"Boy."
"Who, me?"
"Yes you, one in the brown shirt, come here."
"Why should I?"
"I have a job."
"Okay," he perked up on hearing money.
"Take this and give it to the guy right there," Igna pointed at a gentlemanly dressed journalist.
"Okay?" the boy furrowed, "-how much you paying, old man."
"10 Exa."
"Holy shit!" the boy caught his mouth, '-money for a whole week,' he gulped and hastily took the money and parcel. "-Thank yo," the old man vanished, only the empty street headed to the harbor remained.
The apprehensive journalist took his focus off his camera and looked at the boy, "-what?"
"I have a letter," the boy extended his hands.
"What letter?" the moon's ray just lit the sender's name, "DB.Killer," he jumped and snatched the item, '-another letter from the killer,' he gulped, "-kid, did you see the man?"
"No," the boy tilted his head, "-the man was old I guess?"
