Contractor: Chapter - 12

All the world's a drinking game.

It happened quickly. Black mist cascaded out of the briefcase like it was a fog machine full of dread and ill intentions rather than the usual fluids. Death appeared on the bench next to me along with several other men in black suits that I didn’t recognize. They stood quickly and walked up to the bar. No one noticed them until the mist started to cause the nearest tables to choke and gasp for air. A few men reached Death but they were quickly dealt with by the men that had appeared with him. Owen and Shaun seemed to be the only ones completely unaffected by the event.

“What can I get for you gentlemen?” Owen hissed.

“What beverage would you consider good?” Death answered casually.

“How about a knife.”

“Hmm, it has been awhile since I have had the pleasure. Why not.” The bar keeper turned and pulled out shot glasses.

“What’re you doing in my bar Vic?” Shaun finally spoke up. He seemed too calm in response to the situation. I was panicking however. I was still in the thick of things, having forgotten to “get clear” but luckily none of his rage seemed to be directed at me.

“Is it so wrong to drop in for a drink with an old friend Shaun?” Death’s voice was friendly, something I hadn’t heard out of him before. Were they old friends or was Death just toying with him?

“Yeah. If you have to break in after being locked out, I’d say it’s kind of wrong. So why are you here? And don’t tell me you want to set up the old arrangement, I’m not letting anyone outside of the family contract in my bar.”

“I came to settle your debt.”

“My debt? That’s rich. As I recall, you broke your end of the contract. You owe me.”

“That would be the case, if I actually had broken my end of the contract. That girl that you thought you saw me giving a free deal to, which would have been in breach of our contract, was my daughter. Under the close friends and family clause I had every right to do what I did. You on the other hand barred me from the establishment, which was a breach of contract. So as I said, I’ve come to settle your debt.”

“I didn’t think you were so petty.” He grunted. “Breach only gives you the amount I made between then and now. If you’d waited you might have gotten a lot more.”

“Only, if you remember correctly, we never were able to settle on the terms of breach compensation, you just assumed we would go that route upon signing the latest write up of our little deal.” Death grinned, the yellow didn’t seem to stand out in the dim light. “However you barred me before we could sign that. So you breached with standard compensation... everything.”

Shaun’s face went red and contorted in rage as he stammered for words. Coming up blank and without rebuttal, he shot me a demented look before he violently erupted into a pillar of blue flame.

“And that was the end of Shaun McGregor, contracting since 1740.” Death hummed as he reached into the pillar of fire with his bare hand.

I was speechless and confused, the scene I had and was still witnessing wasn’t something I had expected. The fire began to slowly fade though, and I thought I could see it creeping up Death’s arm for a second before it went out completely with one last faint flicker. Still completely nonchalant, Death picked up his shot glass from the bar and downed what I assumed was the same drink I’d just consumed, his lack of reaction to anything that had just happened was… scary to say the least.

“Ah, what good old times.” His dry, business tone had returned. I hadn’t noticed until then, but Owen, the bartender, had disappeared as well.

Death gestured for me to follow him as he walked toward the stairs out of the bar. The men that had come in with Death stayed behind. The street level of the bar was empty as well, and there was no problem as we walked back onto the street.

“You have done well, Mr. Carol. If you were not already my personal novelist I would have you assist me in this part of my business more often. In fact...” He paused thoughtfully. “I feel a bit lazy today, if you would be so kind as to write up a report of the events when you get back, I would be very grateful.”

“When I get back?” He made it sound like I wasn’t going right back to the den.

“Yes, about that...” He looked a bit ashamed. “I hate to put too much on your shoulders but I was hoping you could do me another favor while you are still free... Hope wanted to have lunch at some restaurant she heard about and I still have this mess to clean up here. Would you mind going for me?” He really was a terrible father, I wasn’t exactly shocked, but I hadn’t expected him to make me make up for it.

“Sure…?” He may have been a terrible father, but I was an opportunist and I didn’t mind filling in for him if it meant spending some time outside. Even if it was with Hope.

"Good. Have fun." Death gave me a pat on the back that turned into more of a shove.

Caught off guard, I stumbled forward, and reached out for something to stabilize myself. I didn't realize he'd taken me somewhere else until I looked up.

"He didn't..." Hope's voice growled.

"No, he did. He pushed a little harder than necessary too." I was holding onto an outdoor café table. More precisely, Hope's outdoor café table. He may have been too forceful, but Death had good aim. "Where are we anyway?"

"I picked this café out while you were writing. I made reservations and everything, I even told him way in advance and he still scheduled the raid on McGregor's on top of it."

"Well, I'm here." I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her. "At least he didn't leave you alone like my parents did." It wasn't true, but according to Amy it was what everyone thought happened.

"This doesn't exactly make up for all the other times..." she sighed. “I suppose it's a start though."

"So what is there to eat?" I hadn't eaten in a while and I wasn't exactly hungry, but I wasn't full either. It would also have been rude to watch as she ate, or so I’d heard. Apparently it made women feel bad about their image, or fat or something, if they ate more than their company.

"Two cappuccino’s are already on the way, and I'm thinking... scones."

"Scones?" I'd eaten them once before when my mom brought them back from work, but I couldn't remember what they tasted like. I couldn’t remember what a lot of things tasted like, which was sad considering it hadn’t been that long since I’d eaten. What I was more curious about was the cappuccino, I’d never had coffee at all, let alone a cappuccino… which I assumed was gourmet coffee?

"Yes, scones. Yummy, delicious, buttery pastries."

A waiter walked over to our table carrying a tray with two small cups and set it down on the table.

"Your coffee, Miss. Richmond." The waiter said very politely. He took out a notepad. "Anything else ma'am?"

"A tray of assorted scones would be nice." Hope smiled kindly at the waiter as she made the request, the display was not something I was expecting.

"Excellent choice, we just pulled some out of the oven." He walked away writing down what I assumed was Hope’s order on his notepad.

"Great service." I hummed. "Almost seems out of place."

"It’s one of the reasons I chose this place. If the waiter were rude, dad would probably react... badly." I tried not to imagine a "bad" reaction from Death.

"If it’s any consolation for being stuck here with me, the thing at McGregor's went well."

"I find that hard to believe." The ease with which she said it made it really hard for me not to give her an annoyed look, which I may have accidentally done anyways. "I said hard to believe, not impossible. You have no experience and I find it difficult to imagine you mixing in with the crowd."

"It was a bar, all I had to do was go through a bit of a drinking game." I smiled in an attempt to recover from whatever kind of look I’d given her. "It was kind of fun really. I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again if your dad asked."

The waiter came back with a tray of scones and set them down for us. Hope slipped him a bill as he made his exit, I couldn't see how much, and he walked away calmly without looking at how much he'd gotten.

"Well he was appreciative." I hummed as I took a bite out of a scone. "How much was that anyway?"

"In addition to being polite the employees also practice discretion. So if I gave him say... a thousand dollar tip he wouldn't freak out."

"Really? One thousand dollars?" I wasn't really surprised, but I hadn't been expecting it either. "What do you guys do for money, and why do you have so much that you don’t flinch at handing out a thousand dollars tip for a waiter?"

"We contract for things other than souls sometimes. At least we used to, we have more than enough of this credit backed crap. Souls are the only real currency we're interested in."

"I figured it was something like that."

"Don't sound so cynical. You might not be a contractor, but you're in the same boat."

"Suppose I am in the same boat... does that make me the emergency rations?"

"More like a cure for cabin fever." She sighed.

"You sound a bit depressed." I was honestly surprised that I cared enough to mention it. It was hard not to be sympathetic with the pathetically lonely look on her face.

"Really? I hadn't realized." Her sarcasm caught me off guard. "Sorry, I'm a mess. I'm just getting sick of dealing with my dad."

"Is he that bad? I mean at least he's there."

"Not really, if you haven't noticed he avoids me. Ever since we became contractors, he's kept his distance." As impossible as it sounded, she was on the verge of tears, even if she was still trying to keep a straight face.

"I've been wondering, how do you become a contractor anyway?" I felt bad trying to get answers out of her in a moment of weakness, but there probably wasn't going to be a better chance.

"I can't tell you how, partly because you couldn’t understand the concepts as you are, but it’s also forbidden knowledge to people that aren’t contractors. I can tell you why though."

"Why then?" Was there some kind of necessity in being a contractor?

"I died. I was the only family my father had, not to mention the reason he became a contractor in the first place. He tried so hard to keep me alive by normal means, but in the end I was a lost cause… so my dad brought me back the only other way he knew how, as a contractor."

"You think he resents saving you?"

"What else."

"Maybe he regrets that you had to become a contractor. The fact that he did bring you back is enough to prove that he loves you, though perhaps maybe not what you've become as a result." How that last part slipped out, I don't know.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your personality's changed as a result of being a contractor, hasn't it?" She paused, as though she had never been presented with the idea before.

"I... suppose I have." She seemed reluctant to think about it. "There is a little more to that theory than an indirect correlation."

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to share?" I raised an eyebrow. Anything in that vein of knowledge was beneficial in one way or another.

"It’s a bit... involved, in things you can't know."

"There are too few people living in our world for there to be any private business between us." I reached across the table to hold her hand comfortingly. It was starting to seriously hurt to play around with her emotions, which surprised me. I didn’t want to harbor any sympathy towards Hope, but I couldn’t stop myself for some reason.

"I can show you, but I won't be able to tell you much of anything important."

As she said it, we left the café. I still wasn’t used to the way they traveled, but I was past the point of an obvious reaction. I had to blink several times before I actually realized what had happened. We were somewhere completely unfamiliar to me. It was dark and the air was musty, I almost choked.

"Where are we?"

"It’s an old catacomb, the church that used to be above us is long gone, along with the entrance." Hope turned on a flashlight. It was too dark to see where she got it from, though it was probably her purse. "Take a look at those names." She pointed the light at a stone slab.

"Agatha Richmond." I recognized the last name as the one the waiter had addressed her with, but didn't show it. The further in the dark I appeared to be the less of a threat I would be perceived as and the more information I would get. Hope moved the light over to the next slab. "Victor Richmond." I looked at her questioningly, even though I already knew what she meant. "Whose are they?"

"These tombs belong to me and my father."

"Richmond?" She nodded. "And I take it they're not empty." She nodded again. It made sense, she wasn't really Agatha Richmond anymore. "New name for a new body and a new life."

"I wanted something optimistic to keep me going. So here I am. Hope." She laughed lightly, I could barely hear it.

"I like the way Agatha sounds. It fits you better than Hope."

"I do like how it sounds when you say it…” Her voice softened for a second, but only a second.  “But if you ever call me Agatha around anyone else, I'll gut you." Her smile returned and she was back in what I would consider her normal state.

"That's a hollow threat to a man that feels nothing." She glared at me, but I saw something else I didn’t really recognize in the way she was glaring.

"I'm hungry, let’s go.” Hope grabbed my hand and we were back at the outdoor café.

“What can you tell me about McGregor’s?” I’d honestly been curious for a while now, but it hadn’t been as big of a priority. It also helped to alleviate some of the guilt I felt over manipulating her.

“The bar or the contractor?” Hope had happily resumed eating and sipping on her coffee like she hadn’t just shown me her grave.

“The contractor, when I met him it was a rather… abrupt acquaintance.”

“I bet, he is, or he was, a rather intense contractor. Always making his contractees prove themselves to him in one way or another. Eventually he just sort of attracted a like-minded crowd of meat heads.”

“What did your dad have against him?”

“They were business partners for a short period of time. McGregor’s pub was a well-known place to make a deal. McGregor would bring the people in with his reputation, dad would close the deal and the two would split the profit. Dad just considered it a stepping stone though. He saw the arrangement as a way of putting McGregor in breach of contract. He was from a big family of contractors and he had a very large… what you might call net worth, which could be taken if dad could catch him in breach.”

“That’s what it sounded like. So that’s just it then?”

“Well, the McGregor family will probably have it out for us for a while, but that’s not that bad.” She swallowed her last bite of scone and downed the rest of her coffee. “You done? You haven’t even touched your cappuccino.” She was right, I’d been avoiding it.

“Uh… yeah… to be honest I’ve never had one before. Or any kind of coffee for that matter. The scone was delicious though.” I tried to sit up but Hope still had my hand for some reason and I could tell from her grip that I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Nope. You’re trying it.” She completely back to her normal self again, deadly impetuous smile and all.

“Fine… New experiences and all that…” I slowly sat back down and put the cup to my lips. It tasted like dirt, but for some reason I felt compelled to drink enough for her to notice a difference. I couldn’t keep it down though and ended up spitting most of it out. “That is… I’d take that knife drink thing over this.”

“I’ll remember that next time.” Hope was giggling now, which had an odd sound to it. Mostly because it was her, and the fact that she was being entertained meant that I was in pain or at the very least uncomfortable. It didn’t bode well for things to come.