Tavon searched through his recent logs and checked his contacts but couldn't find anyone whose information matched the anonymous sender. After a kill like that, someone had identified him.
He suddenly felt nervous, peered up, and—
There she was.
Aaliyah arrived in uniform: a dark blazer fitted over a plain, white shirt complete with black pants.
Professional as ever.
Tavon stood up and, to her surprise, pulled out her seat.
“What?” She smiled and spoke calmly, “So, you know how to play gentleman?”
Tavon grinned abashedly, not quite sure of himself. “You know I always stay who I am.”
She's in a good mood at least. He sighed inwardly.
Tavon sat down just as the waitress returned and said to Aaliyah, “I-I didn’t know what you’d want so I ordered us both water and something else.”
The server was carrying two different bottles of wine. “So, again, there's the consumer choice and the-”
“I already told you I don't really care.” Tavon gave her an irritated look before pointing to the one she started to hold up on the right. “There. Maucleau-Siou.”
He often forced a more hostile attitude toward ordinary citizens as part of a deeper resentment. Aaliyah was the same way and didn’t seem to notice.
The waitress looked slightly taken aback but continued as she poured them both a tall glass. “Have you all had time to decide what you’d like?”
“We'll probably need a little more time.” Tavon brushed her away. This time he decided he'd probably go with a seafood dish, considering what he’d ordered on his previous visit had mostly gone to waste following the loss of his appetite after the assassination.
I’m glad they don’t remember me.
“Tell me something, T?” Aaliyah interrupted his train of thought.
“I'm sorry… what’s wrong?”
“Nothing—it’s just you gotta tell me where all this MONEY is coming from?” Aaliyah asked jokingly. “You're snazzy and cleaned up—for once! And you actually put time into choosing a place.” She offered him a sly grin. “Maybe you're a better guy than I thought.”
I've gotta go with something suitable for a training diet. Maybe. “Let's just say that I've got my whole game plan on lock.” He responded with a sense of pride.
“Game plan?” She raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”
Tavon looked down for a second, took a drink, and cleared his throat before returning her gaze. “I'm a contractor. I handle a lot of… ‘private’ problems for people.”
Aaliyah laughed. “That’s what you call it?” She rolled her eyes while taking a drink herself. “That's all you had to say, fool; no more detail than that. As long as you're not… crazy,” she rolled her eyes, “and staying paid, then you're at least making the cut…”
-
Why is he hiding from me? Fear? We're more alike than he realizes.
-
“I'll take it as a compliment.”
Tavon's consciousness faded out for brief period; an emptiness had begun to cloud his mind again and erased his present thoughts.
The waitress returned to take their orders.
Tavon leaned forward a little, feeling a sheen of sweat build along his back.
Isaac.
“How's work been for you?”
Aaliyah didn't skip a beat, as if she was expecting him to ask: “Same as it ever was, boy. They change everything around so much that one case ends up having damn near three to four different points of contact.”
“What do you mean?”
Aaliyah's face grew serious. “I mean that these assholes had me assigned as the Lead Investigator on this trafficking shit right when it blew up all over the news in the Citadel. They were having me scout the location before they switched me over to another case without further notice—I mean, I can't fucking tell if it's because they don't want a newbie on this or I'm just not good enough at my job!”
Tavon took her hands in his before saying warmly, confidently, “I think you're good enough.”
An appetizer in the form of several portions of spiced, unleavened bread was brought to them, and Tavon changed his mind before ordering something new for himself. As Aaliyah thanked the server for copying down their requests, she continued her rant as if she'd known Tavon her entire life: “They decided that I would do better work partnered with a 'more responsible' senior officer—some dude who never shows up to work anyways! He thinks he can do whatever he wants since grabbing a little fame at the Bureau, and I can't make my boss work a case he won't choose to fucking work!” She sighed. “I’m sorry for being so angry earlier… It’s just that if things continue like for this for very much longer, I’ll look even worse as a rookie—but if it gets handled and put away quietly, then that lazy punk takes the credit all for himself. It's some bureaucratic bullshit is what it is…”
“Sounds you’re being put through it.” Tavon shook his head. “Overseeing and using all your work while doing nothing himself? Tch…”
“Uh huh.” Aaliyah nodded. “Sergeant Kaust, one of the big leagues at the Bureau.”
“He can't be shit.” Tavon replied indifferently.
She stared at him, manifesting invigorated interest. “Heh. I’m glad you didn’t stand up for him and lecture me like everybody else, Tavon…” Her gaze returned to the spot on the wall she'd fixate on whenever she needed to remember a fact. “I have to listen to him, but I don’t have to like him. Kaust will have the nerve to come in, show his face off to everybody, and then disappear to go do his own thing. You see, I pride myself on work that's… complete. Consistent work.”
“Like?”
Aaliyah groaned. “Like give me a challenge—say, you want a project finished before the day is over and accomplished in a specific way, then best believe I'll already be on it! I’m relentless, man, and that's how I've always played things—from beginning to end; honest labor for honest pay.”
“I wouldn't know anything about that.” Tavon winked at her and chuckled.
Aaliyah shook her head in disappointment but continued, “I’ve always had trouble with people in charge… I'm too stubborn, you know… everything's just gotta be set in just the right way.”
“Your way?”
“Mhmm.”
“I'm not one for bosses either-”
“And yet you still make the kinda cash to take me out…” Aaliyah rolled her eyes again and laughed. “Maybe I should get on your level; you know, stop caring.”
“No.” Tavon replied sincerely. “You're okay where you're at…” He paused, thinking of a good response. “—that's one thing I can say about you with confidence.”
“Oh?”
I’ve got to be careful with what I say next.
“I respect that you’ve worked hard to make something of yourself; you're not just a detective, you're pretty much the government's personal detective with a drive like that.”
Their food arrived within a couple of minutes after Tavon and Aaliyah had finished their drinks. Tavon's dish consisted of a blackened sea bass marinated in a tangy sauce and sprinkled generously with parmesan cheese. Aaliyah had ordered a traditional salad alongside a plate of chicken alfredo.
“Is there anything else I can help you with this evening?” The waitress inquired.
Tavon held up his empty glass. “Another bottle when you can.”
After she’d left, Tavon decided to inquire further: “So tell me about this new case you're not getting any credit for—I mean, is it at least interesting?”
Aaliyah shrugged. “They've had us cleaning up corruption in the foster care system for a long time now. Just recently they found out about woman they suspect is selling and smuggling orphans but they needed someone to take charge and crack open an investigation.”
“Sounds like you've got it made then.” Tavon threw his hands up. “Just throw on a detail of a few grunts to do the stalking work and catch her in the act.”
&nbs
p; “If it were that easy, don't you think I would've done all of that shit now?” Aaliyah looked irked. “No. We need a more personal approach, and that's why I need you for this one, Tavon.”
“And here I thought we were just having dinner… —What do I have to do with it? I'm not much when it comes to negotiations.”
“Tavon, you came up in this city-”
“—So did you.”
“But you know where to go and where not to go; that marks the difference between you and any other yuppie punk in this restaurant. Not only that—and I regret admitting this—but…” Aaliyah struggled to form her next sentence, “you're smart in your own stupid way; plus, I don’t have to worry about anybody fucking with you.”
“Perfect thug, right?”
“Tch. Thug or gentleman, I haven’t decided yet. Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “And you don’t talk about your life at all! I've been laying it all out for you and nothin’.”
Tavon chuckled before he responded, “It was rough, Aaliyah…”
“No parents?”
“How could you tell?”
She rested her chin in her hands as she gazed into his eyes, “Before I worked at the Dawn Bureau, I was assigned to helping orphans get processed through the Citadel childcare system. The Federation didn’t used to care the way they do now, currently documentation is everything… And those kids all have similar mannerisms to your own—like you carry a different wisdom than most of us folk.” Aaliyah said, smiling to herself.
“I think most ‘folk’ would say I have the least amount of wisdom.” He smiled back.
“I’d agree if I didn’t know you better.” her demeanor changed. “But it's not true; after what we went through together, I can see why people would stay away from you.”
“That's a little harsh…” Tavon scratched at the back of his head.
She smirked. “I didn't mean that in a bad way, necessarily. You're just… a dangerous person.” Her voice lowered. “But I like it.”
“Yea—wait, what?”
“Nothing,” Aaliyah blushed. “Never mind. We should get out of here; screw desert.”
“And go where?” Tavon chuckled.
There was that serious look in her eyes again. She suddenly appeared as if she was short on time.
“My place.”
“Oh, really? That quick?”
“I told you,” Aaliyah grabbed her purse. “I don't play games.” She rapidly got up and walked away, stopping once to wave her keys up in the air in a gesture for him to follow.
Tavon paid the bill and left their server a much larger tip than he’d ever intended…
9
The Chains of Hell
EXECUTIVE JOEL PETRUS OF ZONE B FELT HIS throat being crushed between the confines of a thick, slightly frayed rope. He struggled pathetically before resigning himself to finally hang above the desk in his office while waiting to pass away from this world.
Suicide was his escape from professional disaster. He believed that his death was necessary, that the most honorable action he could take was to end his own life…
—And he would have, if not for the fact that the ceiling was only capable of supporting his body-weight were he but one pound lighter.
The rope holding Petrus tore away from the ceiling, and the Executive fell to the floor as the man issued a loud groan upon recovering his ability to speak. “Y-you've… got to be kidding me.” Petrus stuttered between coughs.
He rubbed his inflamed neck vigorously as he got to his feet and walked around the desk he’d stood on prior when preparing the noose. Executive Petrus unlocked a drawer where he kept a glass pipe with a round, enclosed circle at its end. His hands shook as he filled the bulb with crystalline matter before lighting it under a burner and inhaling deeply for a long time. Petrus broke into a cough and dropped the pipe onto the soft carpet below before resting his head on the desk in misery.
It's over, he thought. My career is finished. A scandal this big making Citadel news…
Petrus was facing several charges, some of which he believed were most likely conjured in an attempt to soundly ruin him; a political maneuver headed by his competitors. Zone A and C had rivaled B for some time in terms of overall popularity and quality of life, but the trafficking incident had tipped the scales so heavily that officials, prior members of his house, were stripped of rank and scheduled to stand trial as accomplices.
The Vice Executive had been forced to resign, and his personal accountant was taken in for interrogation several days ago. It seemed as though everyone—Executive and below—was to be replaced in some manner or another. Petrus was already in the hands of the people, and the biggest question had to do with the indeterminable hold he'd placed on the remodeling project for the area surrounding the old hotel.
The Dawn Federation now wondered why, for so long, had an entire section of Zone B been vacated and placed out of commission. His secrets were being leaked much faster than he could respond.
The operation. Outside contributions. Foreign criminals acting on Federation soil… there's far too much they could discover.
Petrus swore profusely, his anxiety building. Genod & Portis had been the offspring of a syndicate originating in Gaspul; two partners who'd gone on to create a fake front in their own home country. Zone B was to be one of the first Zones of the Citadel to begin accepting immigrants from Gaspul, which had become something of a vassal to the Dawn Federation. However, an investigation ordered by the Dawn Bureau could reveal a series of even more questionable connections… connections that, if found out, would ultimately lead to Petrus being imprisoned for the rest of his life.
His body began to convulse as the kiine's effects became more and more pronounced. He avoided closing his eyes as it made him far too nauseous to look inwardly. The Executive of Zone B returned to a stand and recklessly stumbled over toward the trashcan on the far side of the room. He then tripped after experiencing a jolt run up his spine and vomited on the floor below him.
Petrus fell back against the nearest wall and ran his hands through his hair while beginning to sob helplessly.
S-shit!
Maybe dad was right: I'm a junkie playing politician. When I made Major, all he could say was: “You're lucky they never gave you a drug test, kid. If they had… you'd be down here with the rest of us like you were always made to be.”
He erred by closing his eyes for a brief moment and suffered as his neck trembled violently in response. Once Petrus had peered to see what was in front of him, he gasped after noticing that the walls were slowly transforming into a series of undulating, pale canvases.
Before the Executive, two legs suddenly emerged from the moving panels followed by a familiar face bearing an agonized, pitiable expression. The rest of the figure appeared adorned in a wedding dress torn down the middle…
It was then that Petrus recognized her.
“One more year!” She cried while looking at him with an expression of disbelief. “You said ‘one more year!’” The outline of her head weakened and wavered.
Without warning, there was a thunderous noise emitted from the door to the Executive's office.
The woman screamed: “Another year as Major, and then we'd start our life… for real this time! We'd be happy—no more stress, no more campaigning… just one more year, Joel!”
“What?! Elizabeth!” The Executive's eyes grew wide in terror.
The walls to the right of the figure suddenly grew distorted as another woman made her appearance. This one just so happened to be wearing black lingerie, and she quickly wrapped her arms around her lithe body and gazed at Petrus seductively.
“What's wrong, Joel?” She said tauntingly as she lowered her eyes to view her legs, brought them back up to meet his own, and winked. “Don't you want me? Don't you want to…” she casually began unbuckling her bra, “have me all over again?”
Someone was knocking on his door but with even more force, more determination!
The new figure looked a
t the other woman before gazing back at him with a smile of contempt.
“Don't worry.”
Her haunted figure glided toward him; her skull lost form and bulged out into…
A vast, sinister abyss.
The entity bellowed: “This time I want her to watch.”
The first woman fell to her knees and uttered a piercing wail. “Why would you do this to us?!” She lamented. “I'm leaving you, Joel; I have to!”
Her sobbing lowered into a forlorn moan. “Was it worth it after everything we went through? Was she good—did she make you forget about me, about the family and life we'd planned? —Was the whore worth it, Joel?! Answer me, JOEL!”
Executive Petrus leveraged himself against the wall as if he were trying to escape through it. His whole body shook, and he screamed defensively: “Get the fuck away from me! —Get the FUCK away from me—just go away!”
He dug his fingers deeply into his scalp and wept bitterly. “Please…” He cried amidst bouts of sobbing. “Please…”
“I'm so sorry, Liz…” Only his voice resonated throughout the room.
As if nothing had occurred, his private office returned to a deep, comforting silence. Petrus breathed heavily and curled tighter into himself as he sat propped against the wall.
It’s over.
After a few seconds, he noticed that the voices as well as the knocking had disappeared completely; he was safe now. With his head hanging heavy in his arms, Executive Petrus let his legs slide back out in front of him, and his body relaxed ever so slightly. He could feel himself coming down from his initial high but the anxiety remained.
Oh god. I've got to stop. I can't keep doing this anymore—Liz… please forgive me. I’m so very sorry.
Petrus let out a great sigh and, with his eyes closed, released his head and allowed his neck to straighten against the wall. He then rubbed his face wearily and looked ahead once more—
—to see a black mask mere inches away from his visage. Plastic, beady eyes boring into him from behind a backing adorned with…
Charred flesh.
“Feel better?”
The Executive yelped and quickly leapt to his feet.
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