Imprint - 28. Ch. 5 Part VI, VII

VI

The house at Fourth and Jefferson was quiet from the outside, probably near empty inside. Almost everyone would be at the Southside location, now that the house had been gutted and remodeling was well underway; this would be the third time Tallen had been personally involved in the process and it always amazed him how quickly and efficiently it all went. No one was trying to take over Outworld, if they did it would already be lost.

He recognized his boss's flashy car parked on the side of the road; they would be in the basement workroom. Behind that was the car Trick's bodyguard used only when he had to; the presence of the car didn't mean that Trick was definitely here, but it was a promising sign.

Tallen pulled in behind them, reaching across the cab to retrieve the aether cartridges out of the compartment hidden in the floor below the passenger's seat. It was the first modification to his stolen vehicle, a friend of his first client had installed it for him; there were far more besides now, by professionals with greater skill, in places he would not have thought possible. About the only thing he couldn't smuggle over now were people, but there were other channels for that. The bit of scorched earth sat heavy in his coat pocket.

He eyed the mural on his way in with the usual mixture of disdain and amazement. The sheer amount of effort that went into disguising it in plain view was astonishing; Veil was covered in random graffiti, most people didn't feel the need to hide what wouldn't look out of place, but why do things the easy way when you can show off instead? It was practically the company motto. He imagined it would look cheesy to an outsider, he couldn't see it for anything other than what it was. He remembered telling Frost he had worked on it; he wondered what Frost would make of it, if he ever lost his mind and actually brought him here.

Tallen entered the house with all the caution of a SWAT team leader, inching the door open, listening for any sign of distress. Aside from the bass thump of music being blasted downstairs, there was nothing. Finally he saw Locrann sitting on the living room couch, watching him with a faint look of amusement.

“Hi,” Tallen said, and had to remind himself again this man didn't speak English; didn't speak anything Tallen knew very well, but could understand Common enough for short exchanges. “Where are the boss men?”

Locrann tapped his foot on the floor; downstairs.

“And the brat pack?” His name for the three young assholes that lived here full time to stand guard; they were very slow to learn not to give Trick any shit, which did little to endear them to him. Few people got the reference.

Locrann's hand swept toward the door; scattered. Probably wise.

“But its quiet now?”

“For now,” the man's accent was a thick growl, made everything he said intimidating; an asset in his line of work.

“Where's Trick?”

He pointed up.

“Then I came at the perfect time.” Tallen walked in with a smile that seemed to further sour Locrann's mood; he was mellow enough on a normal day. “You're far too grouchy, you know. Maybe you need a vacation. Should ask for one.”

The man snorted unpleasantly, “You ask.”

“Maybe I will.” Tallen went to the hall closet, pushing aside the collection of Goodwill coats that hung there on hangers for appearances sake, finding the secret door in the back wall. From there he walked down a narrow hallway to a small storage room at the back of the house, all walled off and hidden away in the remodeling.

A desk lamp sat on the chest freezer (and what that was filled with, he didn't even want to know), Tallen flipped it on and looked over the shelves, the rows of shelves all nearly full, he had to rearrange a few things to make room for the black box with the cartridges. Weapons, weapon parts, materials in the making of, much of which he had acquired himself over the last few months. Storage never got this full, they had to be near ready to make a move; Tallen would need a vacation of his own, a few days out of Outworld, until it all blew over again.

He heard the footsteps following him down the passageway, Trick could never sneak up on anyone, not with those heavy boots clip clopping on the floor. Tallen's smile was genuine this time, “There you are. How long have you been back?”

“Not long,” and it showed when Trick stepped into the light, grinning and relaxed, “I saw you pull up. I was getting dressed.”

The smell of new leather hung strongly about him; that was probably where he was today, getting his protective gear replaced again. His vest was more heavily padded, strapped on with shiny silver buckles, the long leather gloves stretching to a few inches above the elbow.

Trick peered at him from behind small round sunglasses, “You're happy.” It wasn't a question, he always just knew.

“I came from the bookstore.”

“Ah. And how is your love today?”

(“...fix it, if you care...know you can...”)

“He's in a great mood. And looking forward to having me to himself later.”

“Oh? Very confident.”

“Does it look good on me?” He opened an arm, “What are you doing way over there? Come here, say hello to me.”

With a light laugh and the clinking of bone beads, Trick stepped closer. He was almost as tall as Tallen, half a head off, only needed to lean up a little to kiss Tallen on the cheek. His upper body stayed angled away, arms carefully behind his back so nothing else was touching.

Tallen worked his finger around the bridge of the glasses, tugging them down to the end of his nose; those assholes and their stupid comments, he hated seeing Trick uncomfortable in a home that was partly his own. His strange dark grey eyes pulsed and fluttered in view.

“You are an awful tease.” the words tripped and stumbled over his tongue, a heavy accent making it jagged and uneven.

Tallen stepped back, sweeping his arm toward the doorway, “Well, let's go then. My surprise isn't in here anyway.”

Trick stepped out first, “No, its in your pocket.”

“Hey, don't read my mind. Its rude.”

“I don't mean to.”

“And besides, you're wrong. What I brought you transcends any petty material gifts.” he pushed the closet door shut behind him, “I brought you peace of mind.”

“You found peace of mind in New Green River?” Trick just managed a straight face; behind him Locrann, unable to follow the conversation, paid them little attention.

“I know, it was the damnedest thing.” he smiled, “So tell me, how have the ogres been today?”

“I have not been here for many hours now. It was fine in the morning, until the table was bumped. I left after Maath got an ash tray thrown at his head.” Trick's small smirk suggested he had enjoyed that part of it at least, “It has been silent since my return.”

Tallen took a deep breath, only partly for drama of it, “Well, I guess this is my chance then.”

Trick cocked his head to the side, soft delicate features scrunched into a look of confusion. Trick was very beautiful, in a way that had him frequently mistaken for a woman; it reminded him of Frost at times, who was also uncommonly beautiful though a little less androgynously, in a way that evoked both fragility and hidden strength. It was a strange sort of beauty though, the longer you looked the more you saw a face and body shifted out of true, stretched and altered beyond what it should be. Tallen had gathered, from vague conversational hints, Trick did not come by his looks naturally; he'd guessed, from watching a few people get the shit beaten out of them, it was a touchy subject and you never asked about it. Tallen thought he maybe could, that they were close enough for it, but his throat tightened whenever he considered doing so.

(“...in the mirror, I see a stranger's...)

(“...did this to-....made me what I am...to be a-”)

“I told you I was giving you peace of mind. That would require turning those two back into human beings.” A shrug, “Or, well, you know what I mean.”

“Please do not let them eat you. It wouldn't distract more than a moment, I would miss you longer.”

“There are better ways to kill yourself. Don't worry, I got a plan.”

Trick peered at him with narrowed eyes, tilting his head upright again, jerking slightly so his thick dark hair would cover the ugly aether burn at his temple. “I believe you do. Must be something good.” He nodded, “Five minutes. Then I come to get you.”

“I'll be sure and pass the warning along.” It was only half a joke; unlike the idiots in the brat pack, Tallen understood the power dynamics here well enough, Trick was not the pampered pet he was often assumed to be.

Downstairs approaching the closed workroom door, Tallen could hear the music enough to identify what it was, at least by genre: it was an industrial metal day. Sometimes it was hip hop, sometimes an upbeat dance mix; on an off day could be almost anything at all, except country music which he couldn't stand. “It reminds me of the traditional ballad bullshit they sang back home,” was the given explanation the one time he asked, “Birth home, I mean. The evil one.”

“Really? I wouldn't have thought.”

“What would you have thought?”

Tallen had shrugged, “I don't know... Flutes and harps? An orchestra?”

That had won him a long incredulous look, “Why?” Because, for whatever reason, some high fantasy expectations were hard to let go of, however different the real thing turned out to be.

Sometimes his mood could be judged from the choice in music, Trick had worked out a system; under the circumstances, this could mean he was kicking the project's ass, or ready to kick everyone else's. Tallen took a deep breath and hoped for the best, before knocking on the door and inching it open.

“So, how's the weather in there?” He directed the question to the red head on the couch.

“I in no way guarantee your safety.” The man glanced casually up from the book spread open on his lap, his eyes meeting Tallen's, one brown one blue, “You're welcome to chance it.”

There was light bruising around the man's mouth, Tallen could clearly make out teeth impressions there, and faint cuts along his scarred neck. At least he was wearing pants, for once, a fact that once would've made Tallen feel relieved, but he'd gotten used to the surprise male nudity long ago.

“I had nothing else to do this life.” The statement got him a light smirk, before the man turned back to his book with an air of disinterest. There was a strange sort of balance between the two of them, whenever one was worked up about something the other was usually calm. Tallen could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen them both enraged, it always ended quick and messy for someone. He didn't think either did it on purpose, it was just the sort of effortless thing that comes with time and compatibility.

….like how I always know what he's saying, when he can't say anything, or doesn't know how to. Know what he needs without asking. It can be like that

(again)

I know it can. Just as soon as I...

...as soon as I...

(…. …. …. …. ….)

The other man was bent over the work table, too lost in his task to notice anything. His foot was tapping faster than the beat of the music, scarred fingers gripping the thin metal stylus tight enough the skin around it was an angry red; a cigarette transferred between his lips and free hand, an overflowing ash tray resting at his elbow. Tallen stood a good foot and a half away, trying to decide if that was the same section he was working on last time or if it had moved half an inch forward. The sigil was a large and complex design, one slight mistake, one fine detail missed or line not curved enough, it wouldn't go off when needed to; the conductor metal was soft enough that errors could be smoothed out, but so would everything in the area immediately around it. Two steps back for every slip of the wrist; it would be enough to drive a sane man crazy, and this wasn't a sane man.

“Hey, almost halfway done.”

The man's head jerked up; he was wearing the glasses he'd made out of a pair of jeweler's eyes, it made him look like a demented praying mantis. “What the fuck do you want?”

“A friendly greeting?” Not that Tallen had any right to speak of sanity. It had often been a coping mechanism of his, a way to diffuse situations before they start, pretending that nothing was wrong, that he was okay; that didn't explain the near suicidal quips he could never stop himself from making to them. It was a lucky thing his humor seemed to be appreciated, or at least taken in stride.

“You still got your skin, don't you?” The booming music was switched off, the insectile glasses removed; the yellow eyes came into view glaring, “If this is about those fucking shells...”

“Oh, no, no. Nothing like that. If I had bad news, I'd be sending smoke signals. I'm here to bring joy.”

There was a huff of laughter from the couch behind him, though the man's eyes were still focused on his book. “He's laughing because he thinks I'm going to kill you, you know.”

“But why would you do that, when you love me so much?” he grinned charmingly, if unwisely, “Who else can give you what you need, just the way you need it?” Tallen reached into his pocket and pulled out the wrapped stone, placing it on the edge of the table, his hand still resting atop it, “Come on, Strife. Give me a chance to impress you.”

Amusement warred with hours long irritation on Strife's face, before he nodded his head, “All right, you've caught me at a good moment, so I'll give you a chance.” The cigarette raised to his lips again, smoke streamed out his nose, “On the other hand, you are interrupting my flow, so this better be good, or you'll be losing your virginity to a garbage disposal.”

“Why a garbage disposal?”

A shrug, “Just want a chance to use one.”

“You've been watching movies again,” Tallen took half a step back, watching as his package was unwrapped.

At first Strife only stared quietly, obviously confused. He picked the rock up, weighting it in hand, rubbing his thumb over its surface, holding it up to the light. The longer the silence stretched, the greater Tallen knew the reward would be; it felt like eternity before he heard Strife's breath catch, eyes widen before looking at Tallen in sheer disbelief, “No. No fucking way.”

Tallen just smiled and said nothing.

“Oh, we'll see here. Hey, love! Heads up!” The rock sailed across the room, Canaan caught it in an easy move, bringing it up for study with the same detached air. His change of expression was more interesting, it was one Tallen had seen a few times now that was both fascinating and oddly chilling to watch: a far away, unfocused look, eyes tilted off to the side, searching through his mind for a memory Trick had said. Strife snorted impatiently, “Why don't you try holding it in your other hand.”

That seemed to do the trick, Canaan's gazed zeroed in on Tallen with all the intense focus he was capable of, it was all Tallen could do not to squirm. “Where did you find this?”

Tallen didn't get a chance to answer before Strife had grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him forward into a kiss, too hard and too many teeth. “Holy shit, you do know what I like.”

“Ouch,” Tallen cracked his jaw, making Strife smirk mockingly at him. “New Green River.”

A slight widening of the eyes betrayed his surprise at that, Canaan stood up from the couch; his bare torso was peppered with bruises, most faded green and yellow, only the fingertips at his hips looked fresh and the only ones obviously not from a fight. He held the bit of scorched earth up, now in his disfigured hand, not willing to repeat himself.

Tallen cleared his throat, “Random dealer in the bazaar, said he got it from someone else. Didn't ask where it was dug up.”

“Why not?'

“Because then he might've realized it wasn't scarred cloud rock and charged me a fortune for it.”

“Fucking idiot,” Strife laughed, “See, that's why we pay you so well. That big, smart brain of yours.”

“What about my good looks and charm?”

“That's just a delightful bonus.” Strife offered him a cigarette; they were much stronger than what Tallen preferred, but he accepted anyway.

Canaan stepped closer, waiting until they were done. “If someone were to ask him, do you think he would know?”

He hesitated; the merchant had annoyed him, though not so much so he wanted to sick the two people the man had least wanted to deal with on him. “I think its passed through too many hands to be traced back now.”

Canaan accepted the answer, putting the rock back on the table atop its discarded wrapping. “Pity.”

“Why, are you going to need more than that?”

“No, it will stretch. But it would have been good information to have. Its a very rare resource.”

“But you only need it for Drake. Right?” Nix's words did stick with him, whatever the man actually thought.

Canaan gave him a look; he'd heard the question underneath, didn't seem bothered by it. “You have never met Drake.”

Tallen hadn't; he hoped he never would.

“And speaking of rare resources,” Strife put in, “What else are we going to need to make this thing a viable weapon? Might as well make the list now.”

“Nothing as rare as this, I don't think. I'll get back to you on it.”

“Oh, fuck me. Are you serious?”

“I didn't make the thing, I just used it. Its a bit harder to dig up something told in passing.”

“And why couldn't you have picked out that little piece of pillow talk earlier? Like when we asked him to keep his eye out, maybe?”

“Because it was a long shot at best, and you know it.”

Tallen stood still, beside Canaan and across the table from Strife; his eyes lazily traced along the red and black aether burns that wound chain like up the man's arm while trying to not feel uncomfortable. This was flirting, he knew that, but that didn't make it safe to be caught in the middle of. He'd learned that lesson well enough.

“Well, when you do remember, I'll get right on that then,” he broke into the silence, “Not like the guy's banging down your door right now or anything.”

“He's hardly the type,” Strife said, “but you have a point. And you're cute when you're trying too hard.”

Tallen just smiled in response. He wondered sometimes if they were just that accepting of their flaws, or if he was more a part of their inner circle than he had ever intended to be. What that meant for him if he was.

(...-trust him?”)

(“-not to lie to me. Which is more than I can say for-”)

“So, what do we owe you then?” Strife asked, “And I'm not talking about coin. Even if you did pay a fortune, we owe you better than that.”

“Like what?”

“Well, what do you want? I'd give you just about anything right now. I'd blow you right here, if you wanted.”

Tallen tapped a finger against his chin, “Hmm... Tempting as that sounds, I think I have to pass.”

“Be the best you ever had.” He grinned widely, to be sure Tallen took in the whole meaning.

“Well, I should hope so. Since it would also probably be my last.” he cut a glance at Canaan, who glanced back with a mild expression, could've been either yes it would or I wouldn't mind; Tallen didn't know which was worse.

“How about we just say you owe me three favors, that I can call in at any time.”

Strife narrowed his eyes in thought, “Favors, like what? More burn work?”

Tallen flexed his arms, covered by the coat sleeves, “I don't think I have any room left.”

“Would if you lost more clothing.”

“I think I have all the protection I need.” There was that twinge of discomfort again, but he didn't know why. Strife's barbs were often sexual, with everyone, and it wasn't a big deal, but he would swear sometimes there was a different tone when it came to him; not just a tease at his lack of experience, but like he was looking for something, some specific response? Whatever it might be, Tallen hadn't lighted on it yet.

“So, what then?”

“I don't know yet. But when I need something, I'll tell you and you'll do it.”

“I have veto power?”

“Of course, but its not like I've ever been unreasonable.”

Strife stretched his hand across the table, “Okay, deal.”

Tallen shook, “And you should take me out to dinner tonight. And no, that's not one of the favors. And Trick gets to come. Oh yeah, and give Locrann a day off.”

A laugh, “See what I mean, so cute when you're trying too hard.” He nodded, “Okay, fine. But I get to pick the place. We're going to the Rampaging Bull.”

No surprises there. “Well, the food there's not so bad when you can pick off the special piss and spit free menu.”

He watched Strife putting his tools away, carefully covering the half unfinished sigil in a thick protective cloth-

don't dance around it, call it what it is, what you know it is. They're building a b-

coming around the table behind Canaan, hanging on him a moment, hand on each shoulder. “This needs celebrating. I want to get drunk, dance, and break a pitcher over someone's head.”

Canaan turned his head, glaring at his husband out of the corner of his eye, “I'm not carrying you home.”

“I'd find my way back,” a fingertip pressed to the bite mark at the side of his mouth, “Then you'd be sorry.”

“Would I?”

A quick kiss and Strife was out the door, shouting to the people upstairs as he went. Canaan stayed behind a moment, giving Tallen a look he had no trouble reading. Feeling ballsy, he answered, “You're welcome.”

The corner of his lip twitched up, and Canaan was gone, too.

Tallen turned one last time, to look at the piece of scorched earth sitting on the table's edge.

...I did the right thing, right? Or at least not a bad thing?

“I don't need to talk to your friend for that. You won't find many who'd mind if the Corrupter were to die.”

“He is a monster...I still dream of him, what he did-”

(“You trust him?”)

...yeah. Yeah, I – I think I'm okay here.

He reached the top of the stairs in time to see Strife leaving through the front door with his arm around Locrann's shoulders, talking in a language he couldn't understand. Trick was still standing in the same place, looking in confusion between them and Canaan who had pulled on a shirt, buttoning it up. One of his expensive designer brand things that clashed oddly with the black and red tattoo like chains poking out of the short sleeves. Remnants of a former life, he'd said once, likely the same one where he got his money; Tallen didn't know much more than that, it was never discussed. Trick and Canaan stared at each other in that quiet intense way they did, communicating somehow without a word spoken. Canaan touched the side of his face, just for a moment, fingers tracing heedlessly over those ugly blue black marks; an apology.

Then they were alone, Trick staring at him in open amazement. Tallen took a bow.

“How did you-” a laugh, “Was it magic?”

“If it was, wouldn't you know?”

“I can't think of what else it could be. He was so...excited, after so many weeks of...” a head shake, “You brain washed them, didn't you?”

“No, nothing so permanent. But I did my best.”

Trick smiled, warm and lovely. “I adore you, Tallen, you know that.”

“I did it all for you,” Tallen opened his arms, “Come here.”

Trick walked closer, a few inches away and turned his back. Tallen placed his hands carefully at the boy's hips, keeping out of the way of his arms; he leaned forward, resting his face against the center back of Trick's head. His body burned like a furnace, sharp prickles of heat poking along his aura, looking for a way in; a creepy feeling, but he endured it. Trick raised one gloved hand, holding it up close to Tallen's head, just shy of a touch.

“So, how much time do you think I've bought us?”

“From what I felt, better than your estimate.”

“Good,” He stood up straight, “We're getting dragged to the bar. I'm going to have a few token drinks and be on my way. You'll help me escape, right?”

“Certainly,” Trick turned to face him, “Go, see your mate. Enjoy yourselves. You have earned it.”

“Well, I'll be sure to tell him that.”

“When we meet, I think I will owe him an apology for all the times I have taken you away.”

“No, not really. I don't think Frost holds a grudge.”

Trick nodded with a soft smile, “I do want to meet him, still. I have been so curious.”

“You will. One day.” One day, when Tallen didn't have to lie anymore; one day soon, hopefully. “You'll like him, you know. He's sweet. You'll get along great.”

“...I'm sure we will.”

VII

Tallen had thought he'd long gotten over that expectation that a man's deeds, or reputation, should somehow show on his face, like a mark to warn off the innocent; thieves and murderers looked the same as shop keepers and family men, whatever monstrous name he might carry in back alley whispers he would still just be a man like any other. Nix's words had affected him more than he realized, and the days he spent after wondering if he should cancel the appointment, how to play it if he didn't, and now when he opened the door at the knock, there was a level of anticipation he thought he'd outgrown. What, exactly, did a ghoul look like?

At first glance, the man leaning casually against the door frame might seem a disappointment. Too young, by Veil standards far too pretty to take seriously; he should be on a magazine somewhere, modeling the latest fashion trends...or the latest in leather fetish gear. That was a first glance, and not many would bother looking past the blond hair and charmingly crooked grin.

Four years in Outworld had also taught him what a threat really looked like: those who were all talk, those that could only be pushed so far, and those who would slit your throat without a second thought, step over your corpse like it wasn't there. In that respect, the man looked every bit the hired killer Nix had said he was, and Tallen feared for a moment he had made a grave mistake.

The silence stretched on uncomfortably as the man stared back at him, charming grin receding, a frown taking its place. A hand reached up, slowly pulling the sunglasses off his face, revealing a pair of yellow eyes; at least that part was unexpected.

“What the fuck?” a movement of lips with barely any sound; then, “Tallen?”

“Who else?” burst out of his mouth before he could stop it; he worked hard to hide the wince. Be polite, get him out of here, remember?

Yellow eyes blinked several times, “...the fuck?” he pushed off the door jamb to stand straight, “What the – what are you doing here?”

Now it was Tallen's turn to frown, “I, uh...I live here?”

“Oh you do, huh? You live here?” his head shook, “How? How can – how are you living here?”

“Oh, is that it?” Tallen felt himself relax again so suddenly he almost fell into the wall, “Sorry, I didn't know that you knew. Or could tell, whichever.” There were enough people who knew but not everyone did, and Tallen was loath to draw attention to it if he didn't have to. “Okay, yes, I was born in Veil. But I live here now, have for the last four years, and obviously I can do my job well enough or you never would've heard of me. It shouldn't be a problem.”

The man kept on staring, “You're from Veil?”

And back to confusion. “All right, so which problem is it, then? Am I too young? Too sweet and innocent?”

“Who, you?”

“That hurts.” What are you doing? Stop that! He cleared his throat, “You do have the right apartment, right? You are my afternoon appointment?”

“You're the procurer.” Like it was a sudden realization.

“Yeah, and you're the-” he bit his tongue just in time, “-client.” Tallen shook his head, “All right, help me out here, 'cause I don't get it.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.” The man's arms were crossed, fingers drumming at his elbow; he was agitated, and that wasn't a welcome thing in a hired killer. Tallen wondered if he shouldn't slam the door shut, go back to bed and try to forget this ever happened; would the man himself just forget about it if he did?

“The what?”

“Hmm?”

“You said earlier, I'm the what?”

“Oh,” Tallen's hand had curled around the door when he wasn't paying attention; the grip tightened, “I said client.”

Yellow eyes narrowed, “No, that's not what you were going to say. What were you going to say?”

“I stumbled over my words, that's all.”

“No, that's what you're doing now. What were you going to say?”

The man was absolutely serious about this, Tallen could not figure out why and half worried he was being talked into a trap. Like he could read his mind, the man casually leaned in the path of the door; the charming grin was suddenly back on his face, “I'm not that sensitive, you know. I've heard it all before. So out with it already.”

He couldn't think of a plausible lie quickly enough; he had to hope it wouldn't cost him his head, “The...the ghoul.”

At first the man seemed almost disappointed by the answer, but it only lasted a moment; he snorted a laugh, “Wow, haven't heard that one in a while. Its a regional thing, you must know someone from Ironhill.”

He thought that's where Nix said he was from. “Sounds familiar.”

“Its more commonly called, or translated anyway, as corpse grinder.” his grin widened, finally reaching his eyes, “Kinda cool, huh?”

“Its...something.”

The man gave him a long, considering look; the smile was still on his face, “You...you have no idea who I am, do you?”

“No, sorry,” Tallen said, “I guess you have quite the reputation, but I'm not as up to date on every legend and rumor.”

“Yeah. Because you're from Veil.”

“Four years ago. Is it a problem?”

“Oh, no. Its just – I know someone from Veil, that's all. Its just...interesting.”

“If you say so,” finally, Tallen released his grip on the door, stepping out of the way, “You want to come in?” Get this over with.

The man made a move forward, then stopped. “No. No, I can't. Something....unexpected, came up. I think I'm going to have to talk to my partner before I do anything else.”

Tallen narrowly strangled his sigh of relief, “Well, okay then. You can contact me to reschedule.”

“That won't be necessary. You can come with me.”

Tallen fought to remain calm; he took half a step to the side to hide the way his hand was clutching the door handle, “No, I'm sorry,” he kept his voice apologetic but firm; the words were well rehearsed, came automatically, “That's my policy, I conduct my business here and only here. I don't make exceptions for anyone or any reason. Its nothing personal, I hope you understand.” A pause, “Now, if you want to reschedule, or even bring your partner here, that will be fine, but-”

“No,” the man forcefully interrupted, again positioning himself right in the doorway, steel toed boot planted right against it. “You're the one who doesn't understand. This is not a request. Its an order. Get your fucking coat and let's get going.”

Tallen could feel his heart beating in his throat, but it was a slow and steady beat for all he thought it should be faster, panicked. He needed to say something, but the words weren't coming; he wanted to try slamming the door anyway, but he'd already let it go.

“What are you so worried about?” the man asked, “What do you think I'm going to do? Lure you off, have my way with you, leave you bleeding in a ditch.” Shaking his head, the man seemed to pick his words carefully, “If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now. If I wanted to drag you off to a some dungeon, it'd be at knife point. I'm...not known for my subtlety. Ask anyone.”

(… … … … … …)

“...I'll get my coat.”

The man smiled pleasantly, “Good boy. Good to see you can still listen.”

He didn't know why he was; he questioned the decision stepping out the door, questioned it all the way down the hall and outside. But he kept on walking, calm and collected, unaffected by any true crime scenario his brain tried to throw up in warning.

The only thing that did stop him was the hastily armed crowd that gathered very suddenly around his truck before him and his client could get in. Twenty or thirty people right out front, and a lot of parking lot squatters behind to make escape difficult.

The panic came then, as his mind struggled to work out what he could've possibly done and what he needed to say to get out of it. A man he barely recognized as one of his neighbors stepped forward, gesturing at Tallen with a two by four studded with rusty nails, speaking in broken Common. “You don't leave.”

Tallen thought it was an order at first, until he continued, “You never leave.” the board raised higher, pointing to the vehicle's other side, “You want leave with him?”

“And if he doesn't?' he didn't turn to look at the blond, but his tone was more mocking than worried, “I mean this is all really touching, but come on. Do any of you here think you can take me?”

Tallen could see in his neighbor's eyes that none of them really thought it, but that didn't mean they wouldn't try. He didn't know what to think. “Its – its okay,” not as steady as he would've liked, “Thank you, really. But...I'm going on my own.” That probably wasn't a lie, “I'll be back.”

His neighbor stared at him a moment longer, standing down with visible reluctance, “Three hour. Then we come,” he said, “The old brothel.”

Tallen wasn't certain what that was supposed to mean, until the sarcastic reply, “Oh no, you know where I live. Now I guess I'll have to return him.” The blond slammed his hand against the side of the truck, “Let's go, killer.”

Tallen sat behind the wheel, watching the crowd slowly disperse, mind still grasping for understanding. The blond climbed in beside him with an amused snort, “Well, aren't you Mr. Popularity. Who'd have thought?”

“I'm not though. I haven't even lived here that long, they still see me as an outsider. I have no idea why that happened.”

“They protect their own. So I guess you assumed wrong,” the man smiled, with no trace of mockery, “Congratulations.”

Unnerved by the other's sincerity, or that he was talking to the man at all, Tallen started the engine. “I don't know where any brothel is.”

“You don't? Shocking. Go out the north port and I'll direct you from there.”

Those yellow eyes stayed glued to the side of his head. Pulling out of Pikesville, in another moment of suicidal boldness Tallen was too exhausted to censor, he spoke up, “If I got something on my face, feel free take care of it for me so I can get back to driving in peace.”

The man smirked without humor, “Nothing there.” He turned again to look out the window, “Nothing at all.”