In the end, Mama had to give in and allow Ivan to escort her around the city. She had places to be, and it wasn’t as though she could drive herself. She was capable of it, certainly… but it would have looked odd to her constituency, and made it difficult to conduct business, besides.
Every part of the van’s engine had been rebuilt and replaced multiple times over the decades it had been in service, and it ran almost as silently as the best electric motor.
“We’ll pick up the ministers first and get the morning report before we touch next week’s business,” Mama said. “And then we’ll make the rounds of the banks. I like to get that out of the way in the morning, after the straight world’s gone to work and before they start taking their lunch breaks. The dead of the afternoon’s good for that, too, but it is Friday and the days are getting shorter, so…”
“I do have a copy of your itinerary, Mama,” her driver said, reaching up and tapping the side of his head.
“I’m accustomed to talking to my driver when there’s nothing else to do,” Mama said, a little shortly. “So, unless you want to tell me about the last good book you read or the funny dream you had last night or whatever’s new with you…?”
“You were saying, about the banks?” Ivan prompted.
“I was saying I like to get that done early on Friday, so everybody who needs money’s got enough to see them through the weekend, and… hey!” Mama cried out in sudden agitation, turning her head around. “Hey, there’s kids back there spraying our walls!”
“It has already been reported,” Ivan said, smiling a thin, cold smile.
“What the hell do they want to paint those big black solid squares for?” Mama asked. “I mean, what kind of a tag is that?”
“Who can understand these children today, with their mp3 players and their video games?” he responded.
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Still haven’t figured Mama out. Is she talking about approving loans at the bank to allow people to have money, or giving time for people to get loans after she takes money. Good writing and another great chapter.
I imagined that she was talking about getting money from the banks (in whatever roundabout or shady methods she chooses) so the tribe has money for the weekend, but of course, I am probably entirely wrong, because there’s one thing I can say about Ms. Erin’s writing: I find it almost completely unpredictable.
“What the hell do they want to paint those big black solid squares for?” Mama asked. “I mean, what kind of a tag is that?”
Match point, Ivan
Woo! Go Ivan!