* * *
We arrived to make the trade early, only to find the bald headed, business-suit wearing magic user from my previous visit waiting. As before, he wore the trademark sunglasses for which I had named him.
Benny pulled up to the curb across the road, eyeing Sunglasses with a frown.
“Is this guy our contact?” he asked.
“Yes. Met him last time. He’s their magic user.”
“I recognise him.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He’s wanted.”
“What for?”
“It doesn’t matter. Give me the money you took.”
I reached into my pockets, pulled out handfuls of crumpled bank notes and handed them to Benny. He started to count, creating piles of a thousand on his lap.
Across the road Sunglasses may or may not have been staring. He stood with hands linked in front of his body and waited. I stared back, finding myself wondering if the man was capable of fighting. If we had to get out in a hurry, it was he who would be stopping us.
“What’s he wanted for?” I repeated.
Benny glanced up. “You wondering if you could take him?”
“Yes. I guess.”
“Jet,” he hesitated, “I think I need to be perfectly honest with you about something right now.”
“Yes?”
“With that Spirit level of yours there are few people you could not take. You’re a walking hazard, buddy. I’m sorry this had to happen when it did, but when it’s all over with we need to get you into a proper training program.”
Wheels in my head turned, but the significance of what he was saying was yet to completely register.
“Maybe I should make the trade alone,” he added.
“No. I’ll be fine.”
“Your call.”
There was a pause as he counted out the ten thousand. A large stack still remained. ‘We made profit. You want it?’
I shook my head. “No.”
The response was automatic. I wanted nothing to do with that penthouse in any shape or form.
“As you wish.” He shoved the ten thousand into one pocket, the profit into another, then opened the car door. “Let’s get this done.”
Sunglasses watched us approach. As we drew near the expected warning buzz sounded.
“Got the money?” he asked.
“Yes,” Benny responded, patting his pocket.
“Good. Lift your arms.”
He frisked us and gestured towards the doors. We entered.
“Second floor. Same room, 219.”
We entered into the hotel with Sunglasses following close behind, and headed for the steps. To my right I noticed that even the reception desk was lacking its required clerk. Apparently the entire building was up for rent to the highest bidder.
As we proceeded up the steps I attempted to catch Benny’s eye, wondering if he would give me some kind of indication if he sensed danger. He gave me none and I assumed the situation to be under control.
“This is it, turn right,” Sunglasses said.
We obeyed, headed up the corridor and soon arrived at 219. Sunglasses leaned between us and knocked, then gestured for us to enter.
Again middle aged weary looking Pout sat waiting at the table, obviously finding comfort in routine. Above him the same glaring white bulb illuminated the scene and added a touch of mood to the proceedings. The two suited bodyguards were just visible in the shadows that blanketed the rear of the room.
Sunglasses closed the door, nudged us further into the room and took up his position in front of the exit
Before speaking Pout raised his eyes to Sunglasses and received a nod in return; the signal that we had come with the money.
Pout pointed to the two unoccupied seats, we stepped forward and slid into them.
“Money,” Pout said.
Benny shook his head.
“Where’s my bother?” he asked.
“Money!” Pout repeated, raising his voice.
Benny hesitated for a long moment, then took the ten thousand from his jacket pocket and slammed it down onto the table.
“My brother,” he repeated.
Pout reached out, fanned the money across the table and scrutinised it closely. He again looked at Sunglasses, again got a nod, and finally smiled.
“Thank you, gentleman,” he declared. “Brent Kingston will be with you shortly. I think you’ll find that his stay with us has not been at all as grim as you might imagine.”
Sunglasses took the cue and exited.
“Might I ask where you got the money?” Pout continued, his eyes flitting between us.
“We have our ways,” Benny replied, “You have your money. That’s all there is too it.”
“Yes, all is well that ends well.” His eyes settled on my face for a moment, looking for signs of emotion. I stared back.
Behind us the door opened again and we swivelled in our seats, just in time to see Brent shoved into the room. Sunglasses had him firmly by the scruff of his jacket.
I would have thought it was impossible for Brent to have looked worse than the previous time I had seen him. This was not the case. Benny grimaced at the sight.
“Jet… Benny…” Brent slurred. What remained of his mouth twitched in what must have been an attempt to smile, “You came brother…you came…”
“We’ll have you out of here in a minute,” Benny said.
“Thing is,” Pout cut in, drawing back our attention, “That large sums of money generally have a way of having to be from somewhere in particular. Money never comes from nowhere, especially an amount the sum of ten thousand. I had the most interesting phone call earlier today. Can you guess who it was from?”
I exchanged glances with Benny. Both of us could feel the atmosphere of the room changing; getting tighter, getting heavier. But this effect was not magical in nature; it was simply a realisation of the situation.
“It was from Morris Chapman,” Pout continued, “A good friend of mine and part investor in my company. And it seems he was robbed by two rather brazen men earlier. Two men who entered into his poker game, magically conned his guests and murdered young Conrad Higgins.”
The silence that followed was so heavy it could have crushed an egg.
Sunglasses pushed Brent forward till his thighs collided with the table, causing his body to double and torso to come slamming down.
“Now just wait, wait one second,” Benny said desperately.
From where I sat, his head turned towards me, Brent was looking into my face. At first his eyes were frantic; wide and panicking. But then calm descended. It was as if he received the answer to a question that had been bothering him for a very long time.
“You came back for me…” he said, “Because we’re partners.”
He smiled.
Then Sunglasses placed a gun to the back of Brent’s head and a flash burned a tattoo of light into my retinas.
My ears sang. And when my vision cleared Brent’s eyes were crossed at an unnatural angle, staring in what appeared to be fierce concentration at the end of his nose. It was five seconds before I realised that blood was seeping from the hole in the base of his skull.
My ears continued to sing.
To my right like images viewed through a sound proof window, Benny was screaming in an inaudible voice. I did not react. Even as he was struck a fierce backhand from Sunglasses that sent him sprawling, I still only stared, the world muted and surreal.
Hands grabbed me, those I assume to be of one of Pout’s henchmen, and I was pulled unresisting from my seat and thrown to the ground. Part of me was aware that I had perhaps a few seconds of life remaining; the rest of me was beyond caring.
I lay flat on my stomach, head turned to look at the wall and the feel of the rough carpet beneath my cheek. A dull boom and trembling in the ground told me that Benny was fighting back, doing his best to reap some kind of vengeance for his brother. But with his Spirit level still low I di
dn’t favour his odds. Especially since against firearms magic was of very little use.
There came the pop of a second gunshot and I assumed Benny had been killed. I was to be next.
I waited, wondering if I’d feel the barrel of the gun against the back of my head, wondering what it might feel like to have a bullet in the brain.
And wondering who was left that would miss me, because at that moment I could think of no one.
It seemed right. Death on the floor of a filthy hotel. My bloodstain adding to the story of this living cliché building. And that would be my story. Son of a criminal, blood of a murderer, cut down by a bullet after clawing eagerly at easy money. Live as a Clarence, die as Clarence.
Clinton would miss me. At least that I knew for sure. Without me he was doomed. And for that I had regret.
For all intents and purposes these were the last thoughts of my life. And they were regret for a man who I had loathed not a few days prior.
Sure, if you had given me more time I would probably have included my betrayal and subsequent attack of Selena in the regret department, but right then I wished only that Clinton find some way of escaping.
What a shame…
Then Benny was thrown to the floor beside me, his face swollen and bloodied from the fight I had missed.
He was looking at me with eyes wide and panicked, a replica of his brother a few moments prior.
And he was saying something. His mouth forming words I couldn’t hear; partly because my ears were still ringing, partly because my brain was still not making an effort to understand.
He repeated the phrase; a matter of urgency judging from the insistent expression; once, twice. Still I didn’t understand.
A gun entered my field of vision and was placed to the back of his head.
One more time his lips slowly, deliberately formed the words. And now I heard him.
“Summon your demon, Jet, summon your demon…”
Summon my demon. Right. The most I could hope for was that it would suck the life out of me and spare the mess of a bullet.
It was then that I realised for the first time I could see my reflection just past the top of Benny’s head.
A full length mirror on the wall was revealing the scene; giving a view of Sunglasses bent over with gun in hand, and behind him Pout watching on as Brent’s corpse still lay fresh on the table.
But my eyes drifted back to my own reflection. There I was, face down on the floor and about to watch the second person I could call friend be shot in the back of the head.
“Summon your demon, Jet, summon your demon…”
No. I would not let this man die. He was not my mother, he was not my grandmother, and he did not deserve it. But these men, these killers and thieves who had shot Brent for a measly ten thousand, they deserved it. Of this I had no doubts. There were no blurred lines here, they deserved to die.
I focused on my own reflected face and stared into the dark ringed eyes. Since when did I have such a thick beard? Who was that person staring back at me? Where was Jet Clarence? Who is Jet Clarence?
Who am I if not me…? My reflection asked
“Jet Clarence,” I replied, “is a man who would not let his friend get killed while he watched on, a mute fool.”
And I knew that also to be true.
I summoned my demon.
Around me the room seemed to be getting darker, as if a film had been placed over the light bulb.
Then I saw a second face was visible in the mirror, ghost-like over my own. It was not so much an optical illusion as realising it had always been there. At once my demon was in the mirror, lying where I had been, imitating my posture with its eyes gazing back at me.
But if it was in the mirror then it must be…
“Kill them all,” I told it, “Kill them all…”
With its blue face expressionless the demon gave a short, shrill squawk in response, a sound that seemed to say, “Okay”.
There was a loud pop as another gunshot rang out and my eyes shifted back to Benny. His face was frozen, wide eyes staring. I was too late?
No, he blinked; still alive.
There were another two gunshots in quick succession.
I looked back into the mirror and realised Sunglasses was firing at my demon as it rose slowly from my own body, uncoiling itself up into the world; a grotesque flower growing in fast forward.
“Shoot it! Shoot it, for Pete’s sake!” That was Pout’s voice; frantic, horrified.
Sunglasses fired again and again. For the first time there was an expression on the man’s face; sheer terror.
The demon threw back its head and shrieked, then started to move forward. Sunglasses backed away.
I continued watching the events in the mirror. Beside me Benny had rolled onto his side, gazing up at the creature as it advanced across the room.
One of Pout’s henchmen dashed forward, perhaps thinking he would be rewarded for such bravery. It was the last thing the foolish man would ever do.
With a flick of its arm the demon tore the man’s stomach open, gaping, spilling his intestines in a bloody, glistening mess.
Then the screaming started and didn’t stop till the last man died.
The demon pounced on Pout and they both disappeared behind the table. I could not see what was done to the man, but from the inhuman sounds he managed my imagination filled in the blanks.
Sunglasses, for all his intimidation techniques and menacing exterior, collapsed into a shrieking madman, first firing his gun till it clicked, then cringing against the wall as my demon turned to face him. His head came off easily. The demon had to work a bit to get both arms out of their sockets.
The last henchman managed a few spluttering, tearful begs for mercy before he was silenced, being swiftly turned into a biology classroom’s show and tell for internal organs. I had not believed there was so much blood in the human body.
The room fell into silence, bar the crooning, purring sound that marked the breathing of my demon. It approached me, its posture timid, and crouched by my side looking for approval.
“Be silent,” I told it. Its mouth snapped shut and the purring sound ceased.
I expected that revulsion and horror would wash over me.
A part of my mind told me I should be screaming at the sight of such a horrific massacre.
But no feelings of horror penetrated, at least not then. I felt only contented satisfaction, a calm recognition that justice had been served; that for the sake of his brother, Brent had been avenged.
I hadn’t meant it. But that voice was softer now. Another, louder voice had taken its place. And it said; they deserved it. They deserved it.
And so they did.
Beside me Benny gaped.
If anything, I told myself, Benny would have the reaction that I was supposed to. He would scream in horror, tear at his hair and wail blue murder, showing that between the two of us there was at least some grain of humane sanity.
“Can you control it?’” he asked, his voice trembling.
“Yes,” I replied.
“We need to go,” he declared, pushing himself to his feet. His Spirit level was once again low and the movements were pained. “Someone might have heard this. The Enforcers might be on their way.”
I watched as he stepped over to the table, his shoes squelched in the blood that was now soaking into the carpet, and retrieved the money, having to pull it free from under one of Brent’s arm. For a moment he paused, staring at the shattered head of the man he had once called brother. Then his body shook once, and for the briefest bizarre moment I thought he was laughing: Laughing as I had seen him do back at the apartment, with hands shaking and eyes bulging. But it became clear he was merely restraining the sobs.
“Let’s go, Jet,” he croaked, “Get up, we have to go.”
I rose to my feet and followed him as he headed for the door.
My demon moved to fall in behind but I turned to it and raised a hand. “Be gone,
” I told it, and it did so, fading into the background as if it were never there. But I knew it was still there, would always be there, and I would never be rid of it.