5.03AM,Paddington,England
"etingi", a voice whispered softly, the lips barely moving. The bouquet of white roses burst into colorful flames.
"hsiugnixte", the voice said again, and the flames snuffed out immediately.
"worg". The white roses twitched slightly, some life returning to the plant, but the petals were still limp and blackened. She threw the wilted petals into an ever growing pile in the waste paper basket.
"Shit!"
"Having some difficulties?" A voice asked from behind a copy of People Magazine.
"I can't get it to grow back fast enough."
"Wow. You're mad because you can't get them to grow back. I'm still trying to figure out how you set them on fire."the voice said sarcastically.
"Oh, very funny."
"Thank you, I'll be here all night." he flipped a page. "You know, I really do love these American papers. Everyone here keeps banging on about important things like the war in Syria, and the only thing yours are talking about is the Justice League of America. You people really are wrapped up in your own bubble. It's remarkable really."
"Kind of like how you guys think everyone loves soccer,tea and the Queen as much as you do? And you're one to talk. You have an X-Box and an I-pad."
"First of all, it's called football, because feet are actually used 99.99% of the time. And if it's a brand war you're after we can do that. Aston Martin,Jaguar, Range Rover, Bentley,Rolls Royce. All vehicles even moderately rich people in your country have owned at some point in their lives, or want to own. They're symbols of class. On the other hand, I've never seen any British aristocrats coveting Cadillacs, Mustangs,Corvettes or Camaros."
"Whatever. We'll call it even John. But I've seen some pretty ridiculous shit on the front page of some very 'reputable' British newspapers."
"Yes, after watching 'Legend' and 'Kingsman' no doubt. I'm sure you didn't know about any of that 'ridiculous shit' before those two films came out."
He was right. But she wasn't about to admit that.
"You have a problem with Americans John?"
"Oh no. It's what I like best about you. Sometimes it's nice to live in a bubblegum world. I don't know what I'd do if you didn't drop a huge pile of these off every time you visit."
"Probably smoke yourself to death."
"I'll have you know I'm down to 4 packs a day. That is a marked improvement on my part. Especially because I am never not missing a fag."
"You know we do actually report the serious stuff. It's just that superheroes are so much bigger than.. well anything. Look harder. You're sure to find a deep, globe-spanning narrative by some reporter that went to an Ivy League university. I wouldn't look for that in People though. Also, there is this amazing thing called an online subscription."
"Ha. Utilize modern methods? I think not."
"As I said earlier, you have an X-Box, so don't act like you don't know how to 'utilize modern methods'."
"By the way, have you ever played Warhammer 40k? I only learned of Space Marines, but my god I am hooked."
"Seriously John, help me out here."
The magazine lowered slightly, revealing a pair of blue eyes and above them short, messy blond hair.
"If I helped you every time, how would you ever learn?"
"You don't have to help me every time. Just this once."
"Pass."
"Why do I even come to see you?."
"Because I'm the only person that will hang out with your emo-chick-ness."
Zatanna glared at him.
"Can you blame me? The inky black hair? The piercings? The Creed albums?"
"First of all, my hair is naturally dark. Second, I haven't worn piercings for like 6 years. Third, Creed is really not that bad. It's not like its Slipknot or Metallica."
Constantine raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Ok,ok..By the way, I've been meaning to ask, do people know that this is all real? The people that pay so much to watch your 'magic' shows?"
"Hell no! You think I'd be a stage performer if people knew this was actual magic? I'd probably be in a bunker somewhere being studied by DARPA. As it is people just think I'm some type of illusionist."
"What the hell is DARPA?"
"Scary military scientists. You don't ever want to get made by them."
"Ah. So people think you're an illusionist/magician type? Like Dynamo? Wow. That's kind of evil Zatanna."
"Well, a girl's gotta eat. And we can't all do what you do. Whatever the hell that is."
"Detective work." he said cryptically.
"Right, I believe you. God only knows how you buy all these nice things with a freelance detective's salary."
"Pounds are worth more than dollars."
Zatanna rolled her eyes.
"I saw that Criss Angel Mindfreak. So..."
"So?"
"Bruce Wayne huh? You never told me you were... friends." The magazine was plopped down on the ground among various others, showing a double page spread of Bruce and Zatanna.
Zatanna blushed. She turned her face aside, hoping Constantine hadn't noticed.
"Didn't I?" she mumbled.
She could feel eyes boring into the back of her skull. Finally she turned.
He was watching her keenly, a mischievous look on his face.
"I think I'd remember something like that."
"Yeah well, we are. Friends I mean. We go way back."
"Ever had sex with him?"
"John!"
"I mean I'd totally understand if you did."
He picked up the magazine, quoting from the text.
"'Bruce Wayne is quite the specimen. Handsome. Athletic. Rich. The Holy Trinity to a woman. The last of the international playboys, it came as a pleasant surprise-and not so pleasant surprise for women the world over-when he was spotted with the beautiful stage magician/illusionist Zatanna Zatarra. Speculation has been rife over the nature of their relationship, but sources tell us the two are good friends. We think it's just another eccentric Wayne move, but who knows?' " He finished.
"No. I haven't."
"But you want to."
"No! Bruce is a good friend."
"Wow. Sometimes I wonder if you believe your own bullshit Z."
"We are just friends. Good friends." Zatanna mumbled into her hair,which had mysteriously fallen so that it covered her face.
"Yeah, sure. I can see your crotch soaking from here. Don't wet the carpet. Mum won't be pleased."
Her head shot up then.
"John!"
"I'm just saying. I mean look at your chest. Red as the devil's arse. And look how fast you're breathing. Practically hyperventilating here. I think it's safe to say you're at least a little turned on by the notion of jumping his bones. Or should I say bone?"
"Just...Shut up." Zatanna said. Her face felt very hot. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Quite." Constantine said as he lit a cigarette.
5.47PM, Rio de Janeiro
"Sir, we have eyes on target."
"Excellent. This is a covert op, so engage ONLY when he moves away from the public, and no guns. We don't want any witnesses. Do NOT let him see you. I repeat, DO NOT let him see you. I can't stress that enough."
"Yes sir." The man turned to his companions. "Alright boys, this job is a regular snatch job. Let's get it done nice and smooth, and we can have the rest of the week to party our asses off. Be advised, the target should not catch sight of us. Understood?"
"Yes sir." The men said as one.
Several hundred metres away, Slade flapped the front of his vest and sipped from the bottle of beer in his hand, trying in vain to cool himself.
Brazil was a lovely country, at least from his viewpoint as a tourist. He would definitely return.
Great food. Cheap booze. Wild beach parties. He had met a woman his first night here that had given it up once he walked into the bar. No conversation, no pretense. She didn't even ask him to pay immediately after; she hadn't asked him to pay at all.
Now that was professionalism.
He had been with her all day everyday since then. She was gorgeous. Skin as brown as a nut, an ample bosom and thighs coupled with a ridiculously narrow waist and eyes the color of the sea. He didn't know her name, she never asked his. She liked to play with his ponytail when they lay in bed together.
Brazil was a lovely country, but it was hotter than hell and as humid as a swamp. He was used to heat, many times he had been posted to some very very very hot places. It was the humidity that got to him. The cloying warmth that never seemed to go away.
It reminded him of the training evolution in Belize so many years ago. Just thinking made him sweat, and sex got extremely sticky.
His beer was rapidly warming in his hand. He set it down on the sand beside his easy chair. He was wearing his prosthetic eye underneath his glasses so he looked quite normal. It was slightly uncomfortable but it was better than the alternative. An eye-patch in this humidity would have been torture of the highest order.
Amateurs.
He had clocked them 15 minutes ago. They were so obvious. Lean, ferrety CIA types with dark sunglasses and all black shirts and shorts. At least there were no obvious 'concealed carry' bulges. But they stood out. A lot. All black? In this heat? They must have been boiling in those clothes. These fairies couldn't hide their profession if their lives depended on it. The one in the lead was by far the most obvious, periodically touching his ear and mumbling to himself.
"[I'll be right back darling, just going for a leak]" He whispered in her ear in Portuguese.
She smiled languidly behind her large sunglasses. Slade walked for a few minutes,making sure to stumble for effect every few steps as he headed towards the dense tree line. He wasn't lying. He actually needed to pee. As the golden shower hit the soft white sand, he began doing the maths in his head. How much would he have to pay her when all of this was done? Probably a lot. She was a high class type, he could tell. As one part of his brain ruminated on this, another part, what he liked to think of as his 'situational awareness lobe', registered movement towards his left.
Amateurs. Even on the sand they were heavy footed. Plop-plop-plop. Like ducks. No noise discipline at all. This is what the once famed Team 7 has been reduced to? All the soldiers left and they only had inexperienced Spooks? He almost felt bad about what was coming next. Almost.
The first man approached cautiously, on his blind side. Not cautiously enough. Slade spoke without turning.
"Let me just finish up here. I'd hate to get any piss on my shorts. This is my favorite pair." He could sense them freezing in place. He turned around slowly, sizing them up. They were very young for CIA agents. Mid 20's at most. he addressed their leader."What are you, 12? Have you boys even started shaving yet?"
"Take him." The leader said.
The first one, the biggest, lunged for Slade. He sidestepped the tackle and the man fell face first into the sand. Without looking he stomped hard on the back of his head and there was a loud snapping sound. The man twitched a few times and lay still.
To their credit, the men were unfazed.
The leader pulled out a taser and fired the cords at Slade's chest.
He growled angrily as 50,000 volts coursed through his body. To the amazement of the 3 men he reached up and grasped the cords. He clenched his jaws so hard he was sure his teeth would turn to dust as he struggled not to scream in agony. Somehow he managed to yank the cords off.
Now the men looked scared. They had no time to react as Slade threw himself at them with savage fury.
"I"-SMACK-"Hate"-KRACK-"Tasers." He said as he punched the nearest one in the face and then shattered his windpipe with outstretched fingers. The man fell to the ground making gurgling noises as blood streamed from his mouth and nose.
He heard the sound of a knife being pulled out of its sheath. He caught the hand just as it was raising the knife, breaking the wrist, then the elbow with ease. The man screamed in pain for a millisecond before Slade's forehead came crushing down on his face and the knife that had been in his hand moments before was rammed into his skull. He joined his teammates on the ground. All told, it took about 5 seconds to kill them all.
"I'm getting slow. Too much beer and fucking, not enough training and killing." he joked.
The leader retreated, his hands in the air. "Hey man, as far as I'm concerned you escaped."
Slade smiled darkly. He stepped over the bleeding corpses.
"I want you to send Lynch a message for me..."
25 minutes later..
The American returned.
He had taken an awfully long time to piss, but she asked nothing of it.
There were some drops of blood on his shorts, and what looked like two burns on his vest.
She asked nothing of that either. She had seen the 4 men follow the American into the clearing shortly after he left her, and she saw him emerge alone afterwards.
She wasn't stupid, she had a pretty good idea what happened in the clearing.
He was good looking in a... brutal looking way? Like the type of person you only glance at briefly for fear they would catch you looking. Yes, that seemed right when she thought of a way to describe his face. Like how a lion looked. In fact, his long platinum blond hair and beard did give him a leonine appearance. And it was impossible to tell his age. He could have been anything between 30 and 50.
People sensed danger about him straight away whenever he walked into any bars in the favelas. Even the local hoods had sensed a predatory air around him and didn't try to hassle him for dollars or offer to get him drugs. Perhaps they sensed that any foreigner who moved as confidently as he did in places where other tourists wouldn't be caught dead probably wasn't one to fuck with. No one dared call him gringo either, even though the term wasn't considered offensive in Brazil.
Unlike almost every other foreigner she had met, he spoke Portuguese flawlessly, with only the lightest of accents.
That first night, it had taken a lot of control not to gasp when he removed his clothes. His muscled torso was tattooed with scars.
Some she recognized as gunshot and stab wounds, others as burns.
Most she couldn't place at all.
He talked a lot in his sleep. When he did sleep.
He woke up in the middle of every night,each time covered in sweat.
Once or twice he would wake up shouting things she couldn't understand, but they sounded like orders.
Every time he woke,no matter what time it was or how well he slept, he would automatically reach for something under the pillow.
A gun, she guessed.
She didn't speak much English beyond the most basic of terms, but the words 'Adeline' and 'Grant' came up a lot. She guessed they were names. She didn't ask anything about this either. She would just lay her head on his chest and caress his head until his heart rate slowed down to its inhumanly slow pulse.
He wasn't the first killer she had slept with, and he probably wouldn't be the last, but he was perhaps the scariest. Violence seemed to be his very nature.
Somehow she sensed he wouldn't hurt her the moment she approached him, and he hadn't. He had been a perfect gentleman thus far, much nicer than most others. Her only complaint was that he never seemed to tire.
And not just physically. He was the most insatiable client she had ever had. She was quite certain he could literally go all day and all night non stop, but he was much too considerate to ever do that.
That was a first from a man that paid for the service.
So she knew he wasn't a normal man, but she never asked any questions beyond 'Where are we going tonight?' or 'What do you want to do today?'
Sometimes it was better not to know.
Actually, it was always better not to know.
A/N: Slade's hair was yellow blond before and now it's platinum blond , yes. Don't worry, it's not a mistake, I will explain it later.
Skilgannon, I'm humbled too, and I don't mind long reviews at all. If anything I live for detail. Glad you're liking the story so much and that you've picked up on the easter eggs I've been laying every few chapters. You're right, some of them will be things that come much much later, hopefully. I'm planning on playing a very long game, I can only hope that I can weave this Universe together as seamlessly as possible in the end.
Guest, about BMWW, technically it was Diana and Bruce that were attracted to each other, not Batman and Wonder Woman. Some people might think they're the same, but I think Bruce becomes another person when he wears the cowl, and on top of that he is a very different person-to the people who really know him-than the person he pretends to be in the public eye. Yes, he can be very charming and outgoing when he wants to be, but he can also be extremely introverted. Most times when Bruce flirts its just him practicing his acting skills like he would any other skill. Wonder Woman and Superman are the members of the Trinity who are more or less the same in and out of costume. Will Diana be attracted to the real Bruce? Enough to date him? Form a relationship with him? And while Bruce does get attracted to women, its usually a 'I like her but do I like her enough to quit this Thug Life?'type of scenario. Just some things for you to think about.
As always, Read an Review.