“We were following a suspect when we noticed them entering this building,” said one of the officers. Of the two, this officer was short and somewhat overweight and wore a pair of glasses that appeared to be a little too big for his face. “We are checking every room in this building in hopes of finding the suspect.”

“Oh, really? Well, what crime did this suspect of yours commit?” asked Cab.

“Murder,” answered the officer a little too easily.

“Oi, who’s the kid?” asked the other officer. Unlike his partner, this officer was tall and skinny with curly hair and wrinkles that made him look older than he really was. His voice was also quite throaty—a smoker, perhaps?

Cab glanced back at the kid. “Oh, that’s the neighbor’s. They have an important meeting to attend to today so I’m just babysitting for them,” he lied with a smile.

The skinny officer stepped inside with no regard to established rules of etiquette and personal space. Cab grabbed the officer on the shoulder from behind and said in a semi-threatening voice, “Excuse me, I understand that you do not require a warrant to enter my home to search for a criminal, but the least you could do is ask.”

The kid glanced behind them to see what was going on and their eyes met with those of the skinny officer. “Deux!” the officer yelled back to his partner. The kid immediately rose up from their seat and staggered away backwards, shaking in fear. This was the very first time that Cab saw the kid sport some kind of expression on their face.

Deux brought out a gun and shot at Cab. Cab had already took notice of the weapon being drawn and narrowly escaped from the bullet’s path with a tilt of his face. The skinny officer took the chance to shake Cab off and dashed forward for the kid. Fearing for their life, the kid escaped to the dining room window and opened it. They scurried away just before the officer’s hands caught them. “Merde!” cursed the skinny officer. He turned back around and ran out of the room to chase after the kid.

“You better forget all of this if you want to live,” Deux told Cab before going after his friend.

Now alone by himself, Cab walked over to his glass of wine. He took a sip and heaved out a sigh. “Trouble, huh?” he asked himself out loud.

The kid, after having ran down the fire escape of the building to the ground, continued to push forward despite being near out of breath. They ran down unknown corridors and alleyways without a second thought—the only thing on their mind right now was the desire to escape as far away as they possibly could. With only the moonlight as guidance, they made their way to an empty lot and stopped to take a breath. The lot belonged to what appeared to be an abandoned factory surrounded by a rusted metal fence.

Having believed that they have gotten far enough to take a respite, the kid lowered themself to the ground and brought their knees in. The loud echoes of clapping hands quickly brought that little moment of respite to an end. “Welcome home, Arachne,” came a chillingly familiar voice. The kid looked up to see a well-groomed man with a greasy pompadour appear before her—Un. “When you escaped from us after completing the mission, we were really worried. You had us running wild through the city to find you! How could you do this to us, the people who have taken you in like one of our own?”

By this time, Deux and Trois arrived at the lot and blocked the kid’s only escape route.

“We ran ragged trying to look for you,” said Trois in a snarling voice. He grabbed the kid by the hair and brought their face up to meet his. “We were worried about being found out, about being ratted out by you, you little bâtarde!” Trois threw the kid onto the ground.

“Trois, stop messing around. What if you break Arachne? Then we’ll have to search for another killer,” groaned Deux.

“Then, to make sure another situation like this doesn’t happen again, let’s say we punish Arachne,” announced Un. “Now, what would be a befitting punishment?”

“I say we cut off an ear. Or gouge out an eye,” suggested Trois spitefully.

“Let’s just lock them up in the blanc room when we get back to base. A good week or so in there should cure them,” said Deux.

“How about we call up Quatre and hear what she has to say about this?” proposed Un with a smile.

“This bâtarde doesn’t deserve any consideration,” came Trois with a sniff. He grabbed Arachne by the neck and forcefully pulled their face up. “Let’s just teach them a lesson right here and now,” he said, shifting his body.

“Oi, oi, oi, calm down, Trois,” urged Deux, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“If we want to make sure that nothing like this ever happens again, then we need to break them down,” snapped Trois. He turned to Arachne with a scary look in his eyes that elicited a whimper from the latter. “Breaking down people mentally isn’t the only way to go about it. The body is just as important as the mind when it comes to this.”

“Sounds like fun,” interjected Un with an immoral smile.

“Yes, sounds like fun indeed,” agreed a voice that didn’t belong to any of them. The three men looked around wildly to search for the source of the new voice. Their eyes finally fell on a stylishly dressed figure in a fedora with a pair of red-tinted teashades. The figure walked calmly and freely into the lot. When they came under the moonlight, the men noticed that the suit the figure donned was nothing short of elegant and fashionable—a black silk suit with golden cufflinks and a dark red tie the color of blood and wine.

“Who the hell is this bâtard?? hissed Trois.

“Just another bâtard who wants to join the party,” answered back the figure. He reached into suit to grab something. Deux, flinching at the thought that the figure must be drawing their weapon, quickly drew his gun and shot at the figure. The figure dodged the bullet with a tilt of their head.

‘That move…I’ve seen it before,’ noticed Deux.

That’s right—the figure in the fedora, teashades, and fancy suit was none other than Cab. Cab had quietly chased after the fake officers, hoping to use them to find the kid. Now that he was led to where he needed to be, the only thing left to do now was to take the kid back. He brought his hand back out to reveal a pack of cigarettes. “Can a man not have a smoke before he has to risk his life in a deadly situation like this?” came Cab with a disappointing shake of his head.

“Just who are you and what business do you have with us?” asked Un with a raised eyebrow. It was clear by the tone of his voice that he did not genuinely care at all about receiving any worthwhile answers to those questions.

Cab brought out a lighter from another pocket inside his suit and lighted a cigarette. After taking a puff, he flashed the three men a smile before quickly whipping out a burgundy revolver. He fired a shot and the bullet zipped through the air and struck Trois right on his left ear. The organ was shot clean off, leaving behind only a hole leaking blood.

Trois’ reaction to the shot and pain was delayed by how quick the attack happened and how long it took for his brain to finally process it. He gripped the left side of his face in agony. Cab shot another round and this time took off the two outer fingers on Trois’ left hand. The villain let out another howl of pain. Tears were now streaming down his eyes like a child crying for his mother to heal him.

“This is what you meant by breaking people down physically, right?” asked Cab with a smile.

“What is it that you want?” asked Un, his voice now shaking and tinted with fear.

“Give me back the kid,” Cab told Un with a serious face.

“Why? What is your relationship with the kid?” responded Un. “Could it be that you feel sorry for them? Is that it?” His words then grew more bold as he shook off the fear from within him. “No one in their right mind would come to the aid of a dirty kid like that. Don’t you know? Their history has nothing good in it at all! They are a criminal, a killer! Who would want to have someone like that in their homes? Unless…could it be that you have some sort of ulterior motive for this? Maybe, just maybe, were you thinking that having a broken down kid like this will let you satisfy some kind of dark fantasy of yours?” Un couldn’t take it anymore and let out a howling laugh.

“I guess you don’t value your life at all,” came Cab from behind him. Un stopped mid-laughter, stupefied to hear Cab standing dangerously close to him; the fear that he once thought he had successfully sent away came back in harrowing waves. Cab’s quick movements under the cover of night were silent like the wings of an owl and cleverly unpredictable, which was why Un couldn’t sense him at all until it was too late. The sound of a gunshot echoed through the lot. Un, with his face still contorted in fear, fell flat on the ground.

“Merde!” cursed Trois, charging Cab.

Cab didn’t take another second before unleashing a shot straight at the villain’s head, forming a nice round hole right in the center of his forehead. Two down, one to go. He now turned his attention to Deux.

The portly villain fearfully backed away with his body on the ground, having fell on his behind from fear while watching his own comrades getting executed right before his very eyes. Cab took slow steps forward in an effort to not scare the criminal into running away—otherwise, he couldn’t get the job done. Deux, while scrambling away from his comrades’ killer, suddenly felt an important piece of information float up in his head: ‘A figure in black with eyes redder than a demon’s and who kills with a blood soaked revolver…. A killer who shoots without a thought as if its the only thing natural to him—a living incarnation of Death!…’ “Y-You! It’s you, isn’t it? It’s you, isn’t it?!” he screamed hysterically. “You’re the one every killer fears. The only person in the world who give assassins nightmares. Even devils avoid taking your soul! The names I’ve heard people call you are as endless as the blood you have spilt in your career.” He then began to recount those names: “The Connoisseur of Assassination. The Gourmand of Murder. The Chef of Bloodshed. The Mâitre’d of Carnage.” His eyes then widened to allow for even more fear to enter. “But the name that has followed you the most, the one that everyone who dares to speak it will find themselves face-to-face with death the next day, is the Death Sommelier.”

“I thank you for your kind, last words,” said Cab with a satisfied smile. His face darkened with an expression that was neither of pity nor of contempt and he pulled the trigger one last time….

Cab walked over to Arachne, who had been cowering in fear the entire time in a safe corner in the distance. Their eyes, though still as dead as they were before, were focused solely on the corpses in front of them. Yet, they felt no emotion towards them that would elicit even a tear, despite the long years they spent together. In fact, they felt that a chain had been broken. Cab opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Arachne stood up and walked over to Un’s lifeless body. With one sweeping motion, they placed the towel that they’ve wrapped themselves with the entire time over the villain’s face.

“I guess a chapter has been closed for you, eh?” said Cab with a small laugh. “Were these guys important to you?” he asked Arachne.

“Salauds,” replied Arachne.

Cab was surprised to hear their voice—this was the very time they said something! Just from the voice alone, Cab deduced that Arachne was likely a child of elementary school age—maybe around 9 or 10. Their voice was a little on the heavy side in terms of timbre, but still had an airiness to it one would associate with a well-educated young lady. But the vulgar accent with which they spoke told Cab enough about where they received their “education”.

“Well, it looks like you’re okay. I guess I’ll be taking my leave too,” said Cab. He had made it to the entrance when he felt a tug on his coat. “Hmm?” he uttered, turning his back slightly. Without the towel covering them, Cab could finally get a good look at the kid. They had shoulder length black hair in an uneven bob with split ends, eyes the color of dark jade, and snow-white skin that appeared to glow in the moonlight. Their features were feminine at times and masculine at others. Cab wouldn’t be surprised if the kid revealed themselves as either sex; their voice also gave him that impression. ‘But they called the kid Arachne. If I remember correctly, isn’t Arachne that Grecian woman who got turned into a spider because she angered a goddess?’ he thought quietly to himself. The feature that stood out the most, however, was her extremely thin body. Cab had seen people like these before in photos, but those people were all suffering from malnutrition…. The only clothing they wore, if it can even be called clothing, was a worn oversized T-shirt that was covered in stains and dirt.

The familiar sound of Arachne’s growling stomach caught Cab’s attention. “Shall we go?” he asked Arachne. The kid simply replied back with a nod of their head.

Cab led Arachne back onto the familiar streets of Marseille. He stopped at a brasserie that he would sometimes stop by on days he didn’t feel like cooking. “Ah, Monsieur Cab! Pleasure to see you today!” greeted the manager.

A waiter led Cab and Arachne to a table near the window. Given how late it was in the night, there was no one else in the brasserie except for them two. Actually, the staff were already getting ready to close up for the night, but the manager made an exception for their best regular. “What do you want to drink?” Cab asked Arachne. The kid didn’t answer. “How about some juice?” he offered. Arachne nodded their head. When the waiter came to the table, Cab gave him their order. A few minutes later, the waiter returned with their food.

Arachne’s eyes gained back some color into them, turning the dark jades into sparkling gems. Before them was a plate of food that they had ever only experienced in their dreams. They were completely enslaved by the dish’s aroma, which tickled their brain with pleasure and made them salivate uncontrollably.

“This brasserie has the best steak frites in all of Marseille!” proclaimed Cab proudly. “Try it.”

Arachne looked up to see Cab smiling kindly back at them with his hand outstretched in a welcoming gesture. They swallowed down a gulp and, with shaking hands, grabbed the fork. Cab helped them cut a piece of steak and they placed the piece of meat into their mouth. The meat’s tenderness and savory juices enamored their tongue with a festival of flavors unlike anything they’d ever knew!

“Here you are, Monsieur,” returned the waiter with Cab’s drink.

Cab raised his glass for the waiter to fill it with their best Cabernet Franc. He then brought it to his lips and let the scent waft into his nose. He swirled the drink three times before finally taking a sip. “Delicious! Exquisite! Magnifique!” he cried after swallowing. “Ahhhh,” he sighed with a satisfied smile, “nothing completes a perfect day like a wonderful glass of Cabernet Franc.” A moment of silence. “After dinner, what do you plan on doing?” asked Cab after putting down his drink.

“I don’t know,” Arachne responded back.

Cab tapped his wine glass with his finger when a thought came to him. “If you have nowhere else to go, you can live with me,” he offered carefreely. “I have an unused room in the apartment. Well, it’s actually being to used right now, but it’s originally a bedroom to begin with, so I don’t mind if you want to use it.” Arachne’s eyes sparkled at the gentleman’s offer. Cab smiled and raised his glass and said, “Welcome aboard, Arachne.”

At the mention of that name, Arachne’s eyes turned dark again. Cab noticed the change and asked, “Do you not like that name?” Arachne responded with a shake of their head. “Then, what do you want me to call you?” he asked them. Arachne had no answer. Cab swirled the cup of wine before taking another sip. “Ah, how about Franc?” he suggested, referring to the name of the wine in his glass. It didn’t take much time at all for Arachne to accept it with a nod.

Cab and Franc returned back to the condo after finishing their dinner. “It’s getting late, so let’s shower and go to bed,” suggested Cab once they entered the condo. He showed Franc to the bathroom. The latter entered the room and looked around with a confused expression. “Do you know how to use a shower?” asked Cab with a raised eyebrow. Franc, with their head tilted down, shook their head. ‘How did they live this entire time?’ wondered Cab pitifully. ‘But more importantly, what did those bastards do to this kid?’

Cab rubbed his neck with a sigh. “Strip,” he ordered Franc. Franc turned to him with widened eyes full of fear. “How else are you going to shower?” said Cab with a tilt of his head. Franc understood and held their hands up. Cab grabbed the T-shirt and slid it off of them. Once it was off, he finally got his answer about Franc. But what drew his attention the most were the scars that riddled the kid’s body. He let out another sigh. “Alright, I’ll show you how to do it. But then you’re going to have to shower yourself. Got it?” he told Franc. Franc nodded her head.

After showing Franc how to work the shower, Cab returned back to the living room and slid down onto his couch. Suddenly, his phone rang and he picked it up. “I’m sorry, but the person you called is currently out right now. Please don’t leave a message after the beep. Goodbye.”

“It’s me, Cab,” returned the caller before Cab had a chance to turn off the call.

“Ah, Rémy , how are you?” asked Cab, perking back up.

“Been swamped with work,” sighed Rémy through the phone. “Haven’t you heard? The newly elected President of the National Assembly had been murdered yesterday.”

“Ah, right,” muttered Cab disinterestedly. “I think I remembered hearing something like that on the news this morning. I think his name was Esme Mason—.”

“Émile Marcon,” corrected Rémy with a groan.

“Rémy, you sound more stressed than usual,” noticed Cab.

“We still haven’t found any clues leading to the capture of the perpetrator responsible,” revealed Rémy. “There’s talk that it might’ve been an act by a group of political dissenters.”

“Oh, I see,” said Cab with feigned awe.

“Another theory is it might’ve been done by organized crime members. You see, the President had a lot of enemies from that world because of his policies on crime—hey, wait a minute, why am I telling you all of this? This is confidential information!”

“Well, you were the first one to bring it up,” pointed out Cab. “For you to forget something like this means that you must be really tired.”

“As if being stuck on this case wasn’t bad enough, I’m now also stuck on trying to find the cause behind a shooting near an old factory,” said Rémy half-accusingly. “We got a call to check it out and found three dead bodies. And you wouldn’t believe what we also found at the crime scene.”

“Oh? What did you find? The surprise is killing me,” said Cab in a playful tone.

“Burgundy colored bullets,” revealed Rémy gravely. He let out a heavy sigh on his end. “Cab, what did you do this time? I thought you said you quit the game.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” answered Cab firmly.

“What kind of circumstances lets you kill three men?!” shouted Rémy angrily. After another heavy sigh, he lowered his tone when speaking again. “You’re lucky that the guys you shot were wanted criminals.”

“You’re welcome!” offered Cab happily.

“That wasn’t said out of gratitude,” said Rémy through gritted teeth.

“So, who were they?” asked Cab a bit more seriously.

“Have you heard of the Cult of Numbers? They’re a group of criminals and assassins who sell their work to the highest bidder. Everyone of their members go by codenames derived from numbers.”

“Number codenames? Sounds like something out of a movie,” laughed Cab.

“They have no name but the one given to them by the cult upon initiation. From what we learned from the few members we caught, they discard their real name upon initiation. This makes it harder for us to identify. Especially since they also burn off all of their fingerprints and cut off all contact with those they know before becoming a full-fledged member.” As Rémy explained all of this, his tone became more and more filled with anger.

‘If they all go by numbers, then why does she have that name instead? Is she the only one with that kind of name?’ wondered Cab.

“Well, it’s getting late now,” said Rémy. “I just wanted to call to hear from you your reasoning for giving me more work.”

“I’ll treat you to a nice glass of Cabernet sometime,” offered Cab apologetically.

“I’ll take you up on that,” accepted Rémy with a lighter tone. “I’ll try to ask my boss to disregard the evidence we found at the scene.”

“I’m counting on you,” said Cab.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” responded Rémy. “Just make sure that you don’t do that again. This is the last time I’m doing something like this for you.” He hung up the phone.

Franc was done with the shower by now and had appeared in the hallway naked and wet with the towel on her head. Cab got up from the couch and walked over to dry her hair. As he did so, she looked up at him with questioning eyes. “Just a friend,” Cab told her, referring to his phone call. She turned her head back and her expression softened. When they were done, Cab gave Franc a pair of shorts and a T-shirt for her to wear to sleep. She put them on and the shorts slipped down to her knees, but the T-shirt was big enough to cover all the way to her mid-thigh. Cab decided that the shorts weren’t a good fit and just let her use the shirt for the night. “We’ll go shopping for clothes tomorrow,” he told her with a smile.

Cab led Franc to the spare bedroom and opened it. There was a bed inside with a dresser next to it. On the other side of the room were shelves stacked with wine bottles. “I use this as a guest room whenever there’s people over. Otherwise, it’s my wine closet,” he told her. He rubbed his neck and said, “Well, if you want to stay here for a while, you can do what you like with the room. If you do, I’ll move these bottles out. But for now, let’s just sleep.”

Franc walked over to the bed and touched it. She had never felt anything so soft before. She glanced over at Cab and he gestured for her to get in. Once inside, she felt a wave of comforting warmth enveloping her body. She couldn’t believe that something like this exists in the world! And the pillow that she rested her head on reminded her of a nostalgic feeling of comfort that had been buried deep within the crevices of her mind until now.

Satisfied with the fact that she liked it, Cab said, “Time to go to sleep,” and switched off the light.

As he turned around to retire to his room, he was stopped by the following words uttered by Franc: “Thank you.”

Cab responded back with a wave of his hand and closed the door behind him. He walked back into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. “Nothing completes a perfect day like a wonderful glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.”