5. When Everybody Wants Your Soul
"Eyewitness accounts place the number of rioters in excess of twenty."
Vincent half listened to the anchor as he considered plausible reasons as to why the Black Bats had added arson to their list of alleged crimes.
The rioters had been dispersed within minutes with only six taken into custody.
Unfortunately, it had taken significantly more time to extinguish the blaze. Vincent presumed an investigation would more than likely reveal that something had been used to make the fire as difficult to fight as possible.
The largest store front for Horus Monitoring had sustained extensive damage and practically everyone on scene from bystander to official believed it was beyond saving.
Vincent was approaching his thirty second hour awake. This was his third outfit change in that time period.
He had discarded the usual gentleman's attire and replaced it with a more sporty look. A burgundy sleeveless bamboo fiber shirt was tucked into black fitted bamboo fiber pants.
His running shoes were mostly black with burgundy accents.
He sipped from a steaming cup of cinnamon tea as he contemplated why the store front had been targeted instead of one of the corporate offices. Was it a matter of distance? Only one satellite office was actually within city limits. Perhaps this was merely a message to the execs? Did the Black Bats know something yet to be shared to the general public?
It would be several hours before any official information would be released and even the independent sources he had access to would require a minimum of three.
"Seshat," he said.
"How can I assist you, Vincent?" inquired a melodic disembodied voice.
"I need you to cross reference the one twenty with Horus Monitoring."
"Very well."
"Thank you my dear." It may have been silly to refer to an artificial intelligence in such a manner but it did seem to expedite his request. "Forward the results to my messenger please."
His phone buzzed as he set his teacup on the saucer.
Vincent retrieved the phone and slipped it into his left pants pocket. He grabbed his hoodie from the back of the chair and gave it a sniff. Satisfied, he slipped it over his head and left his apartment.
*
Iris Abdi lied on the bed with her older sister Siphokazi. The older woman lay on her back staring at the ceiling with her left arm lazily draped over her stomach. Iris was on her side with her cheek in her upturned palm. Between the two women was a black bat Siph had brought to Iris's home.
The older Abdi sister had called her younger sibling earlier in the day to relay her concerns about the bat that had been left at her door.
Affixed to the bat was a sticker. Printed in block print were the words "Do Not Hide Your Tears."
Iris had joined her sister after work and the two had spent the last few hours reminiscing. Wine and tears had flowed freely. Both women had been informed of the riot by the respective current events apps on their phone.
In her sedate state, Siph had wondered aloud if she was meant to be at the riot. Iris had half heartedly discouraged those thoughts.
But as their respective buzzes faded, the idea began to become more appealing. Still staring at the ceiling, Siph whispered to her younger sister about missing their father.
Iris clumsily maneuvered into a seated position and nearly fell out of the bed. The mention of their father had sobered Iris. Alcohol induced calm was displaced by anger.
The anger curled the fingers of her right hand around the base of the bat. She was the more aggressive sister; no one would be surprised if she had allowed the silent anger to erupt into violence. It would be so easy to blend into the crowd; to channel months of anguish into screams and wild home run swings.
Siph could stay home and preserve her good girl image. From the safety of her home, Siph could watch the first steps towards the people who had stolen the brightest light from their life.
Iris could do that for her sister. This is how they could move forward. The days of showing up at their respective jobs pretending to be fine would finally end.
Despite the presumption that either woman needed permission to cry, there was comfort in those five words delivered to the sisters via a nondescript black bat. A good cry was good for washing away lingering resentments and regrets.
But the unwritten message was even more powerful. They were not alone.
*
Antiseptic and perspiration battled to be the dominant scent inside the seemingly empty Ezana Warriors. Ezana was renowned for producing at least one world champion in six different combat sports. With little attention paid to how they were arranged, twelve portraits showcasing those champions with their medals, trophies, and championship belts occupied spaces on every wall.
After passing rows of free weights and the primary men's locker room, Vincent squeezed into a cramped office.
Vincent pushed past two awkwardly placed desks and slid an office chair to his right. He pulled out his phone and pressed it against the wall. His phone beeped twice. Twelve seconds later, a door shaped section of wall opened and Vincent entered another room.
In this room, perspiration had beaten antiseptic. The eerie quiet of the main gym had been replaced with the cheers, jeers, curses, and other assorted noises that temporarily broke through the collective noise of two dozen men and women.
Situated in the center of the room, a fighting platform surrounded by a hexagonal cage hosted a fight between two men that at first glance seemed very one sided. Upon further inspection, that initial assumption proved correct as the smaller man with the better physique lost consciousness after the portly aggressor landed a series of uncontested punches to the face.
The official checked the unconscious man's breathing as the victor pounded one of his fists against his chest three times. After the victor left the cage, he was led away by a woman dressed more appropriately for a dinner party than a fight club.
Two men entered with a stretcher and carefully loaded the still unconscious man onto it before lifting him and expertly carrying him away through the crowd.
"It's a good thing I don't bet on these fights." Vincent turned his head to catch a glimpse of Ezana standing next to him dressed in a stunning black frock trimmed in gold.
"What was he fighting for?"
"Daughter's college fund."
"That's sweet."
"He lost it on bad bets."
"Sentiment retracted."
"Same stakes as usual?"
"One day I'm going to surprise you."
"I would love nothing more for you to fight for some money."
"I'd bankrupt your little operation."
"You're not usually this cocky. You must need something big. Hang tight." Ezana put a hand on Vincent's shoulder.
Vincent took in the next fight which pitted two women that looked like they finished first and second place in a fitness competition. The woman in purple fighting shorts had the sort of abs that commanded attention. Her opponent was not quite as eye-catching, but her core muscles were impressive in their own right.
Unlike the fight he had walked in on, this was more of a back and forth affair featuring several good exchanges of technical grappling that some people appreciated but was booed by the more bloodthirsty viewers. If the lack of support bothered either woman, they did an exemplary job of focusing on the task at hand.
A particularly smooth transition into an armbar led to the purple fighter's victory. The other woman held her injured arm but despite the dejected look on her face, offered a handshake to her opponent. The reception to the show of sportsmanship was positive but not unanimous. Vincent closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply.
Both women left and followed the woman from earlier.
Ezana reappeared and headed inside the cage. A roar filled the room and he motioned for the crowd to lower the volume.
"Are we having a good time tonight?" He held the mic towards the crowd who screamed their approval. "Who loves you?"
"Ezana! Ezana!" They chanted in more or less unison.
"And because I love each and everyone of you so much, we have a special match to close out the evening. Introducing first, one of the rare men to gain 10 straight victories, Jabari!"
A young man in plain black boxing trunks and bare chest made his walk to the ring. He retreated to the furthest left corner of the cage and faced the wall.
"And his opponent. You know him, you love him. Black Lion!"
Vincent winced at the reception the crowd showered him with as the people closest to him began patting him once they recognized he was present. He threw up a fist as he navigated through the crowd and towards the cage.
Before stepping inside, he bowed, then in a flourish, flung off his hood as he stood back upright.
Once inside the cage, he sized up his opponent. Jabari was about an inch shorter than Vincent with noticeably less muscle mass. There was good definition in what muscle he did possess but the youthfulness of his face was very striking. VIncent would have to ask how old the kid was after this was over.
Jabari took a southpaw boxing stance. Vincent removed his hoodie and tossed it over the cage. He then assumed a wrestling stance. The official stepped between the two of them and gave them a quick rundown on the conditions for victory.
The moment the official yelled fight, a jab just missed Vincent's face and a left hook grazed his shoulder. Vincent shot in for a single leg, but stopped short and jerked his head away from an uppercut.
Jabari's speed was surprising and he landed a glancing straight left to Vincent's chest before he could recover. However, Vincent rolled backwards into a crouch then sprung forward into a dive that knocked Jabari back just enough to leave his leg in position for Vincent's grab.
To his credit, Jabari fought off the attempt at a leg lock with a combination of twists and oddly angled hammer fists that forced Vincent to reconsider his strategy.
Vincent kept his distance with a pair of low kicks. The first landed solidly against the side of Jabari's knee and caused the younger fighter's stance to buckle slightly. Jabari circled away from the second kick but was no longer in range to land a punch.
Quickly, Vincent closed the gap with two quick steps and briefly exchanged punches with Jabari. There was an impressive snap and precision to the punches, but they stung more than hurt. Jabari was staggered by a body shot and Vincent shook off the annoyance of the accumulation of strikes he had taken.
Suddenly, Vincent saw a flash of white on his left side as his face exploded in pain. He almost dropped to the floor and barely defended against the follow up punch that was even harder.
Pain vibrated through the arm he used to block and instinctively he dove at Jabari's leg. Jabari shuffled back and circled away then back towards a rising Vincent.
The young man peppered Vincent with quick jabs but missed a power punch and Vincent immediately clinched Jabari's head. They struggled against one another for a moment before Jabari struck hard with a hook to the ribs. Vincent's grip faltered and Jabari pushed away with his right hand while simultaneously throwing a left punch towards Vincent's face.
This however was countered by Vincent hooking his left arm around Jabari's a moment before impact. He then proceeded to trip Jabari while maintaining the arm lock then quickly maneuvered into a choke hold. Jabari fought valiantly and rattled Vincent with a couple of punches but after a few more seconds his body went limp.
The referee stepped into separate the two fighters as the crowd erupted with applause.
Vincent glanced over his shoulder as the trainer from earlier attended to Jabari. The young man was already stirring and shaking his head in disbelief.
As he was escorted out of the cage, Ezana met him at the entrance.
"What do you need to know?"
*
Sishay Dlamini's life had changed drastically in the last seventy-two hours. In that time, he had been chosen as the new face of the city.
As Acting mayor, he was in the midst of overseeing a major overhaul of several key departments. The hardest fight was with the police union.
Although not as powerful as they were in Dlamini's youth, the old lions were still dangerous.
He paced the floor of a darkened mayoral chamber; it still felt too soon to call it his office.
The police union protecting its own weighed heavy on his mind. But he was distracted.
His new appointment had not been the only major change in his life.
Prior to the scandal, he had been aimless. He had finished university and tried to bring youthful vigor to the halls of powers.
Immediately he discovered he was little more than a shiny new ornament for the entrenched elite to show off to the public.
Their voices spoke through his lips. Dlamini was the pretty face that recited pretty words to further an ugly agenda he was ill prepared to fight.
As he grew more disillusioned and the wonders of the political world diminished, he met her.
Their initial meeting had been odd to say the least. This gangly unorthodox woman seemingly materialized during a perfunctory council meeting about allocating even more funds to an already affluent district.
She was all nervous energy with motormouth tendencies and no tact. But she was real. She was brilliant and had served as a desperately needed shot of adrenaline to shake off the lethargic way he had been handling his miniscule amount of power.
A few days later they were speaking privately and with each conversation she became the flame he had been missing. His previous attempts to reignite his passion could not provide a spark yet this woman had him ready to take on the world. She had given him what he could never ask for without feeling beholden to some future unknown favor.
However, in the turmoil of the last thirty six hours, he had not heard from her. She was his small measure of solace in these trying times.
Suddenly, the phone rang and had anyone else been present, he may have felt a tinge of embarrassment at how he lunged at his desk to retrieve it.
The caller ID flashed her name.
"Missed you."
"Didn't take you for the sentimental type."
The voice did not belong to her.
"Who is this?"
"Just a friend. Don't freak out. Just borrowing her number for a minute Mr. Acting Mayor. And as your friend I just wanted to give you a heads up."
Dlamini squeezed the phone tightly. "Just tell me what this is about."
"Just trying to make a friend. And given the current climate, with everybody wanting a piece of your soul, you need a friend like me." The call disconnected.
Dlamini immediately hit the phone icon but he was forwarded to her voice-mail box. The automated voice intoned a generic greeting and he ended the call without leaving a message.
Three days. What would the rest of his term look like?
*
Elisa felt incredible. Her first day had been everything she could have imagined. She was uncertain if Vincent was even listening to her describe her experience but she knew he would appreciate the enthusiasm all the same.
That feeling immediately vanished the moment she entered her home.
"I'll call you back." Her hand fell limply to the side at the site of the man standing across the room from her.
"Welcome home my dear." It was the last voice she expected to hear today.
"Good evening, father." She treated the word reverently despite her best intentions.
Luis De La Luna's presence was enough to strip years away from her existence and reduce her to the pre-pubescent girl that thought he was a superhero. But she was a grown woman now. She shook off the subconscious desire to throw her arms around a man that had grown so distant since hiring Vincent.
"To what do I owe this unexpected privilege?" She removed her shoes and looked past him to the kitchen table.
"No need to be so formal." He approached her in a way that appeared normal but still unnerved her. Luis was as intimidating as he could be charming but even when cordial he could project a sense of danger.
"Is everything ok with you?"
"Better than ok mi amor. I've done it."
"Done what?"
"It's better if you see. Come with me. Now." Despite the smile on his face, she knew a command when she heard it.
"Yes sir."