by Bruce Talmas
I put a hand behind my back and asked, "How many fingers do the emanations say I'm holding up?" Azazel remained silent, clearly not amused. "What do the emanations say I’m thinking now?” I continued. I couldn't resist: getting under an Angel's skin made all this bullshit somehow worthwhile. Azazel didn't take the bait, and turned around without waiting for his answers.
I waded through the raindrops back to Katie. Once I had her securely tucked under my arm, I turned back to Azazel. He was, of course, already out of sight, but I knew he was still around. He was watching, and would continue watching long after I was gone. If I’d piqued the Grigori’s curiosity, there wasn’t really any way of staying under the radar.
“Well shit,” I said to no one in particular, but the night swallowed my words without a response.
Chapter 3
I took Katie back to her father after my run-in with Azazel. She was mercifully quiet during the trip. I would have expected a teenage girl to have a lot of questions after seeing an angel, but she kept her mouth shut. Probably dealing with the psychological trauma of being held captive for a week. I knew a thing or two about psychological trauma, so I let her work things out for herself.
“Say something,” she said.
I knew it was too good to last.
I looked over at her. She was staring out the passenger window, watching the abandoned buildings with crumbling facades and shitty paint jobs swish by like a scene change of a high school play. Her hair was still wet, and she looked very young in my oversized coat. Despite her years and her diminutive frame, there was a strength in her that was obvious.
“What do you want me to say?” I asked.
She turned and looked at me, her eyes glassy and raw. “Anything. I can’t stand the silence.”
“I could turn on the radio.”
“No. I want to hear a real live human voice. Talk.”
Great. Now I was taking orders from a sixteen-year-old. “This isn’t Driving Miss Daisy. You want to hear a human voice, talk to yourself. It’d be better conversation I’m sure.”
As I was speaking, she reclined her seat and closed her eyes. When I was done, she didn’t open them again. She just smiled and said, “That’s good. Keep talking.”
Jesus Christ. I wasn’t the one to be dealing with this. I wasn’t good with words. Or girls. Or people in general. As if to prove the point, I asked, “Did he rape you?”
That, apparently, was the wrong thing to ask. Her eyes opened wide and she stared at me in shock. She didn’t answer, but the tear rolling down her cheek told me all I needed to know.
“I’m sorry,” I said. What was it with this girl getting me to apologize every other sentence?
“Why? You didn’t rape me.”
That was true, but I’d been around rape and seen the damage it’d done. If she was indeed a victim, she was handling it far better than anyone I’d ever met. Victims of such a heinous crime weren’t usually too quick to say the actual word “rape.” It was a testament to her resolve that she spoke the word. Or maybe she was still in shock; it was tough to tell with trauma like that. All I knew was that there was a quiet dignity to her, a strength that would certainly help her in the days ahead. I was liking this girl more and more.
“He told me he didn’t,” I said by way of apology. “If I’d have known, I would have cut his dick off before I killed him.”
She laugh a little bit at that, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes again.
“That’s sweet of you.”
Being the monster that I was, I’d become pretty hardened to the evils of the world and what those evils did to good people like her. For the first time in a long time, I felt something that I could only describe as empathy. I wished I’d found her sooner. I wished I could have stopped Jeung from ever inflicting such damage on this innocent girl.
“I could kill his family if you want.” I said it without really thinking. I just wanted to say the words that would make her feel better. There were no words that could accomplish that, a part of me knew, but I still had to try.
She opened her eyes again and brought her seat upright.
“You’d do that for me?”
I shrugged. “Sure, why not? I don’t know if it would do any good, but I know he has a son. Older, not a kid like you, but I could kill him if you think it would help.
She mulled it over for a second. “That’s okay,” she said, rather too cheerily for the subject matter. “Thanks for the offer though.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence, but it was a far more comfortable silence than the one that started the trip. She turned the radio up a little bit and relied on that to break the silence. The radio was tuned to some classic rock channel. We drove in silence with only the strains of Highway Star to keep us company. I wasn’t a classic rock fan, but Jon Lord was a fucking genius.
After about twenty minutes and one too many Steve Miller songs—that number being one—we pulled up to the gate of Charles Silva’s estate and waited at the intercom to be buzzed in. Instead, the gates swung inward and two armed men came down the driveway to meet us.
They looked inside the car, saw Katie, and smiled. I could see the relief on their faces. Part of it was out of genuine affection for the girl, I was sure, but most of it was because it would make Charles Silva happy. He was a prick in the best of times, I knew by reputation. He must have been unbearable while waiting to learn of his daughter’s fate.
One of the guards reached in through the open passenger window and touched Katie’s shoulder. She flinched for a moment, then patted his hand gently. She looked like royalty bestowing her grace upon the peasants.
“It’s good to have you back, Kate,” the guard said.
“Thanks Sam.”
The other guard came to my window and said, “Mr. Silva’s waiting for you at the house.” He also gave a quick smile and wave to Katie as we drove in.
“They like you,” I told her.
“They’re good people.” She started to say something else but stopped herself.
“What?” I asked.
“How well do you know my father?”
“I never met him before he hired me.”
She was silent for a while. “My father’s not the nicest man,” was all she said.
“I knew that much,” I said as I parked the car in front of the house. “Nice men don’t hire me.”
********
Charles Silva was waiting for us in his office. Two more guards met us at the front door and escorted us there. It spoke volumes of the man that even the safe return of his daughter wouldn’t get in the way of the standard pageantry of receiving a visitor into his house. I didn’t like him the first time I met him, and he wasn’t doing anything to change my opinion of him now.
After I’d taken a few steps into his office, he came around the desk and hugged his daughter. Katie didn’t exactly run into his arms, but I could tell she was relieved to be home. Maybe even relieved to be in the arms of her father. Regardless of how big a piece of shit he may have been, he was still her dad.
I turned away to study the books on Silva’s shelves as he spoke to his daughter in hushed tones. Intruding on personal moments always made me uneasy. I wasn’t part of that world: never had been and never would be. Affection was something for others to give and receive. The demon in me had no use for such things, and the human in me was far too fucked up to understand it.
Unfortunately, Silva’s taste in books was as dull as the rest of him. Aside from a couple Hemingway novels and worn edition of Moby Dick, his library was filled with self-help books and biographies of CEOs and politicians. Plus the requisite copy of Sun-Tzu’s “The Art of War.” What was it with business people needing to equate making business deals with making war? I’d love to see someone start shooting up the place at a business negotiation and see how long everyone’s strategy held together. Sign up for the Marines if you want to know about war. I was sure I could teach Mr. Silva a thing or two about it if he really w
anted to know. Hell, I could probably teach Sun-Tzu a few things he’d never thought of. After all, I’d been fighting wars for centuries, all told.
Katie disengaged from the hug and flashed an embarrassed smile at me. “Thank you for everything,” she said. It looked like she might hug me too. I took a step back without thinking. She took the hint and settled for a simple handshake. She did a little mock bow to me, amused at the formality of the handshake after the night we’d just had. I couldn’t help but smile just a little at her. She smiled back, and then she was gone.
Once she left the room, Silva came up to me and shook my hand. It was a real handshake: a businessman’s recognition of a job well done. I wanted to punch him.
“You’ve given me back my daughter. She’s more important to me than anything in this world. I owe you more than I could ever repay.” I sensed a part of him actually believed in what he was saying. Maybe there was hope for him yet, as a father if not a human being.
“Good thing for you we agreed to terms beforehand.”
He ignored the remark, going over to his desk and grabbing his laptop instead. “Already done,” he said. “I’ve transferred the remainder of your fee plus the bonus for bringing my daughter home safely. Plus an added bonus for taking care of Mr. Jeung.” He handed me the laptop. “You can check for yourself if you’d like.”
“I'm good thanks,” I said.
He was taken aback by that. Mr. General/Chairman didn’t know how to deal with a man who took someone at his word.
“Really?”
“I’ve killed over a hundred people for money,” I said, “and a lot more than that just for the hell of it. I never once had a client try to avoid payment.” That wasn’t strictly true, but none of those who tried to stiff me were alive to dispute the point. “I don’t expect you’d be foolish enough to try.”
He put the laptop back on his desk and went to his wet bar. “Then our business is done. Would you care to join me for a drink?”
Telling him I did ten shots before rescuing his daughter and driving her home seemed like over-sharing, so I accepted the offer.
He handed over a glass of what I was sure was very expensive brandy and then downed his own glass in a single gulp. He poured another and then started to sip. I took a sip from the offered glass, wondering if he would be dumb enough to try to poison me. Both times I’d met him, he’d been good at controlling a room. Now, it seemed like he’d run out of things to say. He seemed nervous.
That put me on guard. Our business was concluded. I was paid. The only reason that he would suddenly be afraid of me was if he planned on betraying me somehow, but he would have done that before completing the transaction.
Shit. I should have checked the computer.
Still, I saw no upside for him to try to take me out now.
“There is one thing I’d like to discuss,” he said.
If this were an ambush, the guards would be on edge, but they seemed as oblivious as hired muscle should be. Just to be safe, I began to cast a Reading spell. It did the same thing I was doing without the magic, but the spell was more accurate.
“There’s no need for that,” Silva said.
“Need for what?”
“You were about to cast a spell. It’s unnecessary.”
“Cast a spell? Who am I, Gandalf?”
He sighed. “You don’t have to pretend, Mr. Cain. I am a bit of a magician myself. Nothing fancy. I dabble. I’m nowhere near your ability, but my dealings with magic are how I came to know of you.”
“Is that so?” I was really on my guard now. If he were just another crime boss, he would be a known quantity. If he was a practicing magician, that was something else entirely.
“Not directly, of course, but it did provide me with the name of someone who knew how to get in contact with you. In fact, that’s what I wanted to discuss with you.”
“Go on,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.
Silva came around and sat on a nice leather sofa, indicating a chair opposite him for me to do the same. As with most expensive furniture, it looked more comfortable than it actually was.
“You see, when my daughter was taken from me, I tried every spell that I knew—and some that I didn’t—trying to find her. My fumblings with magic didn’t escape the notice of…someone, though. He simply showed up at my door one day, claiming to know my problem and that he could help. He told me that he didn’t have the ability to help me himself, but that he knew of a man that could hunt and kill any person on the planet, so long as I had the money to pay his rate. Then he gave me your name.”
“Did this someone have a name?”
Silva shook his head. “He didn’t tell me his name at the time. And I never heard from him again until about an hour before you arrived here tonight. He showed up at my door and told me that you were on the way here with my daughter, safe and sound.”
I thought of Katie yelling and kicking Jeung’s corpse in the nuts. I wondered just how sound she really was, but I kept quiet
“He said he wanted to meet you after we concluded our business.”
I didn’t say anything. That someone who knew how to get in contact with me also knew enough to spy on me without my noticing was troublesome, but also intriguing. Azazel came to mind, but he wouldn’t need all the subterfuge; he could have just said his peace when we were chatting beneath the hellspawn.
Silva was really nervous now. I could see it in his face, in the way he looked to his guards, knowing that if I wanted him dead, there would be nothing they could do to stop it. How would I take the news? He knew my reputation, so he also knew that he was in very real danger if I took this to be a double-cross.
“Would that be agreeable to you?” he asked.
“It’s acceptable,” I replied, finishing my drink and setting the glass on the antique end table. I ignored Silva’s corresponding grimace at the perceived slight of his expensive furniture. “I wouldn’t go as far as ‘agreeable’.”
“Fair enough. I’ll let him know. His name is Volkov.”
The name meant nothing to me. “Fine,” I said.
Silva nodded and stood up before I could take back my words, subconsciously releasing the breath he’d been holding. “I’ll go inform him that you’re willing to meet with him. I’ll only be a moment.”
With that, he walked out of the room, leaving me in a staring contest with the two bodyguards he left behind to keep an eye on me.
I won.
Chapter 4
After about two minutes of waiting in awkward silence, the bodyguards who remained in the room reached up to their earpieces and exited without a word, Secret Service-style. Another minute passed before a stooped old man in a black overcoat that would have been in style in the 1800s came through the door. He was followed by his own contingent of two men and a young boy. It was the strangest entourage I’d ever seen.
I assumed the two men to be bodyguards, but of a completely different nature than Silva’s men. They wore brown monastic robes with cowls that covered their entire heads. I took them for men only because they were both well over six feet tall, and I couldn’t see any tits under their robes.
As if the robed figures weren’t strange enough, the boy that followed was dressed in a classic schoolboy outfit that would only be considered appropriate in this day and age if he were playing guitar for AC/DC.
The man walked with a cane, but something told me he didn’t need it—at least not for walking. His stride was strong and purposeful, with only a slight hitch. If he were indeed a magician, perhaps the cane was a conduit for his magical abilities. Like a wizard’s staff. Ordinary objects could be infused with magic and used at will without having to bother with spells or incantations. It was in all the legends. That wasn’t a coincidence. Magicians had wands; witches had brooms; wizards had staffs. Shamans probably had something similar, but I wasn’t interested enough in Native American culture to do any research on the matter.
“Jacob Cain,” the man nearly shrieked
my name, like he was trying to do a bad Mark Twain impression through a thick Russian accent. “It is quite an honor.” His voice was loud and shrill, made doubly so by the utter silence in which they made their entrance. Despite the heavy Russian accent, his English was easily understood.
He shook my hand vigorously for several seconds, long enough that I thought I was going to have to physically extricate myself from his grasp. Finally, he stopped shaking it and let go. He sighed deeply, as though the handshake had tired him out.
“Please, have a seat.” He motioned to the same uncomfortable couch on which I’d been during the meeting with Silva, and we both sat down.
He turned to the boy and put his hand tenderly on his shoulder. “Mischa, say hello to Mr. Cain.”
The boy mumbled a “hello” and then hid behind his…whatever the guy was: father, grandfather, creepy uncle. I nodded at the little shit and waited to find out why I was on what felt like the world’s strangest talk show.
“My name is Maxim Volkov,” he said. “I am in need of someone with your, how do you say, unique skill set.”
“Hmm. And which of my unique skills are you in need of?”
He made a strange clicking sound with his tongue. It reminded me of the sound Azazel had used to call off his winged companions. “All of them, I am afraid. I fear very much that all of them I will need.”
Fantastic. I was being hired by Yoda: Kill you will for me. Pay you I can.
“Are you some kind of magician?” I asked, thinking back to what Silva had told me about this man.
“Ha.” He didn’t actually laugh. He just said the word.
“Ha?”
“No magician. I am, how do you say, guardian.”
“Guardian? Like a parent?”
“No, no. Guardian. Like angel.”