CB: Dealer's Hand, -IV-
I've always known there was something wrong with me. I just never quite figured that it was something like this.
The White Tiger headquarter building is just as impressive as the Red Dragon one that Spike decided to blow sky high. But, where the Red Dragons' building looked modern on the outside, just another sky scraper to the ISSP, the White Tiger building is much more traditional.
None of the façade matters.
Everyone knows better than to mistake places like this one. And in the nighttime, the building we pull up to is pristine in the moonlight. It stands apart from the crowded streets and the neon lights we've been driving through.
My eyes still recall the colored streaks on the windows from the glow even in the abrupt absence of the city commotion. The front entrance is impressive. Large pillars and a shallows set of steps leading up to the front entrance. Something obvious very old was thought of when they designed this place.
My family is part Russian, after all. I vaguely remember my father speaking very proudly of our heritage. It was one of those things that he was proud of, in ways that I never understood.
The short black limousine pulls up in front of the building and stops, the tall pillars encasing the outer steps that lead up to the new-fashioned sliding doors. Spencer opens the door of the car and holds it for me, very formally.
He acts as though I am coming home, but that's unrealistic.
Home has to be somewhere you know to return to.
Somewhere it feels like you belong.
And Spike's not here.
"About time," I mutter, standing up and getting out.
Spencer catches my wrist, gently. I turn to look at him.
"I thought we went through this and I told you not to touch me."
"Your gun, Miss Faye. Even you aren't allowed to bring weapons inside. Yet."
Rolling my eyes, I hand it over, playing along. The faster I get this over with, the faster I can get out of here.
"This way," he says, handing the gun discretely to the doorman as we head up the shallow front steps. Overhead, the pillars support a thick slab of carved rock that serves to shade us from the moonlight.
As though you needed shade from such a thing. Moonlight is harmless.
I hate doing this sort of a meeting at night. It always makes it seem much more dangerous.
Inside, there is a large lobby with a marble floor. Trickles of gray thread through it, giving it color, but it looks like monotone blood spilled across the white stone of the floor. It still looks old. But like old death.
The whole place looks like that to me. Like death. But always ancient looking. Claim verifying. My father had a lot to prove. Apparently the rest of the family carried on that for him.
Our footsteps echo as we cross the dead expanse, heading up the stairs that wrap around the edges of the lobby like two embracing arms. The inside of the building is as new as anything else around.
So much for antiquity.
Once up the stairs, I'm lead down a small, dim corridor to a room with a magnificently carved set of doors. Spencer opens them, formally, and motions for me to step inside. I roll my eyes at him before doing so.