by Al K. Line
When she was like this I never knew whether to be terrified for her life, or pleased she still had such faith in the world. That she could look to the positive in all things, including gangsters that ran the city and were utterly ruthless. Some of the criminals I dealt with were nice people, did things outside the law but would rather chop off their own arm than hurt another human being. Merrick would rather chop your arm off and then hurt you some more.
He dealt in the darker side of life, where violence and intimidation were how things got done, and he was good at it. He'd risen to the top years ago and stayed there. A thug, pure and simple, but treated it like a business and acted accordingly.
Although I knew he lived in a swanky house in an exclusive part of the city, he conducted business, and much of that was nocturnal, out of an abandoned Victorian house that stood alone, surrounded by nothing but demolished dreams and broken concrete. A redevelopment halted before it even got started. He owned it, of course, bought it for a song when the developer went bust, and would hold on to it until land prices rose enough to satisfy him.
In the meantime, he used it as his base of operations since it gave off a suitably "street" vibe to impress the younger crowd and the poverty-stricken who understood such a world. The atmosphere of decay solidified the image they had of him—he was like them, brought up with nothing and clawed his way out of the gutter through crime.
Nothing could have been further from the truth. Merrick was university educated and smart, but found the criminal life paid better than the white collar jobs he'd tried and shunned in his early twenties.
He had strict standards and stricter punishments, and going to see him was a bad idea. But he was the only person who might have what I needed. I may have been a criminal but I didn't exactly get on with the more violent types, mainly because they kept getting themselves killed and I couldn't stomach even looking at them.
"We're here," I said to Vicky as I pulled up alongside several gleaming black SUVs, totally out of place beside the graffiti-covered house. It had a good roof, but most windows were smashed and it was covered in ivy. Perfect for an evil overlord to unnerve his employees and those he wanted something from.
"I've never met a proper gangster before, not like Merrick." Vicky was buzzing, all twitchy and excited. Did this woman have no fear?
"Just act normal and don't say anything stupid." I thought for a moment then added, "No, don't act normal. Be quiet and don't talk unless spoken to."
"Whatever you say," said Vicky brightly, hopping out the car before I had chance to calm her down a little more.
We entered through the missing front door, the goon eyeing us with malefic intent. He was good, proper menacing, even had a grunt and everything. Vicky smiled her winning smile at him then straightened his tie and waggled her finger at him. What could I do? She hadn't spoken yet so was keeping her word.
Damn, but if he didn't bow his head, look chastised and mumble, "Sorry."
She had this way about her, like your mum was telling you off. Didn't matter if you were a hardened goon or one of her kids, the result was always the same. You knew you were in the presence of a true force of nature and didn't want to disappoint her.
Outside the door that led to Merrick's lair, another goon grunted at us and told us to wait while he knocked then went inside to announce us. A few seconds later he came out, glared at us then mumbled "In," and stepped aside.
A Close Shave
The office was clean, ordered, minimal. The lighting was clever, angled to highlight Merrick and Brains in a way that created deep shadow, making them seem large and the focus of attention. It pointed away from them slightly so it glared, making it harder to attack, if that was what you had in mind. Apart from the office desk the room contained a sofa and coffee table, a large TV, a wall of neatly aligned books, and little else. The floor was ancient floorboards covered in a large rug, and they creaked as we walked from the shadows into the light.
"Look here, Brains, it's the wizard. Haha." Merrick wiped his face with a towel and leaned back in his chair. His gangster chair. Oversized and covered in expensive leather. He put his hands behind his head, a flash of expensive watch revealed as his cuffs rode up. He was clearly amused. For about a second, then his smile vanished, his expression cold, and hard.
In usual fashion, he changed position. It was a strange mannerism, but he never seemed to stay still for a moment. It made you wonder what he was about to do, and the guns on the table didn't help to ease your concerns. He leaned forward, adjusted his narrow black tie, dark as his shirt and his soul, and buffed a cuff link I knew for a fact was worth more than most folks earned in a year. I should know, I gave them to him in exchange for a book he thought was of no value, but made me very rich, and helped Vicky out of a tight spot when their house flooded and the insurance didn't pay up.
"Wizard," said Merrick again, trying to make light of it. He didn't fool me, the whole idea made him nervous because he knew it was real but couldn't quite get the information to compute in the right way.
"Haha," responded Brains on cue, his slender frame immobile, the laughter about as genuine as his interest in me. He was such a sycophant. It made me sick when people played up to others just to ingratiate themselves. But Brains had been the, er, brains of Merrick's operation for many years, and there were rumors that their constant companionship went beyond mere work and was much closer and more intimate.
Which would be fine, but it meant I had to be careful what I said to Brains as well as Merrick. Insult one and you insulted both, and getting on the wrong side of Merrick was a very, very bad idea.
Merrick outright loved magic, was a believer in his own special way, but he still found it immensely amusing that I called myself a wizard and had a wand. To him, the whole magic thing was one big ball of confusion. He was one of those people that got it, believed what I did was something unique and harnessed the powers of the universe in unknowable and strange ways. But it was still magic to him, if that makes sense?
Almost like when you see a magician do something and you know what you see isn't possible and that it's a trick. Merrick was like that. He believed what he had seen really happened, but didn't truly believe. Like I and others with similar, although obviously less refined, skills had some secret we kept hidden. A trick, in other words.
"Hi, Merrick. Brains."
"Arthur 'The Hat' Salzman, it's been too long. How you been?" asked Merrick as he studied me carefully. Merrick may have acted like just another gangster, but he wasn't. It was all a front, a performance. Sure, he had his guys, his goons, but he, and most of them, were a breed apart. Intelligent, sharp, fingers on the pulse of the city and the country as a whole. He was an intelligent man, but hid it. It gave him an advantage. Many people had underestimated Merrick over the years, and most of them were dead and in very tiny chunks.
He was a solid looking guy, well-fed but far from overweight. A presence. He dressed in black as that's what gangsters did, and his people wore variations of the same outfit. He liked the order, the military aspect, and much as I hated to admit it, the style made an impression—it scared you.
"Oh, you know. Alive." I adjusted my hat, tilted it back a little so I looked open and friendly, nothing to hide. Or I tried. But Merrick was a keen observer of body language. He knew your next move and had the look of the predator beneath his fake smile.
"And who's the straight? You got yourself a housewife for a girl? You know adultery is bad, right?"
"I'm not his girl. I'll have you know I'm happily married," said Vicky as she stepped forward and squared her tiny shoulders. Being dressed in her usual uninspired clothes probably didn't help her seem very intimidating, but not a lot would. "Er, well, I'm married, anyway."
"Haha, I like her, Arthur. She's got some spirit."
"And you need a new barber," said Vicky. We watched as a nervous man in his twenties who Merrick had brushed aside when we entered now returned to his work. One of the new, tattooed hairdressers
that seemed to have sprung up everywhere and catered to those who liked a neat, trimmed beard and were willing to pay to have it maintained.
He lathered up Merrick again then began when Merrick tilted back his head and grunted permission. The barber's hands shook as he used a cutthroat razor to shave the muscular neck. No easy task at the best of times, but Merrick had a reputation and it made folks nervous.
"Ow, shit." Merrick pulled back and wiped at his neck, blood and shaving foam glinting in the light as he inspected his finger. He glared at the barber who spluttered an apology and was sweating badly.
"Told you," said Vicky, looking way too smug.
"What, you think you can do better, little Miss Tiny?"
Before I could grab her, Vicky marched forward right up to the chair and got way closer to Merrick than I would have recommended.
"Try me. I don't get nervous. I'm a gangster, too."
When the laughter died down, which took a while, Merrick said, "Damn, but she's funny."
"She's just tired, Merrick, don't worry about her. Can we talk? I have business I think you'll be interested in."
Merrick waved away my words and said, "Okay, gangster lady, show me." He turned to the nervous barber and said, "Get lost." The guy practically ran out the room, leaving his gear behind.
"Now, come on, Merrick, she was just joking. She might cut you, and nobody wants that."
"Arthur, you come in here with this little Stepford mom and she gives me no end of lip. If," he held up a finger, nail perfectly manicured, "she cuts me then it will not be good. She wants to be a player, fine."
"And if I don't?" asked Vicky.
"Quiet, Vicky," I warned.
"Relax, Arthur, I used to shave Dad when I was a little girl. It's easy." Vicky turned back to Merrick and said, "If I don't cut you, then you'll listen to Arthur and do what he asks?"
"Sure thing, Mom. Don't cut me," he warned.
The next five minutes were a lesson in what it truly meant to have nerves of steel. Vicky lathered up Merrick, sharpened the blade expertly, and set to work with practiced strokes. She talked non-stop, chastised Merrick about the condition of his skin, recommended products to improve the look of his beard, commented on his aftershave, and asked him to tilt his head when needed. Even pushed his chin up when he was slow to comply.
At first, Merrick was all grunts and conspiratorial winks at Brains. He kept fidgeting—on purpose—to make Vicky nervous so she'd cut him a little. But she didn't, and soon he relaxed and they chatted like they were old friends.
She had a way about her, that's for sure. And if she'd had balls, they would be made of pure, shiny steel.
"Finished," said Vicky as she wiped down Merrick and cleaned up the gear.
Merrick ran a hand over his neck and smartly trimmed beard, then took the mirror Brains offered him and asked, "What do you think? Feels damn smooth and looks all right."
"She did a great job," said Brains. "Real pro." He took the mirror back.
Vicky came to stand back beside me, and Merrick leaned forward in his chair. "You've got a good hand. Good eye, too. Let me ask you something."
"Sure," said Vicky looking calm, but I could tell she was tense by the way she kept wiggling her fingers behind her back.
"How come you never paused at the scars, or got nervous? You know I'm bad, right?"
"Mr. Merrick, I am a mother of two children and a wife to a fat man. I have seen more gross stuff, wiped more backsides, seen more puke, tended more wounds, inspected more weird lumps and dealt with more crying and tantrums than I care to remember. And that's just my husband. If you think a little scarring on your neck and face will make me nervous then you underestimate me."
"Haha. I think you're right. I like you..."
"Vicky."
"I like you, Vicky, and I'm true to my word. What can I do for you, Arthur, and Vicky? You know what, we should call you the Barber. All good gangsters have a nickname."
"How about the Blade?" said Vicky, eyes shining. Damn, she'd always wanted a nickname, said it wasn't fair she never had one.
"Haha. Vicky, 'the Blade,' it is."
I'd never hear the last of this. But, I had to admit, she was pretty hardcore to remain so calm, especially dealing with Merrick and the mess that was his neck and jaw.
"Now, let's get down to business." Merrick nodded to Brains. He brought two chairs over and we sat the other side of the desk from Merrick. Brains remained standing beside him, ever vigilant, ever ready to do his master's bidding.
An Interruption
"Boss, Boss, did you hear about..." Chaz, one of Merrick's goons and a real piece of work, paused halfway across the room when he saw me. I gave him a cold stare, my most unfriendly, and then turned back to face Merrick.
Merrick frowned and his face darkened. "What the fuck have I told you about barging in without knocking? If I wanted this place to be a zoo I'd hire monkeys. Are you a monkey, Chaz? Is that what it is? You've turned into a baboon or a gorilla?"
"Actually, they aren't all monkeys," said Vicky. "They're—"
"Quiet," I whispered to her. She saw sense and shut the hell up. Maybe there was hope for her yet. Maybe.
"Sorry, Boss, just heard about our 'friend' here being involved in some real shit today and thought you should now."
"I know all about it. What do you think I am, an amateur? Get out of here, unless you want to get a shave. A real close shave?"
I turned to face Chaz, just so I could watch him squirm. He was an utter fool, cruel too, and I absolutely did not like him. I'd crossed his path before on many occasions, and we'd had words. He had it in for me, and I knew one day there would be a reckoning.
"No, sorry. But I wanna kill this guy." Chaz scowled at me and tried to give me a hard look.
"You got grit in your eye? You look like maybe you're having a seizure or something," I said, showing him what a real hard look was.
"I'll slice your throat and watch you bleed out." Chaz's fingers twitched as they hovered by his side where I knew he kept a vicious blade. It was his favorite thing, cutting people and taunting them as they died. Merrick was a hard man, brutal, but employing the likes of Chaz was still a strange choice. He didn't fit with the image Merrick went to great pains to convey, that of a gangster whose orders were obeyed without question, but I guess having wild goons kept the business running and the money flowing.
"Try it. I'll ram that little penknife of yours so far into your head I'm sure to hit that tiny pea in your skull you call a brain eventually."
"Why you..." Chaz stormed forward, knife already in hand, a cruel, angry sneer on his face. Eyes sparkling with the anticipation of watching my blood seep into the large and very expensive rug.
"You know what, Chaz," sighed Merrick, "sometimes I think you are a valuable asset. Other times, like now, I wonder what is wrong with me. I am conducting business with Arthur here, and his fine lady friend, the Blade," that got a smile from Vicky, "and you dare interrupt me over a stupid, petty rivalry you have with Arthur?"
"He stole my stuff. He took what I was due."
"I explained this to you, Merrick, you too, Chaz. You crossed the line and you messed with someone you knew better than to mess with." It's a long story, but suffice to say Chaz got rather carried away and did something he ought not to have done. Once the incident was over, I went straight to Merrick and explained the situation. He understood, Chaz got reprimanded, and he'd hated me ever since.
"And I thought I'd told you that Arthur here is our friend. Unless he crosses us."
"He's gonna get what's his."
With a huff, I got up. This had gone on long enough. Chaz was a sneak and I knew at some point he'd try to kill me in a cowardly way. It was a night for resolution, so what the hell? "If you give me permission, I'll deal with this now," I said to Merrick.
Merrick shrugged, looking amused. "It's your funeral. Chaz's pretty handy with a blade."
"And I'm a fucking wizard."
That brou
ght laughter from the gangsters and a look of real worry from Vicky. The truth was, I had to do this. I knew Merrick doubted the truth about what I was capable of, and I needed him on side a hundred percent. Plus, I wanted to scare the living daylights out of Vicky so she'd understand the world she had asked to be a part of. Hopefully, she'd go home and stick to the computer.
"Haha, okay, wizard, you have my permission." Merrick leaned forward over his desk, keen to see what would happen.
"Time to say goodbye, Arthur," said Chaz, eye twitching nervously as he got more excited. "And when I'm done watching you bleed out I'm gonna take this little lady here and—"
Already half turned so I was facing Chaz, I lifted the warm rod already primed for action. As Chaz grinned manically, performing a slicing action with the knife in front of his throat in a demonstration of what he was going to do to me, I slashed the wand fast, cutting through the air with a whoosh and directing not inconsiderable force right at his arm, pushing it with immense power.
Chaz made a strange gaggling sound, then lifted the blade away from where it had been forced hard against his throat. He stared, unbelieving, as ruby blood dripped from the long, razor sharp blade. He bent his head and watched as his shirt stained red, the white cotton soaking up his blood like a sponge.
His head lifted, gaze resting on me. The wand was hot in my hand. A comfort. Grounding me and reminding me that the violence was over. I needed to calm down.
"Nobody threatens my friend like that." I turned away from him, sat back down in my chair, and locked eyes with Merrick. The lifeless body of Chaz toppled backward with a thud I ignored and I continued, "Now, can we please get back to our business?"
There was shocked silence. Vicky kept staring at me then the wand until I put it away. Brains remained motionless and impassive, and Merrick, well, he took a moment then a huge grin spread across his ravaged features.
"Damn, Arthur, you are one cold, hardcore dude."
"And a wizard," I reminded him, keeping my face relaxed even though all I wanted to do was throw up. I knew it was the only way, though. To show everyone in the room who I was, what I was, and to ensure everyone took this seriously. A lesson for Vicky, a proving of strength to Merrick, and a way to get the roach, Chaz, off my back once and for all.
