Reckless: Season 2: Principles of Evil - Act 2
by redmoon
Principles of Evil - Act 2
Logan had had to drive for forty five minutes to find a bar where he was sure he could get what he wanted. He had spent the drive alternately thinking about Rachel and Hanna and what he had gotten them into — what they didn’t know they were in and how he was going to get out of this... and how he was going to ask for what he wanted.
What he wanted was simple. In all the vast and interlocking network of evil in the state of New York, there had to be death on demand for those who could pay. It was practically a given.
He realized, as he pulled his car through the alley towards the back lot of the bar, what he looked like now. What he was doing —what he was— was a far cry from what he had imagined when he was younger. A far cry from what he had anticipated the ‘good fight’ would be when he had first met Niki on that lonely little bridge in Central Park. His whole life was a far cry. And the words it was crying weren’t pleasant.
Logan had finally decided, in the solitude of his office earlier today, that there was only one thing he could in all conscience do with his client. And now he was in search of a hit man who could make it happen.
The moment he stepped into the bar he wrinkled his nose. ‘Hole in the wall’ wasn’t an adequate description. Every surface in sight, he imagined, was sticky. Every surface which wasn’t in sight.... he didn’t want to think about that.
The patchy concrete floor no doubt contributed to the dank cave-smell which permeated the place. He yearned for the smell of the Biter – cigarettes and beer. No one drank beer at this place.
Logan made his way towards the pool of red light which illuminated the bar at the center of the room. There were only a few people sitting there. The rest seemed to be doing something else — something noisy in a room beyond a curtain towards the back.
“What can I get you?” The muscle at the bar grunted, as if he was annoyed just to have to ask this question.
Logan looked up to a small chalkboard on which had been scrawled some illegible drink names. The one he could read he ordered. “Smyte,” he said with authority.
The barkeep began mixing, filling a small glass with rye, added a few ice cubes and finally taking out a small glass bottle. At first Logan thought it might be vodka, but, turned in the light, the bottle showed its label; a small cruciform. The barkeep pulled the glass stopper from the bottle and allowed a few drops of holy water to drip into the rye.
He slid the smyte in front of Logan and replaced the glass bottle under the bar. “Six fifty,” he said with a grunt.
Logan payed him and looked around the nearly empty establishment. “Slow night?”
The barkeep snorted. “All the business is in back,” he thumbed towards the curtain from behind which all sorts of vile noises were coming.
“Party?” Logan asked, craning his neck.
The muscle laughed heartily at Logan’s expense. “Yeah... that’s right. A party.”
“Am I invited?” Logan wasn’t sure he wanted to be invited, but there was no one here who could help him. The back seemed more promising.
The barkeep eyed him suspiciously for a minute, more for having asked than for having wanted in. Everyone who was currently at the ‘party’ had either just walked in or had been dragged, screaming and kicking. “You ain’t gonna throw a fit and call the cops?” Logan scoffed at this, acting as insulted as he imagined anyone else might. The barkeep finally nodded. “Ten bucks cover charge.”
Logan nodded and payed, leaving his smyte untouched. He approached the curtain with internal hesitation but only confidence showing in his stride. He could handle anything this party could offer.
Sweeping the curtain aside, his stomach told him how wrong he was. His legs, on the other hand, still imbued with false confidence, carried him over the threshold and into certainly someone’s version of hell.
The cement wall between this room and the bar had done well to cover the ear-splitting pounding of the music – if it could be called that. The curtain had done its part and kept the smell contained. This room was lit by black lights and strobe lights, giving everything the quality of an intermittent photographic negative, making all eyes and fingernails come alive with light, even if they belonged to things which had been dead for hours.
From the high ceiling hung five naked women, strips of their flesh removed occasionally by readily available knives or claws, and eaten by the partygoers. Logan looked up and could see that the corpses were hanging by their feet from the vertices of a phosphorescent pentagram painted on the ceiling.
Upon further inspection, he could see that only two of the five were in fact genuine corpses. The other three were still struggling against their ropes as they were slowly turned into hors d’oeuvres. Logan knew he was going to be sick. It was just a question of when.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the image of a peaceful lake. Gentle ripples crossed its surface. A boat drifted lazily— Then he opened his eyes again. He had a job to do... or rather, a job to undermine.
Logan made his way through the sea of moving bodies, demons and vampires and humans alike, all having a wonderful time. Near the walls there were large cushions upon which vampires and humans were laying, seemingly passed out, tourniquets wrapped tightly around their arms.
Logan began to understand what this was, as he found a table at the center of the room, between the five women, upon which was a large bin of needles and several kilograms of heroine. Some sort of elaborate demon shooting party. He turned away and found himself facing a young woman, her face thin and drawn, her eyes flashing white in the strobe light. Her hands clutched his arms and she was drawing him towards one of the mats on the floor.
Logan, with horror, managed to extricate himself only by shoving her to the floor and disappearing back into the crowd. He was now resolved to find what he wanted and get the hell out.
Just then, a potential candidate took him by the shoulder and spun him around. Logan found himself looking at the ugly mug of a demon. Though the strobe light was flashing unstoppably and the black light was otherwise flooding the room with its ultraviolet rays, this demon's eyes remained unlit.
“I need someone killed,” Logan shouted immediately over the incomparably loud music and, he realized, screams. He was sure he hadn’t been heard as the demon turned around and began to move away. But when Logan didn’t follow, the demon turned back and inclined his head towards the curtain and the less noisy bar beyond.
The demon exited into the bar with the lawyer in tow. The demon selected a table particularly concealed by darkness and sat down, finding a handful of nuts from a bowl at the center. “Speak,” he said once Logan had seated himself.
Logan slid the file photo of Wehx onto the table. “I need him killed as soon as possible. I don’t care how.”
The demon shrugged. “I only kill for free if I’m hungry.”
“How much do you want?” Logan reached for his chequebook but the demon laughed.
“And I only kill for money when I’m very, very drunk.” He munched on the nuts and reached for more. “I work for favors. Is that something you can handle?”
Logan stayed his hand in his jacket. He was extremely uncomfortable promising favors to this demon. He would much rather part with, say, a kidney. But what choice did he have. “I can handle that,” he agreed.
“Good,” the demon nodded, taking the picture from the table. “Now... tell me, what sort of favors would you possibly be able to promise me?”
Logan looked around the bar for a moment, then down at the small bowl of nuts. He swallowed and pointed a finger. Presto. Roasted nuts. The slight wisp of smoke rose to the ceiling.
The demon nodded, his smile pulling back to reveal large, disturbing teeth. “Interesting.”
Jessica held the teen’s hand, thinking hard about how to tell her what was involved in her future. It wouldn’t do to tell them that her father was going to be in a car accident. Too specific. She pretended to examine the young woman’s hand with a troubled look. The troubled look soon spread to the owner of the hand, then to her boyfriend.
“What is it?” she asked in a voice masking worry.
Assuming they wouldn’t believe what Jessica would tell them, it was pointless to have them feel guilty about it later. What a terribly futile job she had. But the futility was a shield against the ignorance of society.
“You will be drawn closer to ones you love,” she said as if reading it from the woman’s palm, “the bonds of family will be strained very soon, but will only prove stronger.” Then Jessica looked up suddenly, another vision forcing its way into her mind. She blinked rapidly and her vision resolved upon the now very worried look of her customer. “Uh... Your life line is strong and healthy, you will discover love that will prove true.” She pulled her hand back and swallowed as the girl turned to her boyfriend and smiled.
“I already have,” she said warmly, taking his hand into hers.
Jessica gagged internally but forced the smile onto her face. The jerk was banging the girl’s younger sister. Tonight he was going to ask for a threesome. She would dump him and after her father’s death would move closer to home and find true love with the boy next door. Well... true enough.
“Have a lovely day,” she said, knowing who her next customer would be.
“You too,” they smiled and left.
The Slayer stepped forward, holding her fingers crossed over her temple, as if projecting her thoughts. “I’m thinking... gag me with a... spoon?”
Jessica sneered and flipped the sign from ‘open’ to ‘back in 5’. “Sit down, Knicks.”
“Whistler said I should come and see you.”
Jessica nodded. “I told him to pass it along. You don’t frequent these halls as often as a normal girl ought to.”
“That’s not what you need to tell me, I’m guessing,” Niki raised an eyebrow and held her arms tighter.
“No.” There was silence for a moment and Niki let her head sag.
“Silence is never a good sign.” The Slayer threw up her hands. “I never get good signs — just once I’d like a seer to tell me ‘you will be very wealthy...’”
“Someone’s betrayed you,” Jessica said outright.
“Been conversing with my dearly departed parents, have you?” Niki crossed her arms again. “They were similarly vague.”
“They were vague for a reason. I’m being as specific as I can be.” Jessica leaned in close, her expression completely serious. “You need to run away. Go home, pack your things and run as far away as you can — get out of the country if you can, but you’ll have to leave tonight.”
“Why?” Niki hissed, leaning in close as well. “What’s going on? Who’s betrayed me?”
Jessica shrugged harshly. “I don’t know everything!” She glanced left and right and leaned in a bit farther. “I just get flashes. I don’t control it. Gimme a frickin’ break already.” She calmed herself and sat back a little. “All I know is, you’ve been betrayed by someone close to you and you need to run away. Quickly.” There was a pause as Niki tried comprehend if Jessica was serious. The seer cocked her head, unsure of the delay. “Like... now!”
Niki jumped to her feet and turned to go. Jessica stopped her. “There’s one more thing,” the seer called after her. Niki turned with a frown. What could possibly be—
“Harrison’s awake.”
Addison pulled the steel case from the closet where he had buried it under some of his old clothes. He lifted it carefully onto his bed and slid the key into the lock, popping the latches and opening the lid.
Nestled inside the black foam were four small objects. Three side by side, one along the top. He lifted the first from the middle and looked at it in the light of the bedside lamp. Amanitin. He looked down at the other two but left them where they were. Coniine and batrachotoxin sat innocently inside their own glass vials. Amanitin was a cyclic peptide. The other two were neurotoxins. All of them were lethal in surprisingly small concentrations. Across the top, nestled into the black foam was a hypodermic syringe, its needle encased in a plastic tube.
Addison set the Amanitin back in its place. He gently closed the lid of the briefcase. This was the Council’s solution. Amanitin was derived from the flesh of the Destroying Angel fungus. Coniine from Poison Hemlock. Batrachotoxin from the South American Poison Dart frog. Each one was classic and vicious. In the age of the sniper rifle, no one used poison any more.
But Niki could dodge bullets.
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