Raoul literally screamed his rage when he realized that his love was once again, gone right out from under his nose. He couldn't understand it! She'd been in bed with him in the night, yet when he awoke, she had disappeared completely. Had she been kidnapped again? What other explanation was there to assume when discovering Mystique Mastery had returned, rider less? Yelling for the stable boy to saddle up Majestic Brook, his bay gelding, Raoul ground his teeth. It was time to pay Sergeant Lamar another visit.
Lamar rapped loudly upon a worn, wooden door, disturbing traces of old blood staining the light wood. He stood stiffly, hood over head, waiting for an answer in the far west end of town. A sick man passed him, coughing with a gurgling effect, stumbling. Another passed, a woman this time, perhaps in her early forties, her prostitute's dress ragged and dirty. He averted his eyes from her, focusing on the door as it clicked and creaked open, an eyes appearing in the crack.
"Whatcha want?" a gruff voice asked harshly.
"I've come to bargain with Red," he answered simply, pulling out a tinkling bag of francs.
"An' who be you to be wantin' to bargain with Red?"
"One that will rip your throat out if you don't let me pass," Lamar snapped. "I've got a fair deal for Red and he'd be angered if you stopped such a deal." The eye at the door shifted slightly, then opened wider in to a red tinted room. Rickety stairs led to a shabby second story.
He pushed pass the greeter, striding up the stairs, shifting his weight uncomfortably as the stair creaked tiredly. Reaching the head of the stairs, he looked down the hall, glancing at the four closed doors. One had a faint light emitting from beneath the door. He strode to the door with determined strides, then opened it with a confident air. Red sat in the corner of the room, entwined with a woman, oblivious of Lamar's presence just yet.
"Do you never tire of such pleasantries?" he asked, starting when the "woman" raised her face to the light when freed from Red's grasp. She was not a woman; she was a child, a young teenager. No older then thirteen at the oldest. He bit the inside of his cheek, quelling the urge to punch the man senseless and take the girl away. The girl's eyes shone with discomfort, her pale neck sporting sharp red teeth marks. He shifted his eyes from the girl, forcing himself to block her from his mind. Red's face was annoyed, but greed glinted in his darkly ringed eyes, his matted blond hair pulled back poorly, his beard dusting his face and nearly hiding his mouth, but when he bared his teeth in a wicked smile, they're rotted texture was far to clear.
"Never, my dear Lamar," he answered, taking a cigar from the table beside him and biting down on it as he spoke. "What deal 'ave you here for me, eh? Perhaps, for once, a fresh child? Despite your business, you never bring in human pay. Its francs, always francs. Flesh is more valuable. I get continual use from flesh."
"Flesh is dealt with concerning another I deal with Red," Lamar answered, repressing the urge to shiver when using such an easy word for the girls that were dealt, sold, and bought. "Francs are my deal with you. Francs for information. Be glad you get as much." Lamar refused to sell girls as a way into this man's business, but instead offered francs. While Red was well aware of his position as Sergeant, Lamar had been slippery enough to convince the pimp of crookedness.
Red glared now, but said nothing, grasping the girl's arm harshly and pushing her away roughly to the end of the rickety bed. She gasped, as her head smacked the metal rails, but she did not allow tears to fall. Lamar knew as well as she tears promised punishment that would trade tears for screams of pain.
"What dirt do you want me to reveal to your cause, Lamar?"
"I've been having some troubles with my girls disappearing lately. Some one been stealin' 'em away and then dumping them, dead, along the sewers," Lamar began, putting a less civilized tone to his voice. "I know you know who it is. If there was ever anyone to know anythin', it's you." Red hummed uncertainly, eyeing the bag that contained the francs. "One thousand shining francs, red," Lamar answered his gaze. "The information is not even worth that, but the extra requires your utter silence." He bit his lip, cursing himself as he slipped back into his cultured tone by mistake.
"You drive a cold deal, Lamar," Red growled. "But I'll hold true to my word for one thousand francs." HE took a whiff of his cigar, then tossed it across the room to Lamar's feet. Frowning, the Sergeant crushed it out with his foot, then looked up again at Red, waiting for him to continue. "The Kingrea Group." His answer was simple, short, annoying Lamar with its briefness.
"What the hell is the Kingrea Group?" he snapped. Red sneered.
"Group of men," he answered. "All connected one way or another. They's been stealing stray women and any unattended. Rough group them." He grinned his terrible, sick grin. " Any that been givin' birth been thrown out with knife wounds deep in they're bellies. The runts that be commin' out of 'em serve in the bitches' places. Keeps business runnin' smoothly."
"Pedophiles as well then," Lamar growled, fighting desperately to keep his voice smooth. He had the connection he needed. Now he only needed one thing.
"Where are they?"
Red's eyes irised in upon the bag hangin form Lamar's belt. Leashing in his desperate temper, Lamar untied the bag and tossed it at Red angrily.
"There. You have your damned money," he bit out. "Now spit out the information you low life insect."
"Why so desperate for this tid-bit?" Red asked suspiciously.
"This group has a good amount of my women," he said, slightly distracted now by the girl that shifted in the corner of his sight. She was looking at him with plain ear in her dull blue-grey eyes, and he willed his eyes to reflect his pity for her, mentally begging her to see his compassion. She stared at him intently, but otherwise he received no reaction. He turned his gaze back to Red. "I want them back." Red continued to look uncertain, but nodded.
"On the verge of the high an' low parts of the city. There will be a cluster of houses all under the Kingrea name. They run their business inside those shit dumps." Red paused, slipping his hand into the bag and savoring the feeling of cold metal against his fingers. He looked up at Lamar sharply. "But you didn't 'ear none of this from me."
"Hear what, exactly, Red?" Lamar answered. He turned his gaze to the girl again. "How much is she worth?" Red glanced at the girl carelessly, shrugging.
"Four 'undred francs," he answered off-handedly. Lamar balked. He simply wasn't carrying that many extra francs.
"The runt of flesh ain't worth that much," he argued.
"She's' young, Lamar," Red insisted. "She's be growin' in well to her lanky body. She'd be quite the money bait soon." Lamar shook his head.
"Two hundred, Red," he said. "No more. She's too banged up for that price." Red's jaw clenched, and Lamar could see his teeth grinding as he thought through the deal.
"Fine," he finally snapped. "Take the wench. Wasn't much use anyway. Now toss the cursed coins." Lamar hid the triumphant glint in his sharp grey eyes and revealed another hidden bag of Francs. He riffled around in the bag and withdrew his hand, clenched, then slipped it into his pocket. Best not let Red know that two hundred was all he carried.
"Come, then, girl," he said sharply, motioning to the girl. She shook violently, then stood, walking to him hesitantly. He knew the questions behind her eyes. What was he going to do with her? Would he use her or sell her? "Come on then," he said, a little more urgently, but masked his desperation to escape the rotting house and Red. He grasped her arm quickly, deceptively gently, however. "Farewell then. Red. Nice dealing with you."
Red grunted, lighting another cigar.