Chapter 3-72: Boring Repetitious Stuff that is still Necessary (1/2)
And so the next few days passed.
The college student, Sally, was all happy chipper to meet up with an internet celebrity like me, and brought in her personal laptop and a Lorepad attuned to it with only up/down buttons active for me. We got set up in a back room with adequate supplies for her, and I chatted with her while reading through stuff very quickly, filing it all away for digestion and organization, building up myself an alternate world database so I could at least pretend I lived here... all the while with an outsider’s skeptical eye on what it all meant, and what the truth of things actually was that was being buried.
In a magical world, the public truth was basically never the correct one...
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Fred pulled up outside a rib shack, pretty much the definition of a local low-end diner, and walked inside.
The waitress took one look at him and got out of his way, and the local patrons, a mixture of Hispanics, Blacks, and other humans, pulled away as he stepped by. Even with his Aura withdrawn, he was an intimidating presence, knew it, and he used it to his advantage.
The three men he wanted to see were sitting at a table in the back, and tensed when they saw him coming, hands moving until his eyes flicked, and they all froze.
He calmly placed a fifty on the table. LET’S TALK OUTSIDE.
His eyes were boring into them. They looked at one another, swallowed, hurriedly chowed down the last couple ribs and fries, and quickly got up and headed out the back door. Everybody watched them go, wondering if the three of them were going to die, all extremely curious, and not a one daring to even stand up when the fire door slammed shut.
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JULIO GARVEZ, DAMIAN SMITH, CHULVAT NARINTHRANGURA, the letters on his shoulder spelled out as he looked at the mismatched trio. They were in jeans and t-shirts, cheap jackets, no gang signs on them... but all three of them were packing both guns and knives, and at once ready to fight and urgently wishing they were anywhere but here.
“That’s us,” Julio puffed out, trying for macho, and finding it fading in the face of those black and silver eyes, and the sheer number of scars on this guy... and the very tangible aura of power around him. “What you want with us, man?”
THE CITY OF BALTIMORE WOULD LIKE TO OFFER THE THREE OF YOU A PACT, Fred replied, and the three young men gaped at him. IT APPROVED OF HOW YOU GOT RID OF CLATERHOUSE AFTER HE RAPED DAMIAN’S SISTER. All three of them stiffened in shock at his words. No one except the three of them knew what had happened to the bastard. I’M NOT GOING TO BE AROUND THAT LONG, AND BALTIMORE NEEDS SOME OF ITS OWN TO STEP UP AND HANDLE THE SHIT THAT NEEDS TO BE DONE... AND THE THREE OF YOU PROVED YOU COULD DO THAT.
“Shiiiit,” the half-Thai, half-German Chulvat muttered. “Us? Working for the City of Baltimore? Dude, no offense, you are freaking scary as shit, but, you know, we ain’t exactly the most upstanding citizens. We all got records. Julio and Damian have both done time.”
THE CITY DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR RECORDS. IT CARES ABOUT YOU BEING ABLE TO DO THE JOBS IT NEEDS YOU TO DO. IN SOME CASES, THAT MEANS KILLING PEOPLE WHO NEED TO BE DEAD. IN OTHER CASES, IT MEANS WARNING THEM ONCE TO STRAIGHTEN UP. Fred looked over the three of them. CITYBOUND NEED FRIENDS, BECAUSE YOU’RE GOING TO PISS OFF PEOPLE WHO DON’T WANT THE CITY TO BE ABLE TO DO ANYTHING TO THEM. YOU’RE GOING TO NEED TO BE SMART, KNOW WHO TO TALK TO GET THINGS DONE, AND SOMETIMES DO THE THINGS YOURSELVES.
YOU’RE SMART, YOU’RE SURVIVORS, AND YOUR FAMILIES HAVE BEEN IN THE CITY FOR THREE GENERATIONS. YOU’RE HER KIND OF BOYS, AND SHE WANTS YOU TO WORK FOR HER. Fred paused significantly. AND IF YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT MONEY, SHE PAYS WELL. IF YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT RESPECT... THERE’S A LOT OF PEOPLE LEERY ABOUT CITYBOUND, AND OTHERS WHO RESPECT THEM A GREAT DEAL.
IT’S GOING TO BE DANGEROUS, IT’S GOING TO BE EXCITING, AND YOU’RE ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE STUFF TO DO.
AND IF YOU SURVIVE, YOU CAN MAKE SEVEN, OR EVEN EIGHT, PRETTY DAMN EASILY.
All three of them blinked. “You serious ‘bout that?” the mulatto Damian asked, staring at him.
ALL THREE OF YOU ARE BETTER SUITED FOR THIS LIFE THAN I WAS, he answered. YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILIES ARE HERE. YOU WANT TO PROTECT THEM, THERE ARE FEW WAYS BETTER THAN BEING CITYBOUND TO WHERE THEY LIVE.
All three of them glanced at one another. This was not going anything like they had expected. “What... do we have to do?” Julio asked, clearly interested in this opportunity to become way more than anything he’d thought possible.
THERE IS A MAN NAMED WILLIAM HEARSE LIVING UPTOWN. Fred listed off the address, watched them memorize it. HE’S A SERIAL KILLER AND CLOSET ADEPT OF SKULOS.
GO INTO HIS HOME TONIGHT, KILL HIM, AND TAKE HIS BODY AND DELIVER IT TO THE GHOULS AT FINAL WISHES, COURTESY OF THE CITY OF BALTIMORE. CALL AHEAD, THEY ARE OPEN AT ALL HOURS.
THERE IS A SAFE IN HIS BASEMENT. TAKE IT WITH YOU.
HAVE THAT SAFE WAITING WITH YOU AT THE VACANT LOT AT THE CORNER OF PRITZKY AND EIGHTH AT TEN AM TOMORROW MORNING. I WILL MEET YOU THERE WITH THE PACTS.
He looked each of them in the eyes. ANY QUESTIONS?