"The Olympus of Deling"
Squall called Trepe HQ at half past nine the next morning and was told that Quistis still hadn't come into the office yet, "Does she not work or something?" He questioned rudely to the same secretary that he had spoken to last time. There was a dead silence on the other end for quite some time until the woman cleared her throat stiffly.
"Well, if you really need to speak to her that badly, I could give you her private phone number but I don't think she'll be in more of a mood to talk to you." There was a certain threatening edge to her comment.
Squall wasn't intimidated, "Oh, she'll listen to what I have to say." After a slight banter, the secretary gave in and dictated the number to him. She dryly said good-bye and hung up rather snappishly. The handyman shrugged, uncaring. He dialed the number he had quickly jotted down on a corner of the newspaper and waited.
"Hello?" A feminine voice he recognized answered.
There was a pause and finally he spoke in a cool demeanor, "So you give your card to people who wear a badge of talent and yet you fear the office. I begin to doubt the credibility of your words, Quistis."
"Squall!" Quistis squealed gleefully at the other end, making him smirk on his side of the line, "How've you been? Still playing Taxi with the lesser of Deling or have you moved on to bigger pieces of the chessboard." Coincidence. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who referred the never-sleeping city to a game of chess.
"You wouldn't understand if I tried explaining. You know, sometimes pawns can take out the king. Either way, I was wondering if I could be of service to you somehow … service by means that I would bridge more connections with the refined criminals of this decaying city. Would you be so kind?"
"Anything for you, honey." Quistis cooed seductively, "Let's see what I could assign you." Flipping of papers was heard in the backdrop, "How would you like a chance to impress Mr. DeGracia himself, leader of the biggest empire of crime in the city of Deling? I bet you could make a pocket full of money … though it involves taxi driving." She pronounced the last words with dabs of mockery but Squall paid no heed.
"Sounds like fun. Give me the details." He replied curtly.
More paper rustling, "Alright, well, this afternoon at 1 P.M. he's going to need a driver. He's going to a conference, it's somewhere in the heart of the city … hold on, it's at the Elysian Fields Auditorium. You know where that is, right? Who in the city of Deling doesn't? Big, white marble tower or building or whatever. Anyways, he needs to be picked up from Angel Grove apartments; it's in the rich side of town. You'll need to rent a limo … go to Barx's Car Rents, corner of Stonehenge and Harmony, near the big casino, and tell the manager I sent you. Black limo by the way."
Squall was already getting weary of the information and had begun to take notes on tiny corners of the newspaper again. Quistis chattered on, "A few guidelines now. Keep the window separating the driver's seat and the backseat up at all times. I've never even seen Mr. DeGracia in person so he's a very shadowy kind of guy. Unmask his identity and I have a feeling you'll end up dead in a ditch of some sort. He needs complete incognito. So, anyways, that's it. If you want, I'll call him right now to tell him he's got a driver."
"Do I have to wear a clean suit, a tie and a chauffer hat?" Squall questioned sardonically, far from pleased with all the rules he suddenly had tying him down.
Quistis giggled and replied, "No. You won't see each other at all so I don't see what it would matter. Just don't do anything too rash and get him to the conference. Everything should go along very smoothly. I'll pay you $2000 and he'll probably give you a nice tip."
"Oh, a tip. It's being a busboy all over again. And did you say a nice tip? So, something like three bucks! I'm feeling rich now!" Squall blurted out sarcastically, making Quistis chuckle sweetly.
"You're a very funny guy, Squall." She complimented, still laughing, "But the tips from DeGracia usually range from ten grand to twenty grand. I'm sure you'll put it to good use. So are you up for it?"
"Well, what kind of question is that?"
QUISTIS PHONED DEGRACIA'S private cellphone number and told him she had a trust-worthy gentleman assigned to the task of driving him to the auditorium for his meeting. He thanked her, "Good of you, Quistis. You're very reliable. However, is your handyman equally so?"
"Of course!" Quistis exclaimed proudly, "Only the best for the best, sir. He'll pick you up at your penthouse at 12:30 P.M. and you'll find him very efficient on the road. It's a smooth drive, and a rather abrupt one … though that is the way you like them, isn't it? I've warned him of your regulations to maintain your identity unknown."
"Very nice, very nice. If I'm pleased with his work, there'll be no doubt that I'll hire him as my own. If you don't mind sharing, Quistis?" The masked Caraway joked on the other end and smiled, "Any other news?"
"No, however, I'm quite curious, sir … why do you wear a masque of mystery with I, your devoted ally? I feel slightly neglected, as though your faith in me has faltered somewhere down the line." Quistis strung her words together painstakingly.
"My dear friend, leave the delicate words to a minimum, you will not faze me with your fancy speeches. My mask of mystery, as you referred it to, will not be pierced by a potential turncoat, I'm sorry but I must shield myself. Thank you for bringing me a candidate for some of my rather bleak work. I'll speak with you later." He turned off the cellular phone and looked out towards the city from his picture window in the penthouse.
In this city, rotting and decaying from crime, at this very moment men were killing, being killed, screwing, being screwed, loving, being hated and unbeknownst to them all, there was a world around them. The waters at the edge of the city, Poseidon guiding them into currents, rivers and streams that were long forgotten, the earth was abused, unfertile and dry. Who knew of such things anymore, who cared?
Deling was domed up into a bubble, independent of the world but dying at the core. Pollution weighed heavily in the sky and blood stained every sidewalk. Amongst all of that was Caraway. A lost soul wandering purgatory, wondering what was worst: a quick and abrupt death or the endless road that had become his life. The sands of time still trickled, leaving him grayer and older than before. How long would this go on for? When would the pain stop?
"Not a day goes by when I don't think of our daughter, Julia. Not a day goes by where I don't thoroughly think of whether I hate her or love her or both. What is it that you would have me do? The only way I can ever repay my debt to you is protect her, watch over her … make sure she doesn't get hurt. But don't ask me to be a father. Don't ask me to take on a role that I can't fulfill and that she doesn't want me to fulfill."
SQUALL PULLED INTO the private courtyard of the Angel Grove apartments with a sleek, black limousine at 12:30 P.M. on the dot, as he had been instructed. DeGracia watched, cloaked in a dark, tailored suit from the entrance window. The politician, part-time mob boss slipped onto his head a dark top hat made of beaver felt. It was just a precaution, to hide his eyes and most of his facial features.
The richly clothed man allowed himself into the back of the limo without assistance and was pleased that the young man in the front had obeyed the rules Quistis had laid out for him. The window dividing the back from the front was up all the way.
"Wow, incognito … no kidding there." Squall thought nervously from the driver's seat as he watched, from the side mirror, the murky individual get into the car. He heard the door close and that was his signal to drive away. His driving skills were at the apex of expertise; the drive was as Quistis had promised, smooth but not too slow. When they were half way there, Caraway pushed his button to do away with the pane of glass separating the servant from the master.
Squall clutched the steering wheel tighter, slightly taken aback. Nervousness began to nibble at the pit of his stomach. He debated whether or not to press his own button in a frenzy to keep that window up, "With all do respect sir," He spoke up quietly, his eyes avoiding the rearview mirror just in case, "Are you just trying to find a fault so you can take away my tip?" He was half-expecting a grotesque monster to be in the back seat, which would explain why the old gentleman didn't want to be looked at.
Caraway smirked and removed his top hat, "Change of plans, my boy. Drive to the docks. And if you can keep up with my initial plans, you'll get more than a tip."
Squall was feeling slightly irate and sarcastic, "Woo, like home insurance?" He turned onto a different street to comply with the request of his client.
"I think I like you." Caraway declared suddenly as he was taking off his heavy cloak, leaving him in a dark pair of pants and a white shirt with a black tie, "You don't look like the type of man who leaves jobs half done … or the traitor kind. I'd say you've done some of this street work before, what's your name, kid?"
"Squall Leonhart." Squall's spirit had eased down a bit, now slightly curious as to why DeGracia had revealed himself. Wouldn't it have been safer to find out beforehand if he could be trusted or not? As far as this mob boss was concerned, he could have been the associate of one of his worst enemies. "Are you Mr. DeGracia or are you Caraway, the renowned and widely hated politician?" There was something familiar about his face, he just couldn't figure it out.
"Both actually." Caraway replied, sinking back into the seat, "My real name is James Caraway. I'm, as you said, a renowned and widely hated politician but in all honesty, I can't help meddling with crime. It's quite thrilling, if I may use the term. Now, I'll be as frank as possible, I need a right-hand man. A kid I could always count on to run my seemingly unimportant errands. I'm about to test you and if you fail …" He let his sentence linger threateningly.
"If I fail? What? You'll kill me?"
"No, you know what's worse than death, Squall?" Caraway asked, not waiting for a response, "Near-death. Because when you die, you're only afraid for that one split moment and then it's over. But when you just start to feel the life leaving you, when you feel your heart starting to fail and then somehow you manage to survive, that fear is mesmerized, locked into your memory forever, coming on occasion to haunt you in the middle of the night. What's worst than death, boy, is the fear of dying."
"That's a highly morbid analogy, sir." The driver observed, still watching the road. It wasn't long before they parked at the docks and got out of the limousine. Caraway led the way to a small warehouse next to many others. The scenery was familiar to Squall who had recently come to pick up .5 of a million dollars in one of these depots.
"How'd you get that scar?" Caraway asked, without the least bit of shyness as he unlocked the door of his entrepot.
Squall began his story hesitantly, "I used to be a SeeD at Balamb Garden and I didn't get along with this other kid too well. We were fighting, accidents happen."
Caraway turned on the light of the nearly desolate storehouse, "I know this dumbass, blondish, he's got the same scar except running the other way around. Owns the main newspaper circulating Deling city. Almasy, that's his name … pricky little asshole. His brother, Cain is worst.""Yeah, Almasy. Seifer. I've met Cain once and even that didn't go down too well, he didn't recognize me though. Seifer's pride can't be shattered, that's the only problem with the guy." Squall looked around the large room. Shooting targets were set up on the wall and several gun cabinets were lined up on the other side.
"No, I wouldn't say that's the only problem with the guy but anyways. Cain's his younger brother, but he's a tame idiot once you get him to shit his pants. Ok, let's see what kind of gunmen you are." Caraway flipped through the numerous tiny keys that were on his key chain. He took a specific key and unlocked the third cabinet, taking out a PSG-1 sniper. It was a beautiful gun with a polished barrel, loaded with appropriate bullets. "Stand behind the yellow border, line yourself up with a target and fire three shots on three different targets in your range. Might want to put something on your ears, it echos in this place."
IRVINE SURVEYED THE busy office while drinking a cup of coffee in a desolate corner, watching the employees scurry about under his command. How long had they been building up to this? Each day a sacrifice, it had become a routine. Now they had done it, a company of entrepreneurs masking the criminal empire beneath. Why wasn't it good enough? Why was there still something missing for her? "Guess money really isn't everything." He thought solemnly.
Not by blood, but a brother all the same, Irvine could read Rinoa like an open book. Every day he saw her slipping, stumbling and falling deeper into the rut of despair and each day he knew a little more of her died. She had accomplished so much and yet lost the only thing that mattered in the end. He knew of her torn soul, half living, half dead.
He couldn't ease the pain, he couldn't protect her from those demons. There was only one person who could but Irvine would never call on him for his sister's well being. In truth, the older brother had never really liked the smart-alecky idiot but Rinoa certainly had and still did. If he hadn't known better, he would have declared it love at first sight, which wasn't very typical of Rinoa.
She always had a certain attraction to rougher men but never had she been silly enough to let herself fall in love, or rather the idea terrified her entirely. Irvine thought he could count on that, however, Squall Leonhart was different than the other men. How? He hadn't the faintest clue, but he knew Squall was a dangerous guy, fire in the hands of his stepsister.
So today he watched as she suffered without him. Irvine was perfectly aware that his sister hadn't seen other men since she had dropped her lover boy in jail. It struck him as odd for the first few months because Rinoa was never single. If it wasn't a fling, it was a steady but after Squall, it was nothing. She left phone lines dead to the numerous men who desired her and she shut doors to the ones who were rolling on the floor for her. And he knew perfectly why.
As a brother, he should have seen this coming; he should have been able to prevent her destruction. Rinoa had always been prone to addiction, infatuation even. She was just so weak, so frail … she clung onto everything she could for hope, for life. Irvine knew if he were to leave her now, she'd collapse. "Damn it, I'm the only thing keeping her on her two feet." He shut his eyes painfully.
Unexpectedly, Rinoa came into the office and made a beeline for Irvine, "Hey, guess where I just came from?" He could tell she was happy with herself, and couldn't help remarking on how talented she was at creating façades that would hide her broken soul or how she indulged herself in frivolous activities to help forget her pains.
He faked a smile, trying to mask his thoughts, "I don't know, the chocolate factory?"
"Ha-ha, very funny." Rinoa scowled and crossed her arms, "No, I just came from the bank! I was doing some trading this morning on one of the top floors of that little goldmine and then, suddenly, an idea of genius hit me! I know it's not a surprise because, let's face it, I'm the intellectual here," This provoked a disbelieving laugh from Irvine which she ignored, "I bought over $200,000 of shares in a gun industry."
Her brother looked absolutely unimpressed, "Woo … ok, why? What's so special about the gun industry … it's the most constant company in the world. Never gains, never loses.""I'm about to make the balance tilt!" Rinoa announced in glee, "See, Deling is a city of crime, people are constantly buying guns but never in bulk. They buy what they need. Now, if I were to, let's say, order some men to go and shoot random, innocent pedestrians' heads off then the entire population would be absolute befuddled! They would buy insurance, but most of all guns since they'd be so damn scared! Every big, tough family man would buy himself a Ruger to protect his family; you know men and the testosterone effect, anyways! The companies would skyrocket! It would be … like the plague!"
"You are a sick, deranged, sadistic, little psycho!" Irvine exclaimed in awe, "Are you out of your flipping mind?! What is the matter with you? You're a complete mental case, let me call in the men in white coats!!" His mouth hung open loosely in shock.
She stuck out her tongue, "Fine, don't be as excited as I am about this."Her brother laughed in utter incredulity and brushed his hand on the top of her head, "You're such a kid, you know?" His eyes softened and he smiled coyly. He knew very well she wouldn't shoot innocent pedestrians, though she may order a tiny gang brawl on a busy street.
"I'm a what?" Rinoa's eyes narrowed accusingly and she crossed her arms.
"I'll be in my office." Irvine switched the subject expertly and moved past her towards his bureau.
"Explain your previous statement, Kinneas!" Rinoa stomped her foot and glared that the back of her brother's head, "Because I heard it loud and clear, you know!" He continued his strode into his office, looked back, made her a teasing face and shut the door.
"WELL, YOU CAN fire a gun." Caraway complimented, observing the neat holes the bullets had left in the shooting targets he had set up previously, "Good. You've done this before." He waited for Squall's nod of confirmation and then continued, "How would you like to work for me?"
Squall considered the offer very carefully and finally he replied coolly, "I like to work for money."
"Then you'll like to working for me." Caraway smirked and took the weapon away, "Now the question of truth, kid, can I trust you?"
"Well sir, I thought you could answer that question on your own. You, the politician who dared reveal his identity to a guy you didn't even know and had the balls to show me a warehouse set up for testing the minions that work for you when you're playing Godfather in the decaying city of Deling." Squall finished the sentence in one breath, "I believe the question is yours to answer … can you trust me?"
Caraway paused, scrutinizing the younger man with an expert recruiter's eye, "Yeah, you're good. I can tell." In truth, he had no idea but what had he to lose? A kid, about mid-twenties, he knew how to play the gun and he wasn't the type with an irritating personality. The politician had worked with worse, 'sorry excuses' for henchmen, what could it hurt to affiliate himself with an honest looking guy? The worst Squall could do was betray him, and all that would be left to do is kill him.
His years were already counted, the last remaining sands of time trickling down quickly. There was nothing left of his aspiring career, nothing left of his family and nothing left of his life. "Welcome to the ranks of the gods, Squall Leonhart. We're going to start shaking things up in this city."
Squall looked slightly taken aback, "Pardon?"
Caraway put away the gun and shut the cabinet, taking a long pause before answering his new crony, "You heard me. Deling is a city with many faces. During the day it's a renowned business court where entrepreneurs gamble their stakes, where the stock market plays elevator, where politicians screw, where money is invested. The night sweeps over an entirely different façade where the city reveals itself. A place where every civilians' hands are stained with crimson blood, where everyone is an equal, where the gun plays God, where money is won and lost … the Devil's playground."The handyman remained quiet for a few moments and then spoke up slowly, "It's an interesting analogy, once again … you're good at making these things up."
The politician smirked and crudely laughed as if he were speaking to an ignorant child, "No, no, Squall … it's not an analogy. This isn't a story of compare and contrast. Deling city is the Devil's playground, next door to Hell and home of Lucifer's worst minions. A playground where shoving, punching … killing is allowed. And guess what, Squall? It's the twenty-first century … signaling the school bell to go off. It's recess. Are you ready to play dodge ball?"
SEIFER ALMASY LEISURELY sat in his leather office chair, closing his eyes in an attempt to relax and take a breather. The day had gone by relatively fast, probably because he scarcely had a minute to himself. His secretary kept firing phone calls at him, appointments, renewed schedules, meetings and the list went on.
He needed to concentrate on his plan now, "Damn, things are moving along too slowly. This isn't good. Who the hell is Quistis' hit man? According to her, he's amazing. Can't exactly trust the dumb broad's intuition though. I need to meet him as soon as possible or else everything will fall to water. No … what I need most of all is Rinoa Heartilly's past. She wasn't born under that name … I'm positive. The experts told me so … who the hell is she? What's she got to hide? Uncovering that will definitely highlight some weaknesses."
"What I need to find is some dirty scum who'll dig around for cheap money. This is the city of Deling … it can't be that hard to find, right?" His thoughts were interrupted as someone opened the double doors leading into the office, "Hey, what's up?" Seifer's emerald eyes gazed up at the newcomer.
His younger brother, mirror image of Seifer himself except for the longer hair, snorted in disgust and waved away the idle chitchat, "I'm sick of waiting. When's the deal going down? When's Diabolos and Quistis getting here, when's the meeting starting, when?" Cain was getting impatient. He lusted to be part of this too, why was his older brother always sending him out to do unimportant errands?
Seifer laughed and shook his head, "Cain, they're my associates, not yours. Mind your own business, little brother. I told you, I need you but not in the council room. I need you out there, buddy, in the streets. Here's a quick job you could do for me. I need to find out Heartilly's past. Go out and dig up whatever you can, alright?"
Cain growled and clenched his fists, "Who the hell do you think I am? Your personal servant?! Seifer, I'm sick of these stupid chores you send me out to do, let me into the action! I'm dying to be a player, man!"
Seifer chuckled, "Patience, Cain, patience. I promised you again and again, and I promise you once more … when I'm the Zeus around this city, you'll be my second in command. You can be Poseidon … or Hades. Both, maybe … whichever you prefer. Is that good enough for you?" The last few sentences had been tainted with unnecessary sarcasm.The younger brother grimaced, turned on his heel and exited the office with a few choice words, "I'll have your stupid history lesson by the end of the week. I know the best eaves-dropper around … he's got loads of useless shit."
Cain shut the door behind him a little harder than a calm person would have and strode down to the elevators. He was sick of being a little errand boy. He would have his part in this. He would take part in this takeover. On pain of death he would become the one, the only God of Deling.
Author's Notes: Hey, don't get lazy with the reviews now!! I'm on summer break so maybe I can update a couple more times but I won't unless you people review! I'll even make it easier for you lazy ones ... just grade my story like so, you only have to type in a godforsaken letter!
a) Woohoo, I loved it.
b) It was fair.
c) Honestly, it was mediocre.
d) YOU SUCK! You deserve to be thrown in a burlap bag doused with gasoline and then set aflame!
Now isn't that such a well developped system? If you're too lazy to review with this 'comment by letter' legend then you must be one lazy fuck ... no I will not take that back, this is a 3,900 word chapter and I wrote it on my fucking own. (I'm a little edgy, if you haven't all noticed.)
