The NegotiationI refused to go into any details. Once she’d left, I had Blitz call a Memory Boy.
When I saw him standing at the bottom of our steps in his bright red jacket, I smiled. “Good afternoon, Werner.”
“Hi, Mrs. Spadros.”
Werner Lead was a boy of eleven with white-blond hair. His two brothers, just approaching puberty, stood as his armed guard. A dismal and tiresome life, to be sure, but better than most: their family wanted for nothing.
I spoke to them all. “Do you like your work?”
The two older boys never glanced my way: their job was to watch for any threat. “Sure,” one said. The other nodded.
“Of course, Mrs. Spadros,” Werner said. “How may I help?”
Werner would never so much as lay foot upon my steps. I sat so our heads were of equal height. “My message is to Spadros Ma
