Night. The corner. The streets.

Bird loiters, or appears to loiter, in his man skin.

He’s not loitering, though. He’s watching. Always watching.

From a passing car, Fa-ninna looks like any other hustler, trying to make it happen on the block. But get close enough and something’s different. This is no mere man. To any member of the herd, something, somewhere, screams predator. Accordingly, the Irraka is afforded plenty of space. Even the real hustlers give him a wide berth.

A whistle, high and clear. Bird purses his lips and whistles back.

The boy emerges from an alley across the street and jogs over.

“Hey yo, hopper,” Bird says by way of greeting.

“Hey Mr. Bird,” comes the kid’s reply. He’s about 16 and wears the street on him: it’s smell is on his raggedy clothes, infused in his unwashed skin. But it’s the eyes, the wariness there tells the whole story.

He posts up next to Bird, not too close though. He can feel it too: the aura of the wolf coming off of Fa-ninna. But he’s also hungry and not just for food. He wants to learn, how to survive, how to work the streets, and he knows, just knows, that this strange man can teach him.

“You do that thing?” Bird asks.

The kid sneaks a glance at the quiet man with the piercing eyes. “Yup.”

Bird nods, keeping his eyes on the street. “Good, good.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a couple of crumpled dollars. “Go down the way, get yourself something to eat. Chips or something. Then come back here. I got something else for you to do.”

“Alright,” the kid replies, he takes the cash quickly and bolts down to the corner store.

Parrain. That’s what Bird's Mama used to call it in her patois. Godfather.

Fa-ninna watches the kid run. He’s lanky, still too green. But he’s got promise. And the New Moon can always use a second set of eyes.

Bird now has Retainer 1.