by Mason Dakota
A middle-aged Noble in a ill-fitting cheap suit and tie emerged from the office. His skin was a dark ebony and there was the slightest dusting of gray around his ears. A thin goatee flaked with more silver than black capped his chin. His eyes were dark and beady. Their expression suggested a roguish cunning. His nails were well manicured yet his hands were weathered and calloused. He wore a silver wedding ring which had long since lost its beautiful luster. He was average height with a strong set of shoulders. At his waist lay a handgun and badge.
I gulped when I realized who he was. He was Victor Carmichael, Chief Commissioner of the NPFC, a dangerous man and someone I, with my criminal background, tried very much to avoid. I slowly stepped to the side and placed my back against the side wall. I tried to keep my gaze down and away from him as he passed, but looked up slightly to see.
What I heard next was the most terrifying thing I have ever heard.
“Griffon Nightlock,” the Police Commissoner of Chicago said to me. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement declaring he knew me…possibly in more ways than I felt comfortable with.
He knows who I am!
My gaze shot up to see his cold stare. I opened my mouth and closed my mouth repeatedly but no words came out, and he wasn’t willing to stay and chat either by how he continued to walk past me. He said those two simple words because he intended to tear me apart inside with fear. It was a cruel thing to do.
His eyes never left me. I couldn’t be sure, but I think he may have either smirked or snarled—it was impossible to tell from the man. As he turned the corner I noticed something that made my gut rise into my chest. On his right hand, he wore a gold banded ring with the same silver crest engraved into it as Ziavir’s: a skull with a rose through its teeth and a combat knife through its head.
The urge to lunge and grab at him, to force my questions down his throat, nearly overcame me. Maybe he even baited to do so with his comment of my name and the look on his face. I knew it would be suicide for me to even poke this man. He wanted me to strike. It took all my willpower to remain still.
He passed on, and once I knew he was out of earshot, I released my breath and relaxed against the wall.
So…the police commissioner and Ziavir are working together. Who’s going to stop Ziavir now?
Carmichael’s speech trying to get the Mayor to focus on Ziavir must have been a ruse to throw off any suspicion. Carmichael was dirty. If he was working with Ziavir then I had to assume every dirty cop in the city was as well. No help would come from the NPFC in stopping Ziavir. Despite Chamberlain’s well wishes, this couldn’t be left to the authorities to settle things with Ziavir.
That meant I would have to do this myself.
Against an army of dirty cops.
And a dangerous terrorist.
Fun.
I put on my big boy pants of determination and moved toward the the Mayor’s office. I knocked three times as I swallowed lumps of fear and confusion.
“Come in,” someone said from the other side. The voice held a soft melody compared to the angry shouts I’d heard earlier. I opened the door and stepped inside the office.
It was a big room but that was no surprise considering whose it was. The dark oak floors contrasted white walls. The far-left wall was covered with awards and diplomas and photos of the Mayor shaking hands with various famous Nobles (whose names I cared not to know.) The far-right wall was hidden behind a black bookshelf filled with books that were, in my opinion, there to make the Mayor look well-read and intelligent, but they seemed never to be touched. Beside the bookcase sat a black sofa and a glass coffee table. Next to the sofa was an end table holding an archaic vinyl record player with many vinyl records stacked next to it. A large oak desk laid between a leathered chair and two cushioned seats, and there was a holo projected computer screen in the air above the desk. A large window framed the whole city, or at least all the Noble Quarters. I looked but couldn’t see the Outcast district in view.
No surprise there.
The Mayor stood by the record player and held a large vinyl disk—each one of those worth a fortune. I couldn’t help wondering how I might steal one on the way out. Something so rare as that could pay for my rent for a year—maybe more! He seemed to ignore me as he tuned the machine and selected a song off the strange large disk. He wore a big smile as though there had been no argument just moments before in the same room.
He was about my height and build, but he looked a lot better than I did. Maybe it was the lack of bruises. More likely it was his superior Noble genes but my pride convinced me otherwise. His professionally stylist-cut hair was coal black with silver strands around his temples like some lucky men get. His entire face was genetically structured to be perfect like every other Noble, but Mayor Kraine had it a little better than most in the looks department.
He wore a dark silk shirt, opened just barely enough at the top to expose some chest hair, with a five thousand dollar suit and tie combination. His fingers were covered in rings, and I calculated that any one of them could buy me a fancy car. He wore expensive, neatly shined, brown leather loafers. Nothing the man wore was cheap, even his cologne. Everything about him spoke money and luxury.
But with all his money and power the Mayor was no more than a puppet. In one corner his strings were pulled by the Emperor himself, specially chosen for his job just because he happened to be the nephew to Emperor Adam Rythe. The Mayor’s other puppet master was Lady Alexandra. That was where the true power over Chicago secretly lay. It was a well-known fact that the Mayor avoided arresting and prosecuting anyone in league with her. I wasn’t sure the condition of their relationship, but somehow they were getting richer and everyone else was getting much poorer.
Mayor Kraine, the puppet with too many puppeteers.
“Ah, you must be Mr. Nightlock. Come in, come in. Do you like jazz?” asked the Mayor.
“Um…sure,” I said, surprising myself.
He winked as he said, “Then you’ll enjoy this. It’s a classic from before the Abandoned War. In fact, this record player dates back to before then. I paid a pretty penny to have it restored, but I think it was worth every cent.”
He slotted the disk onto the player, tuned it just right, and all of a sudden I heard the trumpets and drums softly thump. Eventually, a piano rolled in just before a woman’s voice began to sing.
“Good, right?” he asked.
“I…I’m just surprised we still speak the same language as them. I’ve never heard anything recorded before the war.”
The Mayor laughed as if I told some sort of joke. “This is Nina Simone, a woman with the voice of a goddess,” sung the Mayor as he closed his eyes and sank briefly into the music. I stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to say something as we listened.
Slowly, and almost hesitantly, he turned the volume down slightly and turned to me to say, “The whole city has been buzzing with your grand feet of bravery last night.”
It is customary to shake hands when you met someone, but the Mayor seemed to purposefully stay on the opposite side of the room and keep the sofa between us. I guess I wasn’t worth his handshake, despite what I did on the monorail. I guess he wanted me to know that.
I just smiled at his trite racism and said in my most polite tone, “I only did what any man would have done in my situation.”
Mayor Kraine threw his head back and laughed once more, exposing his full unprotected neck. I knew several men and women who would have leapt across the room and sliced his throat at seeing him exposed like that. Maybe he knew that, and was testing me. His eyes came back to mine, and I saw a sparkle that hinted my hunch was right.
“Trust me there were plenty of others on that train, and none of them even tried to do what you did. But, I’ve got to know: how did you know how to disarm that bomb?” As he waited for my answer, Mayor Kraine moved behind the security of his desk. He sat down, propped his feet up on the desk and leaned back with his hands behind his head.
I smirk
ed and said, “I’ve seen a lot of movies over the years, Sir.”
He laughed again, more real this time than those before, and said, “A man of resourcefulness. I like that. Come, have a seat. There’s much I want to discuss with you.”
Spoken like a true politician, flatter you up before they sink their teeth in you.
I sat in one of the amazingly comfortable cushioned chairs. It felt wonderful on my bruises and sore muscles. In front of anyone else, I could have relaxed, but the Mayor made me nervous and wired up. In the back of my mind, I designed escape plans and weighed their different success rates. It’s a nervous tick of mine—plotting escape routes and scenarios.
He pulled out two glasses and a bottle of expensive scotch from a drawer behind his desk and asked, “Do you drink, Mr. Nightlock?”
“Do water and sparkling soda count?”
The Mayor grimaced with a smirk and said, “Shall I take that as a “no” then?”
“On practice I try to avoid it. I’ve seen too many get themselves into trouble because of strong drink.”
He scoffed and replied, “I’m sure you see plenty of that living in the Outcast District.” It was a clear statement he knew where I came from, as if I wore a stench from the district. I tried to keep my face emotionless to his insult. He was baiting me. I could tell. It’s a politician’s gift, but I couldn’t tell why he was doing it.
He poured himself a glass and took a sip of the strong drink before letting out a satisfying sigh. The drink’s odor possessed his breath and wafted toward me as he spoke.
“I bet you never thought you would be in this office, did you?” he asked.
Not for any legal reason.
“No, but I never thought I would have to disarm a bomb before either. I’m trying to be open to new experiences,” I quickly replied.
He gave a short laugh and said, “Take the monorail home one night, and the next thing you know you turn out to be a town hero. Overnight you’ve become more famous than any Outcast ever before. Tell me; how does that make you feel?”
I shrugged and answered, “If you think I acted as I did to get some publicity then you’re wrong. I saw a problem, and I aimed to fix it. Publicity never crossed my mind, and it hasn’t yet. I merely saw a job to do and no one else around seemed capable of doing it, Sir.”
“I see,” Kraine said before taking another sip of his drink. He was carefully analyzing me.
Well too can play that game.
I focused on reading everything about Kraine. Not just what he said but how he said it. What I could tell was that Kraine was smarter than what I had given him credit for. He might be extremely ego minded, a well-known fact, but he was also intelligent enough to have something dark brooding.
Here is a man who wants a crown.
“You’re quite the hero then,” he said.
I shook my head and said, “Call me that if you like, but I merely acted on instinct.”
He sipped again and through the tilted glass I saw him smile. “You’re a humble man aren’t you, Mr. Nightlock?”
Another test. I took a second to make sure my answer was the safest, and then said, “A wise man would say pride goes before the fall, Sir.”
“Are you a wise man then?” he asked.
“An honest one.”
“So what does a honest man say?”
“That I might just be more prideful than you, Sir.”
The Mayor chuckled and said, “Well said. Honesty is better than wisdom in my opinion.”
How ironic for a politician to say.
“Did your mother teach you to be an honest man, Griffon? I mean before she was murdered.” He said the word with a hint of malice in his voice, as if he enjoyed poking me with a sharp stick. He was testing my limits and my sanity. I could feel my blood start to boil. I wanted to strike out with either fists or words (preferably fists). I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. But that would only get me the noose.
So for the second time today I practiced my most hated act of controlling myself and didn’t throttle the Mayor where he stood. Chamberlain would be so proud of me. With a bit of irritation in my voice, I asked, “Is there a reason for me to be here, or was it just to question me about my past?”
“Of course, there’s a reason for you to be here.” replied Kraine. He really was a good politician. He took another sip of his Scotch and said, “Even a man as humble as you couldn’t help but think of what’s going to be coming your way. Can’t you see it? You’re going to have people begging to shake your hand, women will be throwing themselves at you, and men will envy your recognition. People kill for less in this city.”
Hearing that made my stomach flip. It did not help to know that it was true. Everything was about to change. I knew that. But deep down, part of me was excited for it. I’m still human after all.
“What are you trying to get at?” I asked. I tired of all his baiting and ready to see his hook.
He smiled, flashing his perfect row of white teeth. “Are you a working man, Mr. Nightlock?”
I shrugged and said, “I either work or starve.” I thought it best not to mention my criminal past.
He nodded and asked, “You claim to be a man who likes to fix problems. Well I have a problem of my own and I believe you are the perfect man to fix it. How would you like a job working on my staff?”
My jaw dropped. Literally! Never in my wildest dreams did I expect such words to come from this man’s mouth. I didn’t take it well. I burst out laughing.
Kraine’s face flashed a bit of shock and irritation, and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” I choked through my laughter, “you’re joking, right? Is this a prank? There’s a camera watching me. Where is it?”
He scowled and said, “I assure you I make no such jest, Mr. Nightlock.” He stood to his feet and turned to the window to gaze out over the city. He stood tall and straight, with his hand tucked behind his back and the other lifting his glass to his lips once more.
He gave a slight sigh of pleasure from his drink and said, “The tension between Nobles and Outcasts increases each day. Problems are arising from the Outcasts population around the clock. One might even suggest this city isn’t big enough for two species to cohabit. This problem needs to be handled with diplomacy. Thus, I’ve decided to create a position for an Emissary for the Outcasts, someone to run the affairs and deal with the issues in connection with Outcasts, someone to whom the Outcasts of this city will listen, and to whom I can pass their burdens. I can see none more fitting for this opportunity than the very Outcast that saved countless lives yesterday. You will be handsomely paid, of course—an amount I’m sure one of your background would find very alluring.”
Uncontrolled laughter left my lips. This man wanted someone to herd the “bad sheep.” I could see it in his eyes; he just wanted the problems and the blame thrown on someone else, someone who would have little to no power and yet face the full brunt of responsibility for any problems.
“You’re joking! You couldn’t possibly be serious.”
“Oh, but I am, Mr. Nightlock,” he said as he finished his drink and set the glass on his desk. “Who better would know and understand the affairs of the Outcasts than an Outcast himself? All I want is someone who can hear the problems and issues for the Outcasts and work to create…let’s say…a better dialogue between Outcasts and Nobles.
“When you say better dialogue, you mean someone who will, at least in your mind, encourage the submission of the Outcasts before the Nobles?” I asked.
“A bold response there to your Mayor,” he said. His tone was pleasant but the threat behind it was clear.
I grimaced, a bit more sheepishly than I’m proud of, and said, “I’m sorry, but if that’s what you are looking for I think you have the wrong individual.”
Kraine turned his head around and forced a smile. He said, “If money is the issue, allow me to reveal your starting salary.”
He wrote something down on a piece
of paper and passed it to me. I took it, and glanced over it. Have you ever seen those old cartoons where one of the characters imagines a ton of money and his eyes turn into large green dollar signs? That’s how I felt right then as my eyes looked at that piece of paper. My jaw dropped a second time. I was in disbelief. There were a lot of zeros.
Visions swirled through my mind of all the things that much money could buy. No more living below the poverty line, or worrying about rent, or how I was going to pay to eat. My clothes wouldn’t have to be swiped off clearance racks. I could live anywhere in the city that I wanted. Everything I desired I would be able to afford. No more worries, or struggles, or difficulties to simply survive another day. I could buy a nice house, or a car that would turn every head as I drove by. Even some Nobles would envy me and the power I would hold. My mouth started to water just thinking about it.
But then Chamberlain, Alison, and Michael came to my mind. What would they think of me if I fell to such temptation? I might be a thief, but I was an honest and good natured one. They had devoted their lives to not giving into the easy path of corruption and greed in hopes of making things better in this city. If I took the job I would only become the very thing I hated most…and the worst part is that part of me felt like I could still live with that. The price was rather tempting, after all.
“There’s one condition,” said Kraine, bringing me back to reality. I looked up but didn’t speak. “The public can’t know what really happened on the train. The press has agreed to report the incident as a horrible malfunction and each of the other passengers conceded to do the same. If you take this job, then you must agree never to speak about what really happened last night. I know it seems like the right thing to do, to speak out. But doing something so foolish would only cause more harm than good. And, panic would break out in the city. It’s already at a tipping point ready to unravel everything that has made this city what it is today.”
Then maybe it is time to make this city into something new.
