As the remaining miles passed, Hammett remained silent, meditating on the situation and their plan of action. Fifty minutes after his conversation with the office, Hammett’s device vibrated once more. The Inspector smiled with satisfaction as he began reading the detailed information Evans had compiled. The dossiers were thorough, expertly organized, and delivered as promptly as expected.He was willing to excuse the extra five minutes for such impressive results. The Cyclops scoured each and every file with care, his incisive mind committing every miniscule detail to memory, his massive eye capturing each and every subtle trait of his enemy’s faces and physiques. Not once for the remainder of the drive did he lift his head up from the softly glowing screen.
After so many tedious, long hours of nothing but darkness and the never-ending string of artificial lights streaking by, it came as a shock when the cabin of the sedan finally lit up in a blinding flash as natural light poured in through the windows. Having exited the underground tunnel system, Hammett at long last raised his head and looked upon the outskirts of New Brasov. As anticipated, the local time was a bit past four in the afternoon, and the sun had already slunk far to the west. Turning to Vega, he lifted up his tablet for the Spaniard to gaze upon the displayed profile. “This is our first stop of the evening,” Hammett said calmly. “It appears that the local population is even more colorful than I realized.” Vega glanced first at the tablet, and then upon the Cyclops as if he had gone quite mad, shaking his head in disbelief. “I need information, and I need it now. We don’t have the time to go beating around the bush to get it. This, without question, is the quickest way to go about it.” Vega cocked an eyebrow, smiled, and shook his head again with a look of amused resignation. “Fortune favors the bold, old friend, and in difficult and desperate cases, the boldest counsels are the safest. Besides, as an added bonus, I think this should turn out to be more than a little fun. Don’t worry, Vega, I only intend to engage in calm, controlled conversation this time. Nothing more.”
It was approaching dusk by the time the two investigators reached their destination, having traveled across a great span of the city. Hardly any sunlight now reached the canyon’s depth. The structures here were tall, with some of the “skyscrapers” hugging the canyon walls as high up as you could see. Beautiful, dazzling lights of wildly varying colors illuminated the stylishly designed structures from top to bottom. Impressive fountains diverted traffic at intersections, while beautiful, immaculately dressed people casually strolled up and down the sidewalks, laughing, talking, flaunting their wealth and elegance for any who bothered to look. With each passing moment, as the dark of night steadily consumed the canyon, the more alive and dazzling the streets became.
With his typically confident demeanor, Daniel Hammett waltzed straight through the front doors of an impressive two-story building. The vast floor of the lobby was covered in white marble, contrasted by tall, well-manicured plants of green and orange displayed at intervals. Arranged tastefully about were dozens of handsome works of art of varying material and craftsmanship. A great many patrons were milling about inside, sipping cocktails, reclining on couches, each waiting for their opportunity to proceed farther into the building. On the far wall of the lobby a line had formed in front of a set of ornate, tightly shut double doors. Standing in front of the doors were two exceptionally tall, muscular doormen. As Hammett and Vega drew nearer, the larger doorman sized up the unwanted guests suspiciously and took a heavy step forward. “This is a private club,” the doorman said in a deep voice, holding his palm outward. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“No need, my good man,” Hammett replied cheerfully, shoving aside a beautiful woman in a green cocktail dress as he jumped to the head of the line with a flirtatious wink. Turning his attention back to the doorman, the inspector smiled confidently, looking up fearlessly at the bulging mass of muscle that stood a good head taller than himself. “We have an invitation, you see.”
“I believe you’re mistaken.”
“No, no, let me show you. Now where did I put it? Oh yes, here we are.” Hammett reached into his coat pocket and dramatically drew out his UEL identification. With a smug grin running from ear to ear, he thrust his badge into the doorman’s face. “See? This says I am invited to go wherever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want. Therefore, it appears you are the one who is mistaken. Am I right? Now be a good lad and take us to your boss,” he added, tapping the badge on the doorman’s wide forehead.
The doorman sent the Cyclops a venomous glare, made a gesture to the other doorman, then reluctantly turned around and escorted the two visitors past the doors, down a short hallway, and through yet another set of beautiful doors. They now found themselves at the reception desk of a glamorous nightclub. The air was thick with the smoke of countless burning cigars and cigarettes, and awash with the stifling scents of innumerable perfumes. Humans, vampires, Cyclops, hunchbacks, and even goblins were counted among the guests, all dressed to the nines and ready to spend. Along the edges of the club gambling tables drew large crowds where dice tumbled, roulette balls spun, and cards shuffled in endless clatter. Waiters in tuxedos worked their way through the masses, trays of food and drink held high above their heads. In the center of the club were dozens of tables, and here the wealthy dined in extravagance. On the far side of the club, a beautiful, pale woman in a simple, tight-fitting black dress sang in a sultry voice, with a five piece band accompanying her.
“Good evening, gentleman,” a man in a tuxedo said with a nervous strain in his voice, stepping up to Hammett. “How may I help you?” He then looked at the doorman uneasily, waving him off to return to the lobby.
Hammett, however, appeared to ignore the host, and instead carefully scanned the thick crowd. His eye finally stopped in the direction of the dinner tables in the center of the room, and with a wink he patted the tuxedo clad man on the shoulder and proceeded to waltz straight toward the tables, Vega following a step behind.
“Excuse me! Sir! Sir!” The man in the tuxedo hobbled clumsily after Hammett into the crowd. “You can’t go down there…”
Hammett stopped at a small table set somewhat apart from the others, pulled out an unoccupied chair, and sat himself down. Already seated was a thin, pale gentleman in a navy blue suit. Next to him sat an exceptionally pale woman in a glittering red dress. In her hand was a champagne flute full of thick, burgundy fluid. The man in the suit had his arm draped over his date’s shoulders, and upon his finger could be seen a striking ring featuring a single triangular ruby. Vega took a chair from an adjacent table, and setting it next to Hammett, sat down.
“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Isbell,” the man in the tuxedo said breathlessly. “This…gentleman…he’s…”
“Quite all right, Braxton,” the man in the navy suit replied with a wave of his hand. “I always make room for old, uninvited…undesirable acquaintances. You may return to your desk.” Braxton glanced between Isbell and Hammett nervously before bowing and hesitantly working his way back to his post, glancing back over his shoulder several times in the process. “Daniel Hammett…what a surprise,” Isbell stated. “And to what do I owe the displeasure?”
“You look well, Gregory.” Hammett smiled. “I see that you are doing exceptionally well for yourself these days,” he added, waving his hand in the air. “And you’ve been making new friends, as well. It warms the heart.” The woman seated next to Isbell stared back at the Cyclops with emotionless eyes, slowly running her index finger around the edge of her glass, before dipping it in, and then licking the liquid from her finger. “You do, however, appear somewhat tired, Gregory,” Hammett continued. “I wonder if you’re been working a bit too hard…sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and your fingers into honey pots that are not yours?”
“Yes, I am tired. I’ve been awake since two in the afternoon, I’ll have you know. And as much as it may distress you to hear it, everything I have built before you is entirely legal. I’ve worked very hard to make a
ll of this, and if you’ve come to stir up trouble you’re wasting your time.”
“On the contrary, Gregory, I’ve come here to make a business proposition.”
Isbell laughed loudly, revealing his sharp, glistening fangs. “You can’t be serious, Hammett.”
“Aren’t you at least willing to hear me out?” Hammett asked. “Here Vega and I have traveled these thousands of miles to see you, and you won’t even spare a few minutes to listen to my proposal? Not even for old times’ sake? Such rudeness is inexcusable. Do you treat all of your patrons with such icy hospitality?”
“Fine. Tell me of your business proposition. I can always use a good laugh.”
“Gladly. Do you have somewhere more private we can speak? Preferably one with fewer wandering eyes and ears?”
“We can speak in my private office. But on one condition: I’m bringing along one of my men. I don’t trust you, Hammett.”
“Honestly, Gregory. I’m hurt.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Fine, fine, bring along one of your hired ogres if you must, though it’s entirely unnecessary. Just make sure it’s someone you can trust.”
The vampire reached into his suit pocket, withdrew a communication device much like the one Hammett possessed, and proceeded to press several buttons. “Braxton? Have Chisholm meet me at my office.”
Gregory left the woman at the table and escorted Hammett and Vega through the crowd of patrons toward the far right of the club. Standing next to an inconspicuous door was the same brutish doorman whom Hammett had met in the club lobby. Upon seeing his boss, Chisholm opened the office door and glared at the two investigators as they followed Isbell inside. The vampire sat down behind a large, imposing desk, and motioned for his two guests to take seats on the opposite side. Chisholm shut the door and positioned himself several feet behind his boss.
“So here we are,” Isbell said dubiously. “I’m all ears.”
“I want that lamp on,” Hammett barked, pointing to a tall floor lamp in the corner, “and your desk lamp…and that one as well.”
“Now who’s being paranoid?”
“I acquiesced to your demands to bring this imbecilic ogre along, so now you’ll return the courtesy and have this room fully illuminated. I’ll not discuss business while you’re shrouded in shadow.”
“Very well. Turn on all the lights for Inspector Hammett. Now may we get on to business? I have other, more pressing affairs to attend to, you know.”
“Would you look at that?” Hammett exclaimed, admiring a saltwater fish tank which ran the entire length of the office’s left wall. “You have assembled a beautiful collection of specimens. I am genuinely impressed.”
“Why are you here, Hammett?” Gregory interrupted impatiently. “I am doubtful that your business proposition has anything to do with tropical fish. Stop wasting my time.”
“Straight to the point is it? Well, then.” Hammett paused a moment, carefully studying the vampire’s eyes, before continuing a harsher, accusing tone. “Within the past twenty-four hours New Brasov has had a massive influx of CN members. I need to know precisely what for. You’re going to tell me.”
“Is that all?” Isbell asked, bursting into laughter. Hammett sat quietly in his leather chair, appearing entirely relaxed, calm, and dead serious. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s useless to lie to me, Gregory,” Hammett replied with a sigh. “I know full well when I am being told something other than the truth.”
“So what if there are a number of CN coming to town? It has nothing to do with me. They could be here for a celebration, a reunion, anything. If they happen to be paying customers, I don’t give a damn who enters the city. The UEL does not possess the right to interfere with such gatherings if no criminal activity is taking place.”
“Naturally, masses of known murderers and thieves all decided to come together today for a happy little tea party. Or a wedding anniversary, perhaps?”
“Their business is none of my concern.”
“Gregory, you make everyone’s business your concern. You have your sticky little fingers in every pocket within reach. That’s precisely what I find so endearing about you.”
“Whatever you may believe, Hammett, I have no knowledge of what the Cosa Nosferatu might be doing in New Brasov.”
“But you are yourself one of their number, Gregory. You wear the ring of House Constantine. You expect me to believe that you have no knowledge whatsoever of their activity? Please, this is embarrassing.”
“My affiliations and beliefs have nothing to do with your interests, whatever they may be, Hammett. I’ve done nothing illegal and I don’t know of anything illegal going down either.”
“You know precisely what is happening in this city, Gregory, and you’re going to tell me what I need to know this instant!” The Cyclops pounded his fist on Gregory’s desk with authority.
“Hammett, Hammett, Hammett,” Isbell chuckled, his hand resting lightly upon his pale chin. “I had almost forgotten how big of an ass you are. At least some things can be relied upon to stay the same.”
“Thank you. I do certainly work at it.”
“Charming as always. Now you listen to me, Hammett: A business transaction is, by definition, mutually beneficial. Each party receives something. Now, even if I possessed the information you want, you’re offering nothing in return. That’s bad business.”
“Oh, so now you do know something?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Tell me what I need to know, Gregory, and I’ll walk right out that door, leaving you to carry on with this funhouse you’ve created, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find it in my heart to overlook the twelve UEL violations I witnessed in the short span I’ve spent in your establishment. Just for old times’ sake. See? Now we each have something.”
“Violations? You’ve not seen a single violation, Hammett. Don’t you think you can bluff me.”
“Bluff? On the contrary. I spotted three counts of the consumption of human blood, two counts of outlawed Asgardian ale, three counts of open prostitution, and a trio of goblins in a corner who were collectively violating five laws between them. I have more than enough evidence to shut your entire operation down this very instant.”
“I’m sorry this has turned out to be such a waste of time,” the vampire said with disappointment. “I think you have a great deal to learn about business.”
“Oh? I thought it was an amazingly generous offer.”
“I’m going to make you a counter offer now, Hammett. You take your arrogant, one-eyed ass out of my club this very instant, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll refrain from contemplating how much money I could make by putting a bullet in your head and selling your remains to one of the many, many enemies you’ve made through the years. You know, for old times’ sake.”
“So that’s your final answer?” Hammett asked.
“This conversation is over.”
“You sure you won’t reconsider? This is what they call a onetime offer, you understand?”
“I’m sure I’ll find a way to move beyond the heartache and loss. Chisholm, please escort Mr. Hammett and Mr. Vega outside. It is well past time they were on their way.” The guard pulled a large handgun out from under his jacket, and with great pleasure walked up to Hammett and placed it only inches away from the Cyclops’ head.
“Well, maybe you’re right after all, Gregory,” Hammett conceded. “I suppose I’m simply not much of a businessman. Best to stick with one’s strengths, I suppose.”
Faster than a striking cobra, Hammett lunged forward over the desk and wrapped his hands around Isbell’s throat. The Cyclops’ forward momentum forced the vampire’s chair backwards and onto the floor. At the very same instant that Hammett moved, Vega grabbed Chisholm’s firearm, and twisted the weapon out of his grip in one blurry, fluid motion. Before the bodyguard had a moment to react, Vega reached up, clenched Chisholm by the hair, and violently pulled the man’
s head directly onto the desk. As the large man’s forehead slammed with a crunch onto the polished wooden surface, the Spaniard simultaneously plowed his elbow into the pit of his enemy’s neck. His foe incapacitated, Vega casually and effortlessly pulled the unconscious doorman off the desk and onto one of the chairs. Finally, after a moment of admiring its craftsmanship, he pocketed the newly acquired firearm.
“You should have taken my offer, Gregory,” Hammett said calmly, sitting on the vampire’s chest. The Cyclops had clasped one hand firmly around Isbell’s neck, while he used his other arm and legs to pin down his adversary’s limbs. “Even though you had to be such a spoilsport and ruin the mood, I am determined to remain positive about this entire ordeal. In fact, I think we should play a game. You like games, don’t you Gregory?” The vampire squirmed futilely to break free from Hammett’s hold, and while he was in no genuine pain and could still manage to breathe, the Cyclops’ powerful grip prevented him from uttering any noise beyond a soft gurgle. “Everyone likes games,” Hammett continued. “In particular, one of my favorites, even as a child, has always been “Twenty Questions”. Did you ever play Twenty Questions, Gregory? Now, I don’t mean to be immodest, but I must admit that I’ve never lost a game. It’s very simple to play. I ask a question which can only be answered with a “yes” or a “no”, and before I have posed twenty such queries, we shall reach the solution to the puzzle. In this instance, the puzzle is “Why are the CN in New Brasov?” All clear on the rules? Excellent! Let us begin. Gregory, look into my eye.”
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