The Industrialist

"Are you from the GLDs?" The man behind the laminated Obsidian table asked. A calm voice greeted them. And the beholder of such a voice was apparently the boss of these establishments.

"Mr. Jonaz?" Lance asked. He stood behind Damian as the latter portrayed overprotectiveness towards the boy. Luckily, the man was just alone inside the room.

"Yes. You did not answer my question," the man retorted. "Or you do not understand the meaning of GLDs. Governing Laws Department?""

Lance shook his head. He was perturbed too about the question as if the man expected a different group.

"Those feckers," The man pushed himself away from the table and his stool glided a bit, revealing his overalls to his visitors. "Who are you, then?" His voice raised to anger.

The man hauled himself up with utter exasperation. He wore his white, flowered, silky overalls and had these streaks of luminous fine lines that bordered his clothes’ design. His chest buttons were unclosed revealing trimmed chest hairs just below his golden pendant.

Expensive stuff.

He had no shades on him, only his blue piercing eyes and curly unkempt hair would be two distinctive descriptions of the man.

"If you are not from the GLDs, then who are you?" The man turned towards the rear wall and took out one of his displayed swords.

It was a medieval sword placed on top of a Samurai sword.

Clearly, the sword was heavy as he pulled it with both hands.

"Speak now or else receive my wrath!" The man groaned in utter annoyance. His ears turned red and his face was fuming with rage.

Damian started to clench his fist. He had no gun and clearly expected a fist fight.

"We come looking for Jonaz. We are here for a business proposal," Lance answered as he emerged forward from his towering partner. He thought that Damian’s presence could be provoking sometimes, especially to a group of criminals.

He was a soldier. He was meant to be intimidating.

Lance had to diffuse the situation immediately or else their efforts would come to waste.

"Ha!" The man swayed his sword left and right, however, the sword’s weight almost carried his body. He took deep breaths and awkwardly placed the sword on the obsidian table. It thumped hard against the laminated Obsidian shell.

"I know who you are, silly!" The man spoke. "And yes, I am Jonaz of Jonaz Enterprises." He finally smiled, and the grunting expression had suddenly vanished.

Rather a surging interest emanated from Jonaz. It was inexplicable for a man who could transform his emotions in a split second.

"Fascinating is it not?" Jonaz asked, having unblinking stares at the kid.

Lance was dumbfounded with the question. Was the question referred to the Obsidian table, or the medieval sword?

"It’s rare-level material," Lance answered. Both, the sword and the obsidian shell were rare-level materials.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha." Jonaz’s laugh seemed to be unceasing, his arms clutching his abdomen. "What rare level materials?" He said as ticklish humor had subsided.

Lance laughed softly and Damian too at his back. But he did not answer at that. He, too, was confused.

"I am not referring to these," Jonaz smiled. "I mean, my acting, silly!"

"Bravo, Mr. Jonaz, Bravo," Damian clapped from behind.

Jonaz showed a curt bow from the delighted soldier at the back. Lance knew that Damian was being sarcastic but it seemed that he saved their asses.

"I am always amused with theatric arts down at the Whitefields, and afterward, I will indulge in their after-parties in Hoovertown Street. Wild bunch they are!"

Lance had no clue about the places that Jonaz mentioned.

"There, even though I am always drunk in these after-parties with the actresses. My business is still runnin’. Networking never stops. I always dealt with the Bar owners of my Pink Cloud merch, have you tried one?"

Lance nodded but he was not sure if getting high without consent counts.

"Really? Yah like it? 300 units per bottle. Fair price, don’t ya think?"

"I am not sure if it’s a fair price," Lance responded meekly.

Jonaz smirked at the site of the boy.

"Sit down, the two of you. You seemed so stressed," Jonaz offered two seats adjacent to his table. Jonaz sat too, back to his swivel chair.

"You are Lance from Steelpoint. Roger told me that you are coming," Jonaz mused. "He said that you have an important business proposal. As you can see, I am a businessman. Despite what Roger told you, I am a pure-blooded businessman. Not some shady street thug."

Jonaz was hard to read. The bartender told him about Black and White. However, the guy in front of him was far from the definition.

"Right you are, Mr. Jonaz," Lance responded. "I came to offer you my…"

"Obsidian armor?" The boss interjected, "I don’t need such a thing. I don’t deal with furniture materials."

"See this?" Jonaz tapped his Obsidian table top. It was large, probably harvested from the Scorpion’s back. "It is expensive but the market is slow right now. And I don’t like slow. I like fast."

Jonaz slouched against his seat, sighed heavily, and exhaled so discernably that he looked bored."

Lance was worried.

"Zelkians!" Lance said. That caught his attention again. His expression immediately glowed.

"Ooh, illegal stuff. My kind of stuff. Zelkians you say? It’s so happened that I have nada inventory!"

"Perfect, I have a supply of Zelkians." Lance’s voice seemed exhilarated. But he knew it shouldn’t be the case.

Damian took out the contents of his knapsack. It was a bundle of metals, at first glance. Damian pushed a button concealed at the side, it clicked, and the casing opened like a flower bloomed. All sides of them unclasped and revealed a cage.

The cage held a week-old Zelkian. It curtly purred.

Carefully, Damian placed the cage on top of the Obsidian table.

Lance and Damian uttered no words right after. The Zelkian on the other hand, was moving in circles.

"Straight to the point. No pitch. No flowery words. I like that!" His fingers began to tap against the medieval sword that lay flat on the laminated table. His eyes trained on the baby Zelkian.

"Do you have a forecast?" Lance asked. It was a business terminology that only the educated knew. A forecast involves certain computations to arrive at a close accurate value.

A forecast was the basis for the suppliers to deliver a certain quantity in a given lead time. For other business owners, if there was a lack of computation, the supply would flood storages, thus posing a different kind of predicament.

Also considering some other factors such as the shelf life of the merchandise or the developmental life of the living merchandise, should all be considered in arriving at a forecasted quantity.

As Lance evaluated, the enterprise boss could have done his calculations, or best with identifying forecasts. It explained the wide aquarium that filled a quarter of the establishment’s wall.

His shark octopus Abominants’ demand could be high, hence, he stored clusters of them.

"I like that, kid. Straight to the point!" Jonaz smiled. "Let’s sidetracked a bit. If you would like to know how I got this far, kid, I’ll explain it to you."

Lance only nodded.

"My business is your business," the businessman continued. He had this way of moving his arms as he gathered his thoughts for a speech. It was inviting in a way. "If your business fails to deliver, then I also fail to deliver. Therefore, loss of opportunity. And reputation is everything in Enclave, kiddo."

"It took me years to build my reputation, and it will take only a second for it to be destroyed. So, kid, when I tell you that I can sell Zelkians, I can sell them. But if you don’t meet our agreed forecast, then, we will have a problem. If you heard my name in the streets, I am not the one you would go against, kiddo."

"For me, trust is everything," He emphasized the word trust. "At first glance, I do not trust the two of you. But I guarantee you, if I will become your partner in this endeavor, you will enjoy the spoils of your currency."

"How much do you pay for my Zelkians?" Lance asked. He had a price in mind, 120 units each. But he anticipated it to be lower as the Unitech shades black market advertisement also suggested 120 units each.

This would be a compromise.

"Wrong question, kid," Jonaz laughed, the unceasing kind. "If you come here for business, you should be the one offering the price. You’re probably wondering why, but seasoned business owners know the market, know the demand, and most especially could risk high prices."

"Dictate your price first as you know your business. Don’t let some schmuck dictate them for you. You could lose your business as you compromise margins. Especially what you’re offering is a golden resource."

"Thanks for the advice," Lance responded, "I will price my Zelkians for 120 units each."

"Atta boy!" Jonaz smiled. But the negotiation only had begun. "Well, the forecast, kiddo, is a different story."