| abstract | - Sitting at the desk, his nose in a worn leatherbound ledger, Tai didn’t seem to pay any heed to the sharp scent of salt in the air, the creaking of the lines of ships either just in or just about to head out. He didn’t seem to notice the calls of the goblin longshoremen or acknowledge the bawdy songs of sailors eager to partake of some of the more earthly delights of Booty Bay. Tai rubbed his chin, his fingers playing with his beard. He furrowed his brow – something was not adding up. Though he’d grown up on the streets, living by his wits, numbers had always made sense to Tai – and these numbers weren’t. He leaned back in the chair, which creaked under the strain, and put his black leather boots up on the desk. Pulling out and lighting a cigar absentmindedly, Tai looked up at the ceiling, thinking the problem through, step by step. Start with the supply … Tai exhaled, the blue smoke from the cigar floating up to the ceiling of the ramshackle office – no, that was definitely not the problem. Kennia and Khary had worked out a pretty good deal with a tailor up in Stormwind. The shirts that he made might not be the best quality but they were all the rage in Orgrimmar (Tai had learned long ago to not worry about why and instead focus on how). And one of the two of them personally overlooked each shipment, and paid the tailor for his work. Trust was a rare thing in this business, but he trusted the count either one of them gave him. What about the receiver? No, he trusted that link in the chain too. Su’Jin took delivery of the crates, clearly labeled ‘linen cloth’ with the fine shirts concealed under false bottoms (good handiwork but not cheap, Tai thought), over in Ratchet. After she moved the crates on to Orgrimmar for eventual sale at the city’s bazaar, she would send Tai payment for the goods. Tapping the cigar lightly to knock off the ash, Tai glanced at the ledger again. His eyes narrowed. The pattern was subtle but it was there and visible to an attentive eye. Based on the numbers from Kennia and Khary and the payments from Su’Jin, someone was helping themselves to a crate here, a crate there. Tai ground his teeth silently – it wasn’t so much the money as the principle. Someone was stealing from the Tong and that was the kind of thing you had to stop dead in its tracks … Tai stood and stubbed out his cigar with his boot. There was some work to do.
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