by I N Foggarty
Along one such footpath, bearing little to distinguish itself from the countless others in the vicinity, a slender figure leisurely strolled. Clad in a black suit and charcoal grey shirt the man carried himself in a manner that could only be described as weightless. Like he glided rather than walked across the well-worn paving slabs. Expertly he skirted a vivacious couple, who had stopped abruptly to ponder the menu of a quaint restaurant. Even at this time of night the city still felt so… alive. Strolling down the sidewalk he caught a few words from multiple conversations, a hundred hushed whispers almost like the streets were themselves breathing, as if it was the city’s last day on earth and if it went to sleep it would all be over; lights out.
The chance to experience such vibrancy had been too few these past years. Unfortunately, tonight he had business to attend to and so the indulgences of the individual would have to be set aside; pity. Leaving the beaten track of the average night-time pedestrian the man took a right and continued down a deserted alleyway. Making his way through some of the less trodden back streets, he eventually arrived at his destination. Though there were buildings on either side there was only one doorway. A red canopy jutted out over the solitary entrance, providing unnecessary shelter for the two doormen stood below it. How typical he thought, taking in their traditional crisp black suit and white shirt attire. He drew up in front of the larger of the two. The other addressed him.
“State your name and business, Sir.”
He looked the doorman who had addressed him up and down before he replied. “I am an emissary, I have business with one of your patrons.” His tone calm, relaxed… almost sterile. It was now his turn to be given a once over.
“If you give me your name I can verify your appointment and escort you inside,” the doorman said, producing a palmtop device and pressing a few buttons.
The emissary glanced at his neatly trimmed fingernails. “I did not say that I had an appointment. Merely that I have business with one of your patrons.” The doorman who had addressed him looked up at him with disdain while his partner cracked his knuckles. Apparently, anyone unaware of the club's strict rules was not permitted to even be in the neighbourhood.
“No appointment, no admittance. We have a strict member’s only policy.” The large doorman edged closer cracking his neck and knuckles for added effect while his comrade finished his spiel. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave the vicinity immediately.”
“I do not recall asking you to admit me.” Sliding forwards the emissary produced a dart between the balled fingers of his left hand and buried it deep into the thick neck of the large doorman. As his victim's body went limp, he redirected it into the path of his comrade, who had instinctively made a lunge forwards. By the time the two men hit the ground the weapon had vanished back from whence it came. Pitiful, he thought upon turning to look at the still conscious doorman, who was busy trying to untangle himself from the limbs of the other.
Casually he extended a hand, pulled the man back to his feet and began dusting him off. “I would not waste my time trying to rouse him if I were you,” he tutted. “That sedative will keep the average man unconscious for about three hours.”
As the doorman looked at him with a mix of anger and annoyance, the emissary fixed him with a stern look of his own and pressed his left hand close the man’s thick neck. “Now, I have no intention of humiliating you and the rest of your colleagues further while I conduct my business. I do not want any trouble, however, it is imperative that I do conduct my business and I would like to do it in peace.” A look of resignation from the doorman confirmed he understood. The emissary moved his hand away from the Carotid artery with only the faintest flashes of silver and brushed it casually along the shoulder. “Now, may I suggest that you take your friend there inside and forget that I have entered the premises, or indeed that you ever saw me.” Smiling slightly he slid through the door; not turning his back until it closed securely behind him.
Taking a low breath the man made his way down the luscious red carpet that covered the floor of the reception area. Brown wood panels, possibly mahogany, concealed the lower section of the walls with red textured wallpaper above. Someone should tell the owner that too much of one colour was overkill, he mused, on taking in a large vase of red and white roses atop a round table. Bypassing a set of four wooden chairs he concluded that, even for the entrance hall of such an important gentlemen’s club, the room felt over-elaborate.
His next obstacle stood behind a tall podium, a large badge showing a sharp-taloned eagle emblazoned on its front. Stopping just in front of it the emissary assessed the form of a money-counting matrad’ of average height with a wiry build, a deep burgundy waistcoat and slicked back black hair that showed signs of age.
“Good evening, Sir,” The matrad’ greeted when he eventually noticed he had a patron; his tone oilier than his hair. “Who might it be that you are here to see?” The smile was dazzling, creepy rather than charming.
And he had thought the doormen had sounded well-rehearsed. “Mr Franklin,” the emissary replied as he reached into his jacket pocket and procured a neat stack of bills. “However, I believe that he is here to see you.”
“Ah.” A heartbeat of silence. The oily man licked his lips and considered, eyes flickering between the stack and the emissary as if ascertaining his overall threat level. “Of course how could I have forgotten? Please go on in, Sir, I am sure you will be able to find your way.” Greedily scooping up the stack from atop the podium the matrad’ hastily opened the left-hand side of a set of elegant wooden doors and ushered him inside.
Security and scoundrels circumvented he crossed the threshold into the main body of the club and took a moment to take in his surroundings. It was dark inside, or at least when compared to the bright reception area. A large chandelier hung down over the centre of the room but failed to provide adequate lighting, presumably by design. Beneath it sat a wide selection of circular tables dotted about like little islands amidst the sea of darkness. Only those that were occupied were lit. Yet be it by lamp or candle array there existed only enough illumination for those seated; privacy assured.
Picking his way between the tables the man made for the back right corner of the room. Like sections of both the left and right-hand walls, his destination sat raised up from the main body of the club and surrounded on its front two sides by wooden rails. A set of built-in stairs served as the only noticeable access point. Though he had never been here before he knew this solitary, exclusive section was where he needed to go.
Bypassing the bar on the back wall, complete with a set of premium bar stools, he could begin to make out the occupants of the VIP area. There were nine people in all. Four of them lounged on a pair of two-seat sofas on either side of a wide oval table. On its far side, in high-backed chairs sat a further three. The final pair were almost invisible, sentry-like in the shadowy background.
“Good evening,” he said by way of a greeting. “May I sit down?”
The occupant of the centre chair looked him up and down. “You are not who I was expecting this evening.” The moment the words were spoken, the occupants of the sofas motioned to rise. The light raise of a hand served to quash the movement. “However, since the individual whose place you have usurped is possibly the most boring man in the city, I may be willing to indulge you. Though I would advise you to state your name and business promptly. I have a tennis match to organise for Saturday and more to the point I’ve found unnecessary chit-chat serves only to bore me as of late.”
A small smile twitched at the corners of the emissary's lips and he slowly exhaled. He had half expected the need to incapacitate someone else in order to get this far. “I am sure you will find this discussion far more interesting than the one you would have had with Mr Baxter.” If his host felt any unease at his knowledge of their affairs they hid it well. “As for my name, let’s just say that divulging it would be unnecessary chit-chat.”
The emissary held his host's unblinking
gaze and searched those cold eyes for any hint of recollection; nothing. When no reply was forthcoming he realised he would have to show a card or vacate his seat. “I am an Emissary and you are a Client.”
A high pitched laugh echoed around the shadows accompanied by a mocking look. “A Client? Now that is presumptuous of you.” The would-be Client raised a coupe glass in a slender hand and absentmindedly swirled the burnt orange contents. “Tell me, what so-called services are you peddling and why do I care?”
The Emissary sighed, undid the cufflink on his left shirt sleeve and rolled it up. Though the idea of a proverbial game of cat and mouse amused him, he had to move things along. “Whatever is requested of us, of course. You could call our services bespoke, unique.” In one fluid motion, he brought his uncovered wrist down atop the table with a dull thud; the client didn’t flinch. “So much so that the order, execution and payment for each service must be individually tailored. You could say we don’t simply accept credit card.” He watched the Client study his arm. Only the slightest tightening of their lips indicated a recollection he suspected had occurred the moment he had set foot on the stairs. “But I’m sure that you are already well aware of such details.”
In a manner that could quite easily have been taken as complete disinterest, the Client took the smallest sip from the glass. “I imagine such practices would prove difficult to sustain over time especially in a growing market. So many technological changes. If you aren't careful you may find yourself obsolete.” Their gaze fell upon the skewered cherry that rested at the bottom of the drink. “Indeed. Come to think of it, it was my understanding that the business to which we are referring did, in fact, become obsolete and had in fact been liquidated many years ago.”
He gave a thin smile. “Thirteen years and not liquidated, a drastic reduction in operations, certainly. Liquidation?” He let out a light chuckle before turning his tone to stone, “Never.”
“Well, this is New York after all, the so-called heart of opportunity. I wish you luck of course in such a difficult and often…” The ice in the Clients tone could have frozen their beverage and told the Emissary that his time was already wearing thin. “…dangerous market. Accidents happen as you well know, I do hope you are prepared for such an eventuality. It would be a shame for the reduction of which you spoke to become even more drastic. If that is all, good evening.”
“Actually there is a more pressing point of business that I am required to discuss with you.”
The Client took another drink and sat the glass down on the coaster. “Oh… and what is that do tell?”
The Emissary took a deep breath before lifting his hand from atop the table and readjusted his shirt. “Nineteen years ago, we performed a service for you and, as you are no doubt aware, the date on which you were supposed to make the final part of your payment has recently passed.”
The Client snorted. “I hope you are not trying to suggest that your people wish to collect on a debt owed to a now defunct enterprise?” When his expression did not change they laughed. “You are actually serious. Do you think that you can hold patrons to contracts made with a former business? Do your people not realise that when a business is liquidated any contracts that it held are not transferred to any company that springs up in its place?”
Sighing he interlocked his fingers and placed his hands on the table. “You make a valid point. Yet it would only apply had our business been, as you said, liquidated.” He brought his gaze up to meet the Clients once more. “Nevertheless, I would not expect you to have an understanding of such things. I mean it is not as though you were involved as one of our potential liquidators…” He let the words hang for a moment. “Therefore, no harm done.”
Though there was no change in the Clients visage, he could just detect a slight whitening of a knuckle around the stem of their glass. He had their attention now. “I suppose in that vein it would be highly unfair of me not ask what it is you desire. I will not have it said that I am completely against small business ventures.”
Ignoring the small business comment he replied, “we simply wish to obtain possession of the item that you agreed to give us in exchange for the service provided.”
Another laugh, deep and humour filled “And what if I do not wish to part with the item or were for example no longer in possession of it?”
“We have already prepared for such an eventuality. Suffice it to say measures are already underway to ensure we obtain it.”
The mocking laugh that followed echoed around the table and he was sure that anyone within the vicinity of the VIP area would have heard it. “Oh really?! And how do you intend to accomplish this?”
He returned the smirk with one of his own. “We thought it would be worthwhile to post a reward notice and have one of the local enterprises find it for us. We are, as you put it, not completely against small business ventures.”
The Client visibly relaxed in their chair and they once more raised the glass. “Then I wish you every success in that endeavour. A futile one of course. No one in Chicago would dare cross me.”
“I would not be so quick as to wish us success if I were you.” The Emissary interrupted when the Client began to drink.
“And why is that?”
Unlocking his fingers the Emissary prepared himself for a quick exit should the need arise. He was already walking on thin ice and his next proclamation may just shatter it. “If we obtain possession of the item via our own means, it will constitute you defaulting on your end of our agreement. And I am sure that you are well aware of the ramifications of such an outcome.”
“What!” The single word came down like a hammer blow. The look the client now gave him colder than absolute zero.
Holding the Clients now murderous gaze the Emissary rose to his feet. “If the worst should happen we would appreciate it if you were to…” He paused for a moment as a smile spread across his lips. “…come quietly. Of course, accidents do happen, this is a dangerous market after all.”
“Out!” The scraping sound of a chair sliding backwards was accompanied by a low crunch as the Client stood and threw the glass against the wall. “Take your threats elsewhere. Now Get Out!”
Taking one last look at the rage on the Client’s face he turned away. Carefully he made his way down the stairs and once more traversed the paths that crisscrossed between the tables. Eventually, he arrived back outside, where he did not fail to notice that the doorman he had incapacitated had been replaced. Neither old nor new gave him trouble as he passed. Calmly the Emissary re-joined the now sparser crowds of everyday people.
At least for the moment, he himself was but one of them.
~Part Two: Separation~
Blinded by light
Everything looked dull and hazy, almost as if most of the colour had been sucked out. The furnishings of the room that had been so well defined were now gloomy shapes without any tangible form. Even his own body felt non-existent. Like he was perched in mid-air, somewhere in the region of his eyes and could only watch, helpless, the scene that unfolded.
A girl sat in his lap. Her dress, which had once been a brilliant blue, now looked like a stained privy carpet. Down her back, wild tangles of murky brown hair hung in clumps. Worst of all though, her mouth. Where once small straight teeth had been, there now existed a crooked mass of razor-sharp fangs. Between which a long forked tongue flickered.
Matt sat, powerless, as the thing's mouth closed around his own repeatedly. He tried to scream but his words were only devoured by the creature that lay atop him. A succubus! Lifting his hands was not possible either, for the monster had them pinned beneath its talons. How long he remained like this, trapped in the clutches of the vile being, he did not know.
Then a voice called out, so faint that he almost missed it amongst the harsh sounds that filled his ears. On realising this fact it spoke again. However, this time the creature heard it also. Pointed ears on end it swivelled its head around. In a flash, it had released him and bore down up
on the intruder. “No, Don’t!” Matt yelled at it as it ferociously attacked the owner of the voice.
He tried to rise, tried to force himself to stand but it was no good. Everything below his head remained immobile. In abject horror, Matt watched the creature tear into the girl. Dull red splattered the floor and walls as the monster ravaged its prey. Soon the girl had been forced out to the edge of the creature’s lair. The beast recoiled slightly and for the first time, he could see clearly the girl it had savaged. Against the bleak background, her red hair shone brightly, like a beacon of sanity in the madness.
“Anna!” he screamed hoping she would fight back and save him, but the girl only turned away and limped out of sight oblivious to the fact that he needed her.
With all his might Matt tried again to stand, however, the monster had once more turned its attention to him. In a flash, it was back astride him. Slowly it brought its fanged face to his ear. From the corner of his eye, he could see the dull red of the girl’s blood covering its snout. The stench of it filled his nostrils and the creature opened its jaws to speak. “You belong to me now,” it hissed in a rasping voice. No chance to protest, he found his mouth once more under attack...
Matt’s eyes snapped open. As bright light flooded his pupils and he hurriedly closed them again. Wincing, he tried to lift his head. A searing pain, which he could only attribute to the fabled hangover, shot through his skull. Instantly his brain told him that moving would not be an option. Another stab of pain. Apparently thinking was off the table too.
Like in his nightmare, or at least what he hoped had been a nightmare, Matt quickly discovered that he could do precious little. For how long he lay there he did not know. Eventually, a voice, perhaps the quietest and softest his own brain could use, whispered to him. You can’t spend the rest of forever lying here, wherever here may be. He winced again. Ok soft thoughts hurt less.