TWD - Chapter 560: Embezzlement (Patreon)

When Benson said he would investigate the cafeteria, he meant it.

That very night, he dragged Theodore along and the two of them crouched like cats lying in wait behind a pile of scrap opposite the cafeteria’s back door.

They each had a cigarette between their lips. The glowing tips brightened and dimmed in the dark as they kept their eyes fixed on the metal door.

“Benson, what are we doing lurking here?” Theodore whispered.

Benson took the cigarette from his mouth, flicked away the ash, and whispered, “Waiting for a show. What else?”

Theodore looked baffled. “What show?”

How could this kid be so slow?

Benson shot him a sidelong look. “Someone is stealing supplies. Just watch.”

Theodore still looked lost. “Stealing? Isn’t that a stretch? Maybe there’s just less food to go around. A lot of new people have arrived lately, including us.”

Benson clicked his tongue impatiently. “Can you think about something besides fighting for once?

“The cafeteria has a fixed daily supply. With all these new arrivals, Rickson must have increased it.

“So why are the longtime residents still missing out on meals?

“Either someone’s taking more than their share, or there was never enough food to begin with.”

He took a long drag on his cigarette, then added, “Whatever it is, it isn’t ghosts. Ghosts and walkers don’t eat cafeteria food.”

Theodore tilted his head, considered it, and decided Benson had a point. He fell silent and kept watch beside him.

The moon rose slowly, casting its cold light over the crooked trash cans in the alley and washing everything in gray.

After a while, Theodore whispered, “If we really catch someone, what do we do?”

Benson whispered back, “What would you do?”

Theodore went quiet. A hard look flashed in his eyes. “Back with the Reapers, an old woman stole food from the kitchen. The Pope killed her on the spot.”

Benson knew exactly which incident he meant. He shook his head. “I doubt things work like that here.”

Theodore looked at him questioningly and asked, “How do you know?”

Benson paused. “Because The Pope isn’t running this place. Calista doesn’t look like someone who kills people for no reason.”

Upon hearing this, Theodore didn’t press the issue, but instinctively placed his hand on the knife at his waist.

Benson noticed this but said nothing, simply continuing to stare intently at the door.

At last, at two in the morning, the back door creaked open.

Two figures cautiously poked their heads out and looked both ways.

Sharp-eyed Benson immediately put out his cigarette and stuffed it into his pocket. “Here they come,” he whispered.

Theodore sprang upright as though released from a spring.

The two people hadn’t noticed them at all.

One was a white man in his forties, dressed in a grease-stained chef’s jacket. He carried two black garbage bags so full they bulged out of shape.

The other was a white woman in her fifties wearing a filthy apron. She carried two bags as well.

They crept toward the trash cans at the far end of the alley, checked that no one was watching, and began transferring the bags onto a handcart.

Benson narrowed his eyes and watched closely.

It was immediately clear to him that they were not carrying ordinary garbage. The bags bulged in all the wrong places.

Leftover food would have contained liquid, leaving the bags soft and sagging.

These bags, though, stood stiffly with sharp corners. Something solid was inside, probably canned food, bags of flour, and other dry provisions.

Benson gave a cold laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned. There really is something going on.”

With that, he stood up and strode toward the two people, with Theodore close on his heels.

Their footsteps rang out through the silent alley. At the sound, both figures turned.

When they saw Benson and Theodore, their faces instantly turned pale.

The man dropped one of his bags. The woman stumbled backward into a trash can with a tremendous clang, the noise startlingly loud in the still night.

Benson stopped in front of them, glanced down at the bags, and said mockingly, “Taking out the trash in the middle of the night? Now that’s dedication.”

The man swallowed hard. “Y-yeah. Taking out the trash.”

Benson crouched and tore open one of the bags. Inside were several sacks of flour and more than a dozen cans.

He slowly raised his head, wearing a half smile. “Well, that’s some pretty heavy garbage you’ve got there.”

The man turned white as a sheet. His lips began to tremble.

The woman shook all over. “W-we... this is...”

Benson stood, brushed nonexistent dust from his hands, and sneered. “Drop the act. I saw everything.”

He pointed at the bags. “Come on, then. How much food have you stolen from the cafeteria?”

The man flushed as though Benson had slapped him. Still, he tried to deny it. “What gives you the right to call us thieves? We were just taking out the trash...”

The woman recovered enough to shriek, “Yeah! Who are you, anyway? You’re new here, aren’t you? We’ve been working here for six months! You’ve barely arrived, and you think you can tell us what to do?”

Benson raised his eyebrows. “Six whole months? Wow. Real founding members, aren’t you?”

Thinking she had intimidated him, the woman raised her voice. “Exactly! We’ve always done our jobs honestly! Then you newcomers show up and start accusing everyone...”

The man joined in. “That’s right! We never trusted you people from the Reapers in the first place. You’re all murderers! And now you’re trying to frame us!”

Benson smiled coldly, enough to send a chill down their spines. “Reapers? So you know who we are?”

As he spoke, he took a step forward.

The man shrank back in fear. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

“Do you know how the Reapers deal with thieves?” Benson asked, taking his time.

The color drained from both their faces again.

Benson deliberately slowed his speech. “Back at the Reapers’ cafeteria, I saw an old woman steal food once. The Pope didn’t even say a word. He stabbed her to death right there.”

He paused for effect. “One stab. Then he hung her body up on display for three days!”

The man’s legs shook violently. The woman’s lips trembled, but she still tried to put on a brave face. “Who do you think you’re scaring...?”

Theodore had heard enough. He stepped forward, hand gripping the hilt of his knife. “Benson, why are we wasting time talking to them?”

He drew his knife with a sharp swish.

The blade caught the moonlight in a cold, brilliant flash.

Neither thief had expected anyone to pull a knife on them. Even the Defense Force had never killed someone openly inside Rock Fortress.

The man dropped to his knees. “D-don’t kill me!”

The woman screamed, “Help! They’re going to kill us!”

Benson quickly seized Theodore’s arm. “Hey, hey, easy! Hold on!” he whispered.

Theodore stared at him in confusion.

Benson leaned close to his ear. “Don’t actually stab them. Put the knife away. Scaring them is enough.”

Theodore blinked. “We’re not killing them?”

Benson nodded. “We’ll drag them over to the office and let Calista’s people deal with them.”

Theodore thought for a moment, then sheathed the knife.

The man and woman collapsed on the ground, gasping like fish out of water.

Benson crouched in front of them. “Well? Are you going to come along quietly, or does my friend need to pull his knife again?”

At that, the man scrambled to his feet and tried to run.

Benson reacted instantly, grabbing his collar and hauling him back like a chick. “Fuck you! Where do you think you’re going?”

The man shook even harder. The woman was so frightened she could barely stand.

Benson sighed. “Theodore, give me a hand. One each. We’ll take them to the office.”

Theodore scratched his head. “At this hour? Wouldn’t everyone be asleep?”

Benson paused. Right. Of course.

He glared at the two thieves. “Then we tie them up, gag them, and take them back with us. We’ll hand them over tomorrow morning.”

The two sat on the ground, their faces utterly drained of color.