Adrian watched the large man steal glances at him in the rearview mirror every so often, trembling slightly as he did so. Amusing as it was, he was still feeling unsettled, unable to get the image of the rotting corpse strapped to a chair out of his head.
[Why was he involved in this? How did he end up in this situation?]
Gritting his teeth, he tried to focus on the situation at hand. His newfound abilities had limitations, and he needed to take care of this organization soon, or risk being vulnerable to a counter attack.
To take his mind off of the fate of his biological father, he decided to pump Vance for information. Leaning forward in his seat, and letting a chill enter his voice, he spoke menacingly. "What's the name of your organization?"
The large man jump at the sudden noise, before clearing his throat and answering. "Y-Yes. We don't have an official name, but we're known on the street as the Ortegas, on account of our boss."
Vance had decided that his best chance of making it out alive, was to try to keep this young man happy.
"Tell me about your boss." Adrian commanded.
"Ortega, I think her first name is something Spanish, but we usually just call her boss. She took over the group about ten years ago by killing the previous boss. No one really knows where she came from, but she's got connections to some pretty important people. With her leading, the group went from a bunch of no name thugs to one of the most feared organizations in this city." A trace of pride entered Vance's voice.
"No. What is your boss like?" Came the cold reply.
"R-Right. She's short, in her late thirties and Hispanic. She can be ruthless, but is a good boss. So long as you do right by her, she'll do right by you. Got a bit of a temper though, and likes to collect strange things."
"Strange?"
Vance frowned, "Like voodoo masks, old books, weird crystals. Occult shit. She was the one that wanted the key, after all. We couldn't get it at the auction, so she had us track down the buyer. Unfortunately, he'd already given it to you by the time we caught up to him."
Adrian realized that the situation was more complicated than he originally anticipated. An auction implied competitors and some kind of moderating organization. It meant that the Ortegas may not be the only ones interested in him. This altered things a bit.
Thinking quickly, he asked another follow up question. "What does your organization do? How do you make your money?"
"The usual. Drugs, gambling, weapons, and protection rackets are our money makers. Every so often, we'll do a bit of commission work for some big names." He answered in a moody tone. Despite being a career criminal, Vance wasn't exactly proud of his group's actions.
"Who are your enemies?"
"You mean, besides you?" Vance laughed nervously, stopping when Adrian didn't reciprocate.
Clearing his throat, he answered meekly. "We own this section of town, and everyone knows it. The only ones we got to worry about are the Dockside Kings and the Stregi family. Course, we have an understanding with them."
Adrian was building a mental picture of this organization. Apparently, it was a stable, high income group with powerful connections. Judging from the way he didn't mention any concerns with law enforcement, it was highly likely they had a few cops on the payroll to keep things flowing smoothly. It also sounded like they were trying to keep a low profile.
He suspected that the group was controlled through a combination of Ortega's personal charisma, and the threat of whatever backers she might have. He would need to play his cards carefully to avoid angering the wrong people. At least until he had restored the Hall of Shadows to its former glory.
The pair lapsed into silence, broken only when Vance pulled off the highway into an upscale residential district. "We're heading to one of the boss's houses. She's supposed to be there tonight. I haven't told her we were coming, so they may not let us in." He commented nervously.
"Well, then you better figure it out." Adrian replied without sympathy. "Otherwise, I will have no use for you."
Gulping, Vance tightened his grip on the steering wheel, not speaking again until they turned into the driveway of a large, gated estate. The grounds were isolated from the rest of the neighborhood by a high brick wall topped with iron spikes disguised as decoration. A thick steel gate blocked the driveway, flanked by a pair of small guard booths.
As soon as the SUV came to a stop, a man dressed in a security guard uniform stepped out. With the exception of a large flashlight, he was unarmed, although Adrian could tell that the man had military training from the way he walked.
Vance rolled the window down at the guard's approach.
"Evening, Joe. I got someone the boss needs to meet. Would you mind letting us in?" The large man asked nervously.
"Evening. You know the rules Vance. No business after ten. Unless it's an emergency, in which case you should have called first." The man called Joe replied with a frown. He looked back at Adrian, who favored him with a disarming smile.
"Look, Joe. You know me. I wouldn't be here unless there was a very good reason. I can't tell you the specifics, but it's about that thing the boss has been looking for. I got a source, but he's only going to talk to the boss. Can you ask her, at the very least?"
Sighing, Joe rubbed the back of his head. "Alright. Give me a second." He walked back to the booth, presumably to make a call.
They waited several minutes. Adrian was just beginning to plan how he would go about neutralizing the guards and fighting his way into the mansion, when Joe returned.
"The boss isn't happy, but you're cleared to go up. Whatever information you got, kid, I hope it's good. She's not in a forgiving mood." He explained as the gate rolled open.
Adrian nodded.
[What a coincidence, I'm not feeling particularly merciful either.]
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Isabel Ortega slammed the phone back down into the cradle, walked over to the counter, and poured herself a glass of scotch. She took a long swig, savoring the burn on the back of her throat. It didn't do anything to slow the headache that was starting to form behind her eyes, but it made her care less about it. She'd been woken from a deep sleep by one of her aides, and was now regretting her career choices for the thousandth tim.
[Who'd have thought being a crime lord would be such a pain. Fucking Vance. This had better be good.]
Philip spoke disapprovingly from the stool he was sitting on, not taking his eyes off the book he was reading. "The doctor said you should cut back on the liquor."
"That quack also said you should lose some weight. I don't see you doing anything about that." She spat back venomously.
"Whatever you say, honey. Think this is going to be a noisy meeting? Mariella has school tomorrow, and I would hate to wake her up." He replied calmly, quite used to his wife's bursts of anger.
Sighing, she took a seat on the couch. She'd thrown on a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie when the call had come in, not bothering to dress up for the visit. She was secretly glad of the shapeless, comfortable clothes, since she'd been having trouble maintaining a decent figure as she got older.
Since she used to be famous for her looks, seeing the dumpy middle aged woman in the mirror had become depressing.
Running a hand through her dark brown hair, she was upset to find that several knots had somehow already formed, despite the brushing she'd down just hours ago. "If it needs to be messy, I'll make sure the guys take it outside."
They sat in the companionable silence unique to old married couples, until there was a knock on the door.
"Come in!" Isabel yelled, already angry.
Vance walked in first. The man looked to have aged ten years since the last time she'd seen him. It was clear that something had him deeply unsettled. She felt the first inklings of unease as her guards brought in the 'informant.'
The dark haired youth was handsome, but something about him set her on edge.
[Why does he look familiar?]
"This had better be good, Vance. What do you have on the key?"
The giant of a man opened his mouth, and hesitated, glancing over at the informant, before answering. "Sorry, boss."
"What?" She asked, feeling a sliver of fear.
The youth broke in, "I asked him to bring me. I needed to talk to you, face to face." He was smiling confidently, despite being surrounded by four heavily armed men.
She tried to signal Philip to go back upstairs, but the infuriating man was focused on the speaker. "Oh? And who are you to demand things from my men?"
He stared at her with those cold eyes, before answering. "I'm the one that owns the key you are looking for."
She started, "How did..."
"I'm also the one who has been kidnapped, harassed, and threatened by your men." His voice was growing louder and more threatening. "I'm the one whose father was killed because of your search."
The guards surrounding the youth took a step back in unison, as they drew their weapons. They were supposed to wait for her signal, but she wasn't going to correct them.
The youth smiled, "My name is Adrian Veldt, and I want to offer you a deal."