 |
|
Degrees of Separation by Josh Whitener The elevator ride was quiet. The man didn’t mention a word until they were, in fact, outside into a new hallway. Most of the associates and interns had left for the night. The look of Tyrone and the others might have given off a somewhat unprofessional vibe. Even though it was a group of “professionals” Valentine thought he was hiring. Again the man spoke as he pocketed his hands in his thousand dollar set of Italian crafted pants. He stopped and turned, eyeing the group. Oddly enough Tyrone was the lead as they walked so he pointed to him. “He doesn’t need the whole group. You…come with me.” The others expected to stay behind, and Tyrone followed as the man continued to walk down the hallway. “You’ll report from the front lines, address him as “sir” or “Mr. Valentine”. That’s your first and only warning with that. As far as he’s concerned you’ve done your job on the streets.” The tone was informative. He showed no sign of emotion really. Actually, less enthused with the way he spoke than anything. His hand went for his phone and he hit three or four single numbers before he spoke into it. “Is he ready?” There was a muffled response “Then send him up soon. I wouldn’t keep him waiting.” The phone closed with a snap and he gave Tyrone a calm look as he approached a set of large doors. With a turn of the knobs he swung them outside and looked inside the office. Donald Valentine glanced up from his desk as the doors opened. He saw Tyrone immediately and then his assistant, Luke Bentz, walk in straight after. Luke spoke as soon as he entered. Downstairs Constantine was being stitched and cleaned before he could be fit to even have a conversation with Valentine. “Mr. Valentine. He’s here to report what happened.” Valentine gave a small frown as he continued to glance at the papers in front of him. “Yes. I here John Constantine wasn’t as hard to find as we expected, which is why I’m curious to ask why he was beaten so badly my doctors had to look at him. Care to elaborate on that matter for me?” He spoke directly to Tyrone, but didn’t look up until the very end of his sentence. Tyrone didn’t like the way this arrogant arse was talking to him. Who did he think he was anyway? He put up with the questioning and reckoned the man was trying to intimidate him which was a good joke. Tyrone didn’t DO intimidation. “Look, you hired us to get Constantine. We got him here alive and without any witnesses. If he got fucked up a bit on the way, now that ain’t my problem...” There was a sudden realization and he spoke up again. “....Mr. Valentine.” He was an arrogant punk, and this was about as respectful as he got. He thought his reputation depended on not backing down to anyone, even men who looked like they sat around on their cushioned asses all day and let blokes like him do their dirty work. “From what we were told, Constantine was big trouble, man. We weren’t gonna take no chances with your prize, Mr. Valentine.” He grinned, arms folded over his stomach as he looked around the office. “Nice pad ya got ‘ere. So what ya want Constantine for anyway?” Tyrone made a point of walking around the room, studying various objects and pictures as he circled. The room was dark. The shadows of each object displayed beside them. The doors shut behind Tyrone and Valentine gave a small smile as he listened to the boy’s explanation. Several portraits lined the wall behind Valentine. They went in a straight line across the back wall of his office. Each one seemed to go in chronological date after the next, all bearing the same facial resemblance to the man painted. Valentine paced around his office slowly. Hands tucked behind his back as he listened. When Tyrone was finished he went to speak but was interrupted by the sound of the door, instead he held a small smile as if to keep the young boys boasting in the air – without argument. Luke stepped to the door and opened it slightly. With a glance to Valentine he nodded. “Ah. The welcomed guest. Get him in here.” The door swung open and one of Doctor Carpenter’s nurses rolled Constantine in; his hands and feet bound to a wheelchair. His clothes were still stained with blood and torn slightly on some sides. His mouth was swollen, as was his nose which was bandaged around the top. His hair was still messed over his eyes slightly, but you could see a fierce stare at Valentine as he was rolled in. Luke kept his eyes on Constantine. He knew the face, the reputation, all the key elements in hating the man – that and more. As soon as the nurse pushed John into the office, he left. There was a small smirk on Valentines face as he looked at Constantine’s appearance. “Well I suppose there’s no reason to fuss over this. At least he hasn’t lost too much blood. Have a seat, my boy. You’d likely benefit from our conversation, because if I I know Constantine he does seem to have quite the influence. Isn’t that so, John?” Constantine’s head was lowered slightly, but he made it an added touch to mumble a few curses. It was likely the boys beat him to such a degree he couldn’t speak but there was a cough and then the sound of his harking back a wad of phlegm. “I thought you blokes worked with professionals. Budget running thin this year?” Constantine eyed Tyrone, his eyes matching the boys should he be looking. He gave so sort of somber look towards him too, something that didn’t quite set right. He wasn’t angry, more disappointed. Though that look could have been more from the pain he was, no doubt, feeling. Valentine then began to speak up he walked past his chair and in front of the desk, almost between Tyrone and Constantine. “We work with all sorts of people, John. Large firms, banks, reserves. Not to mention the kind you’re more familiar with – succubus, demons, elementals, and of course devils. We even compliment ourselves to help out her Majesties royal government in their nasty affairs. I’m sure you’re quite familiar with our presence Constantine. You just don’t know where exactly to look when it comes to finding us. We can cover our tracks quite nicely, you know. We’ve got eyes all over the major cities in the world – here, Los Angeles, Hong Cong, even Moscow. Your familiar with the area, yea? Of course not all of them are as dedicated to the dark arts as some of us are.” A wicked smile spread over his lips. “Ivan.” Constantine lowered his head again. Another innocent live sent to death for something he had no clue about – just because he followed a pushy tosser around for a night. “Fuck you, you self-righteous ponce! You’ve got no friggin’ clue what you’re dealing with. None of you do.” Valentine interrupted and glanced to Luke. “As a matter of fact, we think he have a great idea. Lucas, if you please.” Luke cut in, his deep voice echoing off the back of the walls from his corner of the room. “Fifth level of hell – recently auctioned off as free territory but John Constantine. So far every spirit with a stay has aim to take over the very same dimension you set free. There’s anarchy in Hell and everyone we’ve ever sent there is looking for a way out and back to the living world. Everything collapses…” There was a shred of paper Luke was twisting in his finger which he tossed to the ground. “…once they realize this they’ll open the door and push their way inside.” Valentine interrupted something he was very good at in times of stress. “They’ll consume everything. You’ve just put the world on the razor line, John. Now we’ve got to clean up a careless mess. I thought YOU’D be a little more professional than this.” Constantine coughed again and gave a small chuckle; his teeth were stained in blood. “You’d think.” 20 minutes earlier… Tyrone had listened to all this with a growing smirk of disbelief. It was his assumption that all this was bullshit. In his law of the street there was no one to claim another person’s soul; he even thought such a thing wasn’t even existent. Now his thoughts were drifting on whether this was going to stay in tact. “Any trolls and billy goats whilst we are at it, Mr. Valentine?” The smug Cockney thug had built his reputation up as much as he could without it falling over to a blonde tosser without a shed of fight left in him. This guy was a disgrace, he made sure to recognize that to Mr. Valentine before he left. It was only the arrival of some arrogant comment from Constantine that twisted his smile. “You’re hiring the underground for your dirty work, Valentine? Never saw the use in sending a boy whose bollocks have barely dropped to do a man's job.” Valentine watched the boy strike Constantine, quite violently across his face. He also remembered the blood hitting his fine carpet after he had finished. John only sucked it up as best he could and took the violent curses and threats that followed. There wasn’t all else he could do tied to a wheelchair that is. That’s right, kid. Get mean; you'll need to be for what I've in mind. Enough was enough. The night was wasting away for pleasantries and introductions. Now there was work to be done and Constantine knew it. Valentine ordered Luke to wheel Constantine out as he and Tyrone took a detour in to the left. Wild ideas filled Tyrone’s head. Bits and pieces were lost on him now but the words of Valentine still rung over in his head as the drowsiness began to wear away through his subconscious. “Look, Mr. Valentine, I ain't dumb, but you guys can talk all yer likes 'bout Hell and whatnot, but really... it doesn’t exist, yeah?” Tyrone stirred and Valentines voice rose again, muffled and distorted. “I can't risk letting those souls enter our world.” “And where do I fit into this, Mr. Valentine?” His voice was confident, but shrouded in innocence. An image of the guns raised to his head hit him again, another stir, this time more fearful and violent. “You’re the bait….” “…the bait…” His voice kept becoming groggier and monotone. As if he couldn’t make a clear memory of what he once sounded like. Instead his mind was beginning to recover from the chemicals deteriorating in his system. The last image was Valentine viciously injecting a needle into the boys arm. 20 minutes later… Then everything went white before his eyes were able to open and see where he actually was. Surrounded by large rock where the moisture was almost like vapor; so rich and cooling. The walls were solid rock and apparently they were in some sort of cave or underground shelter from the looks of it. Water dripped from the tops of the rocks to the bottom and hit the top of Tyrone’s head. His arms, as well as his legs, were strapped into a chair and he could barely move enough to see to his right and left. In front of him was a large design carved into the ground he would probably not recognize. A large center star was outlined in a circle with various other lines and symbols carved in and around it. His gaze was abruptly interrupted as Johns voice cut through the air in an echo that filled the area. He was strapped to his chair as well beside him with a wide grin on his beaten face. “You got a fag, squire? I’ve been aching for a good smoke all night.” Images battered at his growing awareness, and Tyrone felt a clawing pit opening at the bottom of his stomach, an alien sense of fear as he returned to consciousness. His body jerked at the memory of the needle jabbing him painfully and everything swam in a void of white as he fought to find sense in what had happened. His eyes flickered open as another droplet hit his hair, plastering down the gel into a sticky mop across his forehead. His body was damp with moisture and he shivered slightly in the cool air. As he turned to Constantine, it took several seconds for his brain to catch up and everything blurred alarmingly. Fuck! He felt like he’d been the one on the funny pills. Unable to move, he fought with growing frustration against his bonds and glared at Constantine beside him. Of course he hadn’t a clue what the floor symbols meant or even where he was, and right now he was about as pissed off as he could get. “Fag? Don’t talk bullshit, Constantine. You better start talking fucking sense, man, and start talking quick. Where the fuck are we? What is this? Some kind of freakin joke? Where’s Valentine? I`m gonna make him wish he’d never crawled out of his mother’s cunt. Tough words, but the kid was scared. It oozed from him. A shot to the head was an occupational hazard, some getting their legs broken was something that happened to the careless, but all this talk of demons and devils and being tied up next to his own bloody victim in a cave in God only knows where. This wasn’t part of the game. “Sides, I gave ‘em up years ago. Look at you, man. You’re a walkin’ advert for the bloody NHS. Now talk, before I...” He half-expected John to interrupt him with some kind of explanation, but he didn’t say anything. It just hit him that he really didn’t know what was going to happen and if John knew he wasn’t sharing it with compassion. Tyrone laughed, but it had an edge of hysteria from the reaction to John’s silence “C’mon, man... What’s going on?” A sigh escaped Johns breath as he slumped his head down again, staring calmly at the symbols in the ground. “You’re going to be used as a beacon for the underworld. Hope you’re a tough as you look, kid” He quipped giving the boy a small smirk as he looked him over. There was nothing but sarcasm in his voice. A small door opened near the entrance of the cave, and several suited men stepped out into the moist confinement. The last remaining ones were Valentine and his assistant. The door closed behind them with a large “thud”. Behind the two restrained men came the somewhat familiar voice of Lucas the assistant. His rugged, if not out of place appearance became visible as he walked between the two and over towards Tyrone. “If I was you I’d keep quiet about all this. It’s likely that whatever they bring up from here isn’t going to want you as soon as they see he’s here.” By “he” he meant John and he backed it up with an accusing glance towards the man. By now the men were gathering around the circle, each one holding a crafted blade in their hand. There were bits of murmuring as the group looked to Tyrone and John in disgust and anger, no sense of pity at all was displayed. “There’s a chance you could make it outa here alive. The only reason that they don’t throw him in is because we’ve got a bargain to settle before anything is taking advantage of. We don’t want to throw the dogs the best meat.” With a flick of his wrist he began to cut away Tyrone’s restraints and continued. “Don’t struggle. The thing is they’ll get you either way. If you try to run they’ll kill you.” He glanced to the top of the cave. There were short balconies with guards carrying assault rifles. They remained on both targets at all times. “If you die then your blood acts sacrificial and opens the gateway allowing them to come in, so it’s a win-win situation either way. So I’d take consideration before growing a brain here.” The final knot was cut and Tyrone was mobile. Lucas stepped back and waiting for the boy to rise up and lead his way into the encompassed area in front of him. His situation was hopeless and a quick glance around to the men with assault rifles told him it was useless to run. The blood returned to his wrists and ankles painfully, and he almost stumbled as he stood up and glared at Lucas. "What the fuck is all this about voodoo?" he said, swaggering in an attempt to appear nonchalant, but his words were forced out of his mouth which was suddenly dry and his throat was tight. Bait. Tyrone didn't really understand what was going on, but bait didn't sound good. Bait usually got sacrificed by the bigger fish in the pond. And right now Tyrone felt about as scared as he ever had in his life, even if he wasn't admitting it. The punk wasn't going to be bowing and begging to Valentine, but he wasn't too eager to step into this circle. It reminded him of a church ritual, and Tyrone had given up going there around his eleventh birthday. With a smirk to John, he stepped forward as directed, but John could see the glint of uncertain fear in his eyes. The eyes were the window to the soul, and even if Tyrone's mind was too hardened and drugged to care about much, his soul recognized the threat. John couldn’t do anything but watch. |