by Mason Dakota
Then maybe it is time to make this city into something new.
He spoke the truth, and despite my initial urge to protest, common sense (for once) told me that speaking out would indeed cause more harm than good. Though I agreed with his reasons for silence, I couldn’t accept the job.
“I won’t tell the public. But I also won’t accept the job,” I said. Part of me couldn’t believe the words that escaped my mouth. Mayor Josephus Kraine’s face showed shock and hurt. I bruised his ego. He’d probably never been told “No” in his life. I enjoyed it.
“May I ask why?”
“No, you may not,” I said as I looked down from his face. Despite my bit of joy, I had an underlying feeling that I’d just stabbed myself in the heart. Turning down so much money was the hardest thing I’d ever done.
Some thief I am, turning away from the biggest and easiest score in my life because of my morals. What thief cares about morals in an immoral world?
I felt it was not safe for me to be there anymore. I had just put a target on myself by turning down the most powerful man in the city. I stood to my feet, ready to leave, and said, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, Sir.”
“There’s no need to leave, just yet. There’s still much more I’d like to discuss,” he quickly replied. “It’s all right if you turned down the job. But think it over and get back to me on the matter. Take my card, it has my personal number on it. Call once you make a decision.” He passed me a business card. He wasn’t going to let me leave unless I took it, and he wasn’t going to give up trying to hire me. I didn’t look at it, but carefully slipped it into my pocket.
“Now I guess this is the perfect time to talk about your award,” he said with that million-dollar smile of his.
“Reward?” I asked, confused and a little worried.
“Why yes, of course. The press is downstairs already waiting on us to arrive so I can give you a medal for your bravery in fixing that mechanical malfunction. Did you really think you could escape publicity?”
“That was the idea,” I responded.
He laughed and said, “My, my. You have a lot to learn about the people of Chicago. You see, they crave a hero. The people want to see that heroes still live among us. People love a good hero. They are the perfect distraction to the real issues going on in life. Simply put, the more they feast upon you the more freedom I have to do what must be done. That’s how business works here. You’ll understand that once you accept my offer.”
Once again, my gut protested.
Welcome to the game of politics, Griffon. Whether or not you like it, you’re now a piece on the board.
“But I already declined your offer,” I said.
He waved his hand and said, “Nothing is ever really off the table in politics. I have full confidence that you will accept my offer. Meanwhile, we will enjoy the excitement.”
“I really have no choice, do I?” I asked.
He laughed, discouragingly shook his head, and said, “Indulge yourself in due rewards when you can, Griffon. There’s no telling if another opportunity will ever come again. Now come, we must not keep them waiting any longer.” He rose to his feet and moved to the door. I slowly rose as well and followed him out the room to the elevator.
“You don’t have to worry about giving a speech or saying anything to the press. In fact, it would be much better if you said nothing,” he said carefully like a teacher says to a rowdy child. It was an odd turn in his tactics.
“That suits me,” I replied.
He nodded as he pressed the button to call for the elevator. The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside together.
“By the way, I’m hosting a ball tomorrow night in my penthouse and would like it very much if you would attend,” Mayor Kraine said.
I’m going to have a heart attack if he keeps dropping these bombs on me!
Once again I found myself in shock. An Outcast…a guest…not a servant…at the Mayor’s private ball? What was he thinking! He was feeding off my rising fame, and was glad to watch the fame’s effects on me. It was all part of his twisted game. He pressed a floor number and the elevator lurched downward. I wasn’t sure if it was the elevator or the conversation, but something made me feel sick.
“I’m…an Outcast. Aren’t you afraid the appearance that would give? Me, in your company?”
He smiled and said, like any politician would to dodge a question, “A man of your new reputation must go.”
That did not answer my question. Did he honestly want me there or not?
I slowly nodded, studying everything and every word carefully. “I’ll think on it.”
He smiled, pleased as if that settled the matter, and nodded back. We were silent until the elevator stopped and the doors opened.
Flashes of light struck from all over like blasts of machine gun fire. They blinded me. I raised a hand before my eyes and felt the Mayor push me forward into the unknown, impervious to whatever was happening. I heard shouting…lots of shouting. People standing behind red velvet ropes screamed and hollered for my attention. I felt microphones press against me. I heard people asking questions that I couldn’t understand in the roar of that room. My splotchy vision forced me to rely completely on the Mayor—who apparently was immune to all the chaos—to get me to where I needed to be.
Less than a minute later he pushed me down into a seat, where I soon recovered my sight. I sat behind a podium on a stage that overlooked an audience filled with reporters, camera men, and random civilians. There had to be close to a thousand people in that room, likely all Nobles. Men in suits carrying concealed weapons stood throughout the room. With a sound like a roaring lion, the crowd shouted, not in excitement like at a concert, and thankfully not like the cry for blood at an execution, but in their urgency for answers to their questions. I didn’t think there were this many reporters and news cast crews in Chicago.
The Mayor could tell what I was thinking and said, “They have come from all corners of Chicago and a few flew in last night from other corners of the Empire to see you. Didn’t I tell you how famous you’ve become? I’m almost surprised my uncle didn’t show up to greet you. You’re the first Outcast to have ever been this recognized in good public standing by the Empire in over a decade.”
He turned back to the podium and gave a perfectly practiced wave and smile. The audience doubled their shouts, and cameras flashed violently until I was blind once more.
And I thought the crowd outside of my apartment was terrifying.
“Greetings, citizens of Chicago and other respected guests,” said Kraine in the microphone on the podium. The crowd settled a bit, but not fully, so Kraine repeated himself. This time more of them quieted, but not all. After the third time he said it, the crowd finally settled down and took their seats. The air filled with the weird whisper of hundreds of fingers punching digital keypads.
“It is my great pleasure today to introduce to you a hero for many in this city,” started Mayor Kraine.
I watched carefully as the first few rows leaned forward in their seats with microphones held out toward the stage. I could see the anticipation in their eyes and the near drooling intensity they took in doing their jobs. None of them wished to miss a single word.
“His status makes him an unexpected candidate to carry such an honor, but we, the people of Chicago, don’t reject such bravery when it is called for, but we carefully judge on a scale that truly matters.”
Why do I feel like there is a hidden insult there in his words?
I distracted myself to clear my head. I scanned the crowd carefully, pinpointing each guard and placing his location into memory. Instinct kicked in, and I developed more escape routes and response plans to a number of potential scenarios. Some people count sheep to relax. I count guns and exits.
I heard Kraine say, “Though humility might limit him, the people of Chicago, myself included, are grateful to consider him a true friend to the people of this city and its ruling body.”
> Friend? It’s just one political move after another with this guy.
Just like that I was publicly thrown into the political arena as some pawn for another man’s greedy acts. But I had to give him credit; Kraine was an excellent speaker and politician.
“So, it is my great pleasure to introduce to you the hero of Chicago, Griffon Nightlock!” He turned and waved his hand back toward me and I froze in stage fright. Lights flashed everywhere, and I heard shouting resume once more. Slowly…very slowly…I stood to my feet. I nervously shuffled forward toward Kraine, and he pointed me to the microphone. I could tell he had roped me into speaking after all.
The man’s a sly fox!
I stared out at the crowd and whispered into the microphone, “Um…Hi.” It was silent for a couple of seconds and then laughter came from the crowd, not heavy—just calming chuckles. My self-esteem still took a hit; I guess I made it out to be worse and more intentional than it actually was.
I really hate Nobles.
Mayor Kraine chuckled next to me and said into the microphone, “Forgive him, he is an Outcast after all.”
I watched him turn to a table behind us that I hadn’t yet seen. It was a simple oak wood table with a large velvet black box on top. He opened it up and took out a little medal with a red and white ribbon.
“This is the Citizenry Medal of Bravery. It is given every year to one individual in the Empire who has gone above and beyond the call to serve fearlessly for his fellow Noble,” he said as he brought the medal toward me. There was no mistaking the tone with which he said the word, “Noble”. It was another way of reminding me of my place in this world in Kraine’s eyes.
“Today I’m pleased to be the one giving it to an Outcast for the first time in our city’s history. I can see no one else who deserves it more.” Then he draped it around my neck and the room went wild with shouts of applause and further questions from the audience. They grew in volume as they fought to be heard over the reporters next to them. The reporters left their seats and pressed forward toward the stage. The guards in the front fought a losing battle to keep them back.
Do people actually live with such attention?
“A humble man like you would not let this get to your head? This is just a taste of what your life could be like if you accept my offer,” the Mayor mockingly whispered in my ear. He gave the crowd a wave and led me out a back door behind the stage. I remained frozen by stage fright, my eyes wide with shock.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kraine led me back to the elevators; we exchanged a few subtle meaningless phrases, and then went our separate ways. He went toward his office, and I exited the building through the garage to avoid the press in the lobby. He (surprisingly) offered to call a cab, but I turned him down, wanting to think clearly on a walk and suspecting that he would still have me pay the bill. I had a lot to process and walks are great for that. After all, I had turned down the job, but still Kraine had thrown me into his political game—almost out of spite. I didn’t appreciate that.
Then there was that recurring symbol worn by Ziavir Yiros and Police Commissioner Victor Carmichael that occupied most of my thoughts. I still had no idea what it meant or how the two of them were connected by it. I dared not be so foolish as to accuse the Police Commissioner of working alongside Ziavir, but something that unique couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. The only possibility for both of them having that symbol found on them is that the two were working together, but for reasons I couldn’t figure out and I hated that. In frustration I rubbed my forehead with my fingers. It was one crazy week.
I threw up my hood as I exited the garage and smiled as I walked unnoticed by the press who awaited my appearance out front. I turned away from them and headed down the street. I had to get myself to the den. I knew the others would want to hear from me after all that happened. I didn’t get far before I noticed my tail, a black SUV, about a block behind me.
I turned down a side street and was careful to maintain my pace and posture. Alerting them to being exposed this early would only set them off and into a chase I would lose. I saw from the reflections of the store windows around me the vehicle still following me at a distance. I casually walked a couple of more blocks with my head down and my hands in my pockets. I felt my Shaman mask hidden deep within my coat pocket. It was tightly rolled up. I gripped it with my fingers. I spotted an alley on my right and took a chance.
I darted in there as quickly as I could move. I dashed left and right through a maze of alleys. I heard an engine roar to life followed by screeching tires and the slamming of car doors. I had just seconds before they would swarm the alleyways to find me. I didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, but in my experience predators never had good intentions.
I threw off my jacket and slipped on my mask. I found a good hiding spot behind a dumpster and waited for my pursuers. Three men came down the alley. They carried silenced pistols in their grips. One was bald, the other had curly dark hair, and the last had short blonde hair. Their dark and unrecognizable clothing marked them as professionals. Each moved with careful predator-like instinct, like a cat does when hunting for a mouse. Just to top things off, all three were Nobles.
Great. Getting in a fight with these men will mean public execution, if I survive the fight.
The men appeared to be above the average street thug level. That meant they weren’t some of Lady Alexandra’s mobsters. Those men acted like bulls in a China shop when it came to their killings, while these three men moved like panthers in a jungle. These men definitely weren’t mobsters.
They were assassins.
Being shot, unarmed in a lonely alley wasn’t the way I thought the rest of my day would go. If there was only one assassin I might have had enough stupidity and confidence to try my luck in a fight. I may have even attempted it against two, depending on the circumstances and sheer luck and what I had for breakfast. Three? Not happening!
I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t afraid. Any fool would be terrified if he were trapped in an alley with three killers hunting him down. In my chest, my heart felt cold and heavy. The fear plummeted down my body, causing my thighs to quiver and my knees to want to lock up. My fingertips pulsed with burning energy. Sweat coated my forehead and neck. My mind buzzed with confusion.
Who sent these men after me?
“Where did he go?” growled Curly through gritted teeth.
“Not sure. Fan out and find him,” ordered Baldy. His voice was scarily familiar, as if I’d just recently heard it…as if I’d heard it…the night before! The men were from Ziavir’s crew! My fear gripped tighter and a cold chill ran down my spine.
Ziavir is hunting me now!
Apparently, luck was on my side. Curly and Blondie split down separate alleys to search for me, leaving just Baldy and me. But, Baldy was still a big guy, bigger than I was. If it came down to a fair fight, it would be tough. I knew how short and small the alleys were. Whatever I did, I had to do it then and fast.
Shards of glass lay on the ground around me; I carefully picked up a piece. Baldy moved closer, his gun ready. My heart pounded in my ears as fear strangled my spine. I squeezed the shard tightly, its edge bit into my skin. I heard Baldy draw closer and closer until I had no choice but to attack.
Just as Baldy crossed my side of the dumpster, I sprang from my hiding spot, using as much force as my exhausted muscles would allow to propel me forward. His surprise saved my life. He swung his gun toward me, but he wasn’t quick enough. I caught his wrist in my left hand and forced the gun away from me as I drove the shard of glass into his thigh.
He cried out in pain, and I released the shard as I slammed my palm up under his chin. The blow drove him back a step. I twisted and smacked my shoulder into his left armpit and broke his grip on the gun. His left hand came around clumsily, socking me in the back and stinging my bruised ribs. Pain exploded, and I reeled as the strike knocked breath from my lungs. My advantageous moment of surprise abruptly ended, and Baldy came
at me.
His right hand grabbed my shirt and he tried to yank me down on the ground. I swung back with a strong back fist that connected with his temple. He flinched, giving me the chance to catch my fleeting breath and kick away from him with his gun in my hand. I spun back around and pointed it at the man’s chest. The rush of adrenaline shouted for me to shoot, and I almost gave in to the moment. But I’d already committed a felony by stabbing the guy. There was no such thing as self-defense for an Outcast when it came to Nobles. Killing him would only bring the full weight of the NPFC upon me as Griffon—not that they weren’t already doing that with Shaman.
Besides…I’m not a killer. I could never kill anyone!
The assassin was quiet. He made no attempt to overpower me. Maybe he assumed I would shoot him dead if he did anything. To be honest I didn’t know what I was doing. I was making this up as I went. But of course, I wasn’t going to let him know that. I wasn’t stupid.
I watched carefully as he pulled the bloody shard out of his thigh. He neither cringed in pain nor faltered in his stance.
The man is a full-out brute!
“Why were you chasing after that man?” I asked. I stood straight and tall, gun extended with unwavering arms. It was all an act to hide the fact that every bone and muscle in my body screamed in agony and pain. After all, I hadn’t recovered from the night before. Instead of the facade I attempted to show, I felt pain and a whole lot of fear if he tried to take the gun from me. But the biggest fear came from worrying if he knew who I was. How sad would it have been if I’d exposed my identity only one day after I created it?
What should I do if he recognizes me though?
Thankfully, Baldy gave no implication that he knew who I was as he replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I gave a silent sigh of frustration. I didn’t have time to interrogate him, not when his allies could appear around the corner any second now. I had to establish a clear authority and an unwillingness for further games.
So, I aimed the silenced pistol and fired. The gun went off and the bullet pierced through the top of the man’s shoe. Baldy winced and cried out in pain as he fell to the ground. I may never have killed anyone, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t shoot someone in the foot if the need arose.
