Copyright © 2008 Daniel I. Russell
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
The phone appeared tiny in his hand, like a smooth black pebble nestled in his palm. It vibrated and released a quiet, music-box jingle. He flicked open the cover. The screen glowed emerald, and the word BOSS flashed in luminescent blue. He pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear.
"Speak up," he hollered. "Things are a little loud here."
One finger plugged in his other ear did little to block out the music booming from the speakers of the DJ booth, or the hustle and chat of drinkers gathered around the tables and bar. He strained to hear his employer. A girl sitting nearby laughed and drowned out the soft-spoken voice from the phone.
"I'm sorry. Can you say that again?"
"Really, Demon. You expect me to shout?"
He swallowed. "No, Mr. Belvedere. Not at all. My apologies."
"Better, Demon."
"Sir? Why are you calling me Demon?"
"Because we're talking on the phone. If we were in the office, things would be different. For now, we must be careful. You especially."
Demon sighed. "Yes, sir."
"Down to business. The subscribers grow restless. They need another one, if you catch my drift."
Demon grinned. "I'm one step ahead, sir. That's why I'm in a dive like this."
A young man edged past; his hands clamped a cluster of drinks. Tongue poking out of his mouth, he stared in concentration at the full glasses.
Demon thought how fun it would be to stick out a leg or even knock the glasses from his hands. He stepped back and allowed the guy to pass. The less attention he drew, the better. The man moved on with the care of a tightrope walker.
The bar ran the length of the room. Every inch bustled with customers. The tavern staff darted between customer and pump, chiller and cash register, sweat shiny on their faces.
Imagine doing that for a living. One should enjoy their job. I do.
Demon laughed.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, sir. The cattle market is full tonight. It won't be a problem to find a participant."
"Very good. I knew you wouldn't disappoint."
His boss's voice travelled from the phone warbled and distorted, like he called from the bottom of the sea or another world. Probably electric interference to blame, but with his employer....
"Demon! Are you there?"
"Yes, sir."
"Stop dallying and proceed. I'll be online later, waiting. Don't let the Order down. You were promoted for a reason."
Demon rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir, I know. Mr. Belvedere?"
He pulled the phone away from his ear. The screen indicated his boss had hung up. About to curse, Demon thought better of it and closed his mouth. He replaced the phone in his trouser pocket and picked up his drink. Lacking a chair, he leaned back against his high table. The wood tilted with the weight.
The DJ's voice bellowed out of the speakers, volume loud enough to muffle the words.
Demon thought of Belvedere at home in his mansion and wished for the same kind of evening, instead of waiting here in this over-priced, over-filled bar. His boss might be listening to some Mozart, a fine glass of wine in his hand. In the bar, most of the inhabitants looked half Demon's age, and he hadn't recognised one song.
"The sooner I start, the sooner I finish," he said under his breath. He finished the remnants of his cheap wine and grimaced. "This had better not be a waste of time."
He laughed at himself. It had never been a waste of time.
Demon walked around the corner of the bar. Other patrons, even a few guys with swollen muscles and tattoos, moved to the side.
Sometimes he forgot about his size and that he needed a little extra room. The slim days of his youth had well and truly finished. Indulgence takes a hard toll, and he had indulged more than most. His hanging belly swayed beneath his shirt.
At the back wall, he spied a man in a black shirt. Across from him sat a girl drinking through a straw. The man cast crafty peeks at her chest. She watched him over the rim of her glass, glancing at his body every so often. A tight pink jumper and black miniskirt accentuated her curves, and her dark hair curled to her shoulders. She placed the drink on the table and stirred the ice cubes with the straw.
Slim, good looking, young. She looks about eighteen. They'll enjoy that.
She leaned towards the man and whispered something in his ear. The guy threw back his head in laughter. She smiled, her pixie features magnificent.
She's the one. They'll get a treat tonight!
Demon straightened his tie and held his head up. He walked between the other customers, who again moved out of his path, and approached the table.
"Excuse me," he said and rested his hand on the only vacant chair. "Is anyone sitting here?"
Demon relished the way the girl's eyes widened at his huge form. His weight tended to put women off, but on occasion he had met girls, some as young as this little beauty, who liked a more robust man. More to ride, he supposed.
"I don't think so, mate," the guy replied and gestured at the chair. "You can take it."
Demon nodded. "I sure will. Thank you."
He pulled out the chair and sat at the table. The guy's mouth skewed, and he cast the girl a side-glance.
Game on, my friend.