After his two clients had moved on to the safe house he'd had prepared, Adrian took a moment to re-examine the fetish from a distance. He wasn't quite clear on what it was capable of, but he knew better than to touch it and potentially contract some kind of curse.
"Pavuk."
"Yes, my lord?" His servant emerged from the shadows behind him, already bowing.
"Take this item to the vault, but make sure to store it separately, we wouldn't want it to contaminate the rest."
"As you wish." The creature replied, swiftly disappearing with the re-wrapped package.
[Now I just need to plan the next bit.]
He'd struck a fair, but beneficial deal with the pair. In exchange for removing the threat of reprisals, and providing them with a small amount of money for their time and efforts, Adrian received an intangible payment from the men with nothing else to offer. He'd been a little surprised on what they were willing to trade, but supposed that they were in a desperate situation.
Jordan had given up fifteen years of lifespan, which, admittedly, was better than being killed in the near future, while Carlos sacrificed the feeling of romantic love. Adrian didn't quite understand why, of all the things they could have used to trade, they had settled on those things which they would almost assuredly regret in the long term, but he guessed that they weren't thinking in the long term.
As his first real transaction of this nature, Adrian had found the process strange. Once the bargain had been struck and both parties had agreed, it seemed like an intangible conduit had been formed between them, and he was able to feel the steady movement of…something flow from the clients through him to the Hall itself.
It had been weird sensation, but the scratching presence at the back of his mind seemed pleased by the offering.
Now was just the matter of upholding his end of the deal. They essentially desired a return to where they started, with only slightly heavier pockets to show for the priceless things they had traded in turn.
The simplest solution would be to simply annihilate or absorb the gang in question and forcibly lay the issue to rest. However, he was a little hesitant to go this route. He had only recently taken control of his current organization, and already the rumors of a shakeup in administration had been filtering through the city's underworld. At the moment, the other major players were biding their time, probably waiting to see what he would do.
If he were to compound this delicate situation with a sudden, hostile takeover of another gang, it could very easily make him and his fledgling organization a target. Which would quite annoying, since he didn't feel the need to conquer the cities underworld just yet.
He pressed the intercom, "Miranda, see if you can schedule me a meeting with the boss of the NS-42s. Tell them I want to discuss a trade in regards to our clients."
There was a moment of silence on the other end, "Are you kidding? How would I even know how to do that? You think I have a rolodex of mob bosses on my desk?"
He chuckled, "Get with Vance, he should have an idea how we might get in contact. Besides, you're the one that wanted to prove yourself more useful than a mere assistant, right?"
There was another moment of silence, and he thought he heard or perhaps sensed the grinding of her teeth. "Fine. I'll get it taken care of."
Leaning back in his chair, he considered his other obligations. Vance should be handling the organization's old guard. So far, they've been playing along nicely, however, Adrian suspected that they would test him the near future. He needed to make sure that the resulting lesson was sufficient to quash future rebellion.
To complicate matters, he still had some issues to deal with in his personal life, even more so now that he'd been skipping classes. While an ordinary student might be able to get away with it, his personal situation made that unlikely. Additionally, there was the charity ball he was slated to attend this weekend. It was something he couldn't afford to miss at the moment, much to disgust.
On that note, he hit the intercom button again. "By the way, we'll be going to the charity event on Saturday Night. Make sure you are ready for it."
A sigh transmitted through the device, "That hardly gives me any time to prepare, but alright, I'll be ready."
[Why would you need more than a few days to prepare?]
Shrugging, Adrian returned to this thoughts. Even with his insight into the human psyche, women were still a bit of a mystery to him. This was especially true in the case of Miranda, but he suspected that she was just an unusual case.
He idly flipped the simple business card he'd received from his mysterious visitor yesterday, as he pondered how to handle the Bureau. He'd made a few, quiet inquiries with his newfound connections to the criminal underworld, but so far he'd come up short. The name suggested something governmental or regulatory in nature, but he doubted that they were part of any federal budget or required any congressional oversight.
The invitation to meet had been open, but he feared a trap. The girl in the hoodie had known a great deal about the origin of his abilities, and may even be aware of his vulnerabilities. If that was the case, he didn't want to simply walk in there blind. He needed to make sure he held the upper hand in any meetings with the shadowy group. And that required information.
Therefore, the next thing on his agenda would be to increase his ability to gather intelligence. The Ortegas had a pretty effective network of contacts, as well as solid relationships with a few information brokers who worked out of this city. However, there were some gaps, especially in the area of the supernatural, which he needed to fill.
Sensing that his servant had returned, he spoke to the shadows, "How much longer until the others awaken?"
Pavuk whispered a reply, "My lord, they have been sleeping for a long time. Bringing them back to awareness will take power that must be earned through transactions. However, with a few more of today's level, I believe we will have enough to awaken one."
Nodding, Adrian didn't bother to reply. It seemed he had more work to do, but little of it could be done tonight. He would need to return to his normal life tomorrow, if only to keep his family from interfering too much. It was a little surprising that they hadn't noticed his little disappearance yet, but he supposed that it was only a matter of time until word reached them.
On the plus side, he'd made sure to cultivate good relationships with his professors, so they were willing to bend the rules a little to allow him to make up the work he missed, and more importantly the test that he was unable to attend due to his kidnapping and subsequent escape. This meant that the consequences of vanishing for a few days were effectively mitigated. At least in terms of his academics.
"That will be it for the night, I believe." He told Miranda as he left his office, locking it behind him with a casual thought. "Feel free to leave when you are ready. Vance has already arranged for your transportation."
She was on the phone, speaking in a professional and business-like manner, but spared a few moments to glare at him. He chose to interpret that as wishing him a good night.
A quick pass through the Hall, and he was in his apartment once more. Setting an alarm for his usual time, he rolled into bed and fell asleep.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"So, you lost them. Is that what you're telling me?" Marcus asked while slowly rolling his cigar between two fingers, before taking a drag and allowing the mellow smoke to briefly fill his mouth.
"Come on Marcus, you know how it is. We got a lot of young guys running things. They're bound to fuck up every now and then." Andre replied nervously. "But don't worry, I got guys watching their homes and families. The second they make a move, we can nab them."
The leader of the NS-42s slowly shook his head. "Andre, how long we been working together?" He tapped his cigar in a crystal ashtray, taking a moment to brush a speck of dust off the tattooed skin of his arm.
"Going on about five years now." The other man answered, feeling a little more comfortable with the direction the conversation was going, prematurely expecting that talk of the old days would calm his boss down.
"Five years. That's a long time. Long time. We were still a bunch of jumped-up idiots back then, living in that hellhole with nothing but jail time or a bullet to look forward to, but we fought hard and carved a piece of this city for ourselves. You and I stood shoulder to shoulder, back to back, right in the thick of it. I would like to think we forged a bond back then. An unbreakable connection that united our souls in the pursuit of fortune." Marcus spoke philosophically, in the throes of nostalgia.
"Hell yeah, man. We tore shit up back then." Andre chuckled, happy to have the subject changed finally.
The tattoos on Marcus's left arm twitched, scrapping themselves along the lines of his skin. They were responding to his building anger, hoping for a fresh meal.
"So tell me Andre, with our powerful bond, why is it that you still don't understand what I've been trying to tell you?"
"Uh, I don't follow."
"Clearly." Marcus replied sarcastically while setting his cigar in the ashtray and standing. He didn't want it to get messed up in what happened next. "You failed, Andre. Plain and simple. You had one job. Bring me the package, but you fucked that up. You told me that you would get it back, that you knew just where to find the thieves, but you fucked that up too. Now, when I ask you to explain yourself, to give me a reason why I shouldn't just kill you where you stand, you tell me to not worry, that you've got the amazing plan of waiting for them to come home?"
Andre was backing up now, fear evident in his eyes. "What do you want me to do, Marcus? They got the Ortegas protection. Should I have started a war over a pair of punks?"
The skin of his arms and torso itched furiously.
"Yes! If that was what it took! You don't understand what that package was. How much I needed it! I don't give a fuck if you have to burn the whole goddam city to the ground, you go find those assholes and get me what I fucking want, or so help me God-"
There was a knock on the door.
Marcus whirled, stomped over, and threw it open. "What?!"
Casey, the gang's bookkeeper cocked an eyebrow at his outburst, utterly unfazed. "You got a call. It's the Ortegas, they want to talk business." She handed him the phone, then casually walked back to her room.
Anger flushed out of him, replaced with calm. "You wanted to speak to me?"
A cold female voice answered. "We have something you want. Our boss wants to schedule a meeting to discuss potential trades."
"Just name the time and place." Marcus replied, unable to suppress a grin.
[These fools don't know who they're messing with.]