The Velvet Box was a sumptuous establishment, and Jhary had a spot there on the stage most evenings, skirted in red velvet curtains. He enjoyed this kind of performance immensely, it was a true test of his musical range. Best of all he had access to a piano. The audiences were generous and he was paid well. He and his companions would not be leaving the Bridge penniless or unprepared.

  Many of the Bridge’s elite patronized the Velvet box, admittance was akin to a society night at the opera or the playhouse. Jhary had one evening recently looked beyond the footlights to sight the Commissioner and his family in the crowd.

  So life moved comfortably forward in the town of the Bridge. When Jhary was not plying his art there were many evenings the trio just sat about their room and conversed. Testing the waters, and getting to know one another further. It was one such lazy evening as the day grew to a close, and the conversation had again turned to the subject of their search, as it often did. Rather the results, or lack thereof.

  “Honestly Jhary… we would have seen a man like him, even just in passing in these streets, he was striking and tall.” Aurianne exclaimed. “Hardly to be missed.”

  “I guess you are right.” Jhary tried to reason she was correct. They had searched for Aran for weeks after all, and there were no new leads.

  “I don't think you can miss a man like that, really.” Aurianne shook her head. “Perhaps he no longer lives Jhary. It is a distinct probability. He was a handful and dangerous, he could have easily been slain. You saw his temper.”

  Kario tossed his own logic into the fray. “Though I didn't know this man Jhary, Aurianne is quite possibly right. A pit fighter’s life cannot be a long one.”

  Jhary just nodded. He felt somewhat miserable as he tried to reconcile how far his honor needed to reach to be satisfied. However he could not call off the search just yet.

  There was a sudden loud knock at the door. The trio looked at one another.

  “Mr Brannon!” The male voice boomed.

  “Err yes, coming! Hold a moment. Be ready but not obvious.” Jhary cautioned to his companions as he rose to touch the weather beaten, brass doorknob.

  “What’s happening?” Aurianne questioned.

  Jhary just shrugged. “I know as much as you do.”

  Leather, full beards, and biker standards embroidered on scratched jackets greeted Jhary’s eyes, as a terrible vision of the past. For a moment the bard stood silent, it was unlike him to not have words at his disposal.

  “How can I help you gentlemen?” He fumbled, finally answering.

  The man in the center spoke up, he was tall and wide, built for violence. Crowned with a great volume of sandy reddish hair that was worn in dreadlocks, held back from his eyes by a black and white death’s head bandanna. This coiffure looked to Jhary’s mind itchy, perhaps full of unwanted wildlife. He raised his hand to scratch behind his ear involuntarily just thinking it.

  “I hear you’re doing well, musician?” He said through a mouthful of chipped yellow teeth.

  Jhary Brannon looked up at the wall of a man, face pale, all his usual charm shelved. He should have gone from the Bridge already, and this sudden event had now galvanized him to do so. His search was done here, his honor intact.

  “Taxes are in order.”

  “What, what...Oh taxes, I...I wasn't aware.”

  “Well you are aware now, so show us your money.” All the men jamming the doorway laughed in unison, it was a very unkind sound. The metal on their jackets clinked.

  “One moment, I will get my purse.”

  Jhary presented the dreadlocked giant with his entire savings. His gnarled and scarred hands were huge, and every bauble the bard had earned was easily displayed, cupped in the bikers gargantuan silver ringed fists. Another of his henchmen rummaged through the treasure picking out the choicest morsels. Jhary watched on in silence, stony faced and wordless. Satisfied the men retreated, tossing the rest of Jhary's possessions on to the floor along with his empty coin purse and strode away. The usually lively man just stood staring at the open doorway.

  Aurianne moved first. Stooping to pick up the currency that was littering the floor and had tumbled into the adjoining hallway.

  “What the hell!” She fumed, closing the door with a slam. “How dare they!”

  “Those men are a law unto their own.” Jhary quavered.

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  “We still have more than enough…”

  “Yes, I know, it’s just...” Jhary slumped down to the chase defeated and emotional. He had his hand over his face.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  To Aurianne's surprise the man was crying. “No your not,” she said.

  “I will go get us some refreshment.” Kario excused himself swiftly, not wishing to be witness to Jhary’s distress. He was unsure he would be a help anyway.

  “What just happened Jhary?”

  Aurianne put her hand in concern gently on his shoulder. “It wasn't about the ‘tax’ was it?” She questioned carefully, concern weighing in her voice.

  Jhary sighed, tears in his lively brown eyes, and shook his head. He looked down at his wedding band, and frowned. “Oh Lord,” he sighed heavily. “How do I say…and not…” He wiped at his eyes without looking up, and resumed. “Her name was Rachel.” He paused for a moment snagging on her name, deeply emotional.” And she was the most beautiful girl in the world. At least to me.”

  There was another prolonged silence as Jhary struggled with his recollection. “We lived in Brighton together. I don't know if you knew it?”

  “No, no, I was too young, it was by the sea, wasn't it?” Aurianne queried, wishing she had known her mother’s world far better.

  “Yeah,” he confirmed, voice soft and far away. “We virtually lived at the beach, and spent our days on Jetty road, at the coffee shops and the boutiques. Rachel loved to buy dresses.” He sniffled. “I’d play guitar, and she’d listen, we’d lay on the beach and watch the sunset. It was a beautiful life.”

  Aurianne nodded and pat him with her hand, wanting him to continue. Finding she cared about his experiences and his past.

  “I should not have done it, you know it seemed like such a petty thing. I've always been up for fun and mischief it’s just how I am. We were walking the back streets of Jetty road, I remember it was a very warm summer evening, not quite dark. There was a tattoo parlor there, The Four Roses.”

  Jhary ceased his verbal recollection and looked to Aurianne to see if she had understood the connection.

  “I’d never liked those biker types much you know. It’s silly really I don't even remember how it started… We were looking at the tattoos just killin time. No intention of getting one. There was this biker guy there and somehow he seemed to take offense to me and we got in an argument. Honestly it didn't get much further than that. The store manager intervened, and well with Rachel there we just left. It should have been no more than that. A stupid, little forgotten thing.”

  Jhary wiped at his eyes again, and sniffed. “We had just been married, I was so happy. Happiest I had ever been in my life. Then the war came. I mean it was terrifying, yeah. But I had Rachel, and she had me. We got out of the city somehow that chaotic day, when life went to shit, and ran out of petrol at Monarto...”

  “You know there was nothing out there but that open plains zoo, and a lot of crazy people. I confess with all the weird shit going on it wasn't a good place to be, they had lions there and other dangerous animals and who knows if they got out. So Rachel and I walked to the Bridge here. It was different then, lots of frightened and injured refugees, so much disorder and misery it was scary. But there was no place else to go. I did my best to shield Rachel from the worst, and that’s when I began to play for items in trade. We built a life her and I, it wasn't much but we did alright.”

  Jhary went silent, and Aurianne was unsure if he would continue. She knew already there was some terrible finale to this story. Though she was unsure if it was wise to press. So she just stood quietly at Jhary's shoulder, hand on him lending emotional support. The young woman knew these despairing feelings all too well after her own mother’s senseless death.

  “It was crazy, we met him again in the Bridge, that biker. With no law or order just complete anarchy, and hell, he remembered me. Things got bad fast. He grabbed us in the street, being a biker he had buddies. No one intervened.”

  They were the Hell’s Angels then. I don't know if you recall or not but they were big trouble right before the war. All the biker gangs were. Fuel was crazy prices, and they were the only ones with the mobility. Toward the end the police were having serious trouble with them especially out of town. It was a war zone. I didn't even know the guy’s name, not that it would have helped if I did. Maybe my retribution could have had a name. But hell I’m too cowardly! He took my Rachel...They beat me bad. I...I couldn't... defend...” Jhary broke down and his words became incomprehensible wracking sobs.

  Aurianne stood by the bard, mired in her own difficulty. She too knew this tearing pain of loss. Her companion’s own revealed grief dragging her emotions to the surface as well. Laying them bare. Her mother’s murder, still too recent had cut her soul.

  “It’s okay, don't, you don't have to relive it Jhary.”

  She tried to quiet him. Possibly more for her own sake than his. It disturbed her to see such a cheerful man cry. Perhaps that was why she was drawn to Jhary, his sunny disposition, he was a tonic for all the despair and hate in the world.

  “I’ll never forget...” The forlorn man sniffled. “Rachel, she was so still, so perfect. Her eyes were open, but she was gone... I could not save her... She had done nothing wrong. Nothing to any of them. They simply used her up and took her life. The world is so unfair...”

  He sighed heavily and wiped away tears on his sleeve.

  “Why they didn't kill me I don't understand? After that I could not remain in this place. It was by far easier to just wander and make a scant living up north. Yet I’ve thought of her every day.”

  Aurianne just sat as a silent sentinel on the arm of Jhary's chair offering what comfort she could, without appearing too cloying. Almost all bore such pain these days, yes, grief was common place. Most tried not to talk about it, and if someone broke, it was decorum to try and not make too much of the outburst. This was after all the new age.