Smoke dropped the black duffle bag onto the stained brown wooden table under the dim lampshade, causing dust to stir upwards around it.
"That's it."
Robinson leaned forward with inquisitive hands and pealed open the zip. Tens of thousands of dollars lay stuffed inside as promised.
"Nice." He said approvingly and snatched the bag off the table.
"I threw in a little extra." That made Robinson stop in his movements. "There something I want you to do for me." Smoke uttered beneath his low hood. Robinson leaned back, his dark skin blending into the darkness in the room yet his eyes remained wide and locked onto Smoke.
With some hesitance Smoke turned on his heel and disappeared through the door, returning seconds later with a large hound, it's leash wrapped twice around his hand. Jury drooled his way into the room and Robinson sprung out of his chair.
"Yo, no dogs! Hey man!" Robinson yelped. Smoke continued walking up to Robinson and held the chord out to him. Real fear was present in Robinson's eyes as he stood coiled up on top of his chair. "You have got to be kidding me man."
"I need you to take care of jury."
"Are you out of your mind? Do I look like some kind of pet sitter to you? You know I hate dogs."
"I know that's why I paid you extra."
"Look Smoke, I know every man his price but you can't pay me enough to do this!"
"Come on Neil you're the only one I can trust to not let him starve."
"Why cant you feed him? You planning on dying soon?" Robinson probed.
Smoke tied the chord to the table leg and pulled out the chair that was tucked under it. He flopped down into it and leaned forward clasping his hands together. His knee was bouncing of its own accord and he appeared restless.
"No...but I'm going to be away for a while."
"Away? Where? Smoke come on man, I've never seen you like this. You look jumpy. What's wrong?"
"I don't know I just...Just need to get my head straight."
"But we need you straight now Smoke. We're real fucking close to nailing Antonio. Did you forget about all the stuff you got lined up? You cant just pull out of a gig like that, you know these people don't play." Robinson shuffled around awkwardly on his chair trying to find a comfortable position above the ground. Jury barked at him and he whimpered springing up again.
"I know that. I know. And I'm still going to get Antonio, but after that...this might be it for a while...I have some stuff I need to sort out." Robinson raised an eyebrow.
"So Smoke's taking a vacation?" Robinson asked skeptically. "Damn. What happened man?"
"What did you know about the last guy they sent me out to?" Smoke boldly inquired ignoring the question.
"Who, that blue eyed dude? I don't know man. I think he been on their radar for some time."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Bottom line is, the big boys wanted him butchered. Now he's gone. Thanks to you."
Still that didn't sit well with Smoke. He sighed.
"Well, all the money is in there, I bought pet food with me. He needs feeding three times a day. Just let him out back if he wants to walk around. He'll come right back. He's a good dog." Smoke shook Jury's fur as Jury took in his surroundings, seeing nothing sufficient enough to chase after yet.
"Man I don't know..."
"Please Neil. I need you right now." Something in Smokes voice triggered the response he was hoping for and Neil's shoulders softened.
"Does he bite?"
Smoke took Jury's leash and handed it to Robinson. "Only if you forget to feed him."
"Good doggie...g-good dog..." Robinson slowly came down from his perched position and then began to rub at Jury's fur.
"Have you ever heard of the word praeditus before?" Smoke suddenly interjected. Neil seemed to stare off into the distance lost in thought before he met eyes with Smoke.
"Where you hear that at?" he asked, as though Smoke's question was both confusing and absurd. Smoke shrugged.
"Around." He offered vaguely. After a piercingly crazed and prolonged gaze Neil simply shook his head and resumed paying Jury the utmost attention.
"Sounds like Spanish to me..."
Smoke hadn't let on about his fears surrounding his own safety.
After his conversation with Robinson, a trusted partner and the only person he endured regular contact with, he'd gone home and tried to let them all go. If even Robinson hadn't heard a murmur of the word praeditus before then there was a strong chance he'd heard wrong. Perhaps it had all been gibberish falling from the dying mans lips after all.
But deep down Smoke knew, when taking a swig of wine to commemorate the absence of his dog, which later turned into whopping desperate gulps, that something was still bothering him.
He'd had a whole week to himself after Jury's leave to use as downtime and to clear his own head but he still hadn't done much more than fold all his clothes. He didn't own much. Maybe 5 separate outfits in total. It was minimalism taken to the extreme and was normal for him, but what he couldn't understand was why he'd packed them all in his bag instead of away in the drawers where they belonged. He'd sat back and stared into the bag while inside occurred a deep tugging at his soul.
He was being ridiculous, surely.
What was he going to do, leave? Leave and go where? More importantly, what was he escaping?
Could he even escape whatever he was running from if he wanted to?
He wasn't so sure.
Still he'd spent ample time watching the clock and filling the silence with the faint gurgling sound of wine disappearing down his throat. Then finally, when the phone rang with the details of his final job, as promised he arose in the other frame of mind. The frame that was brutal and unemotive. The frame that killed without remorse.
Mission 184
Subject, Terrence Antonio, well respected gangster and owner of the Dishma nightclub chain. He also happened to be responsible for the largest and most elaborate underground drug and immigrant female trafficking ring ever seen in L.A. The guy moved everything from prostitutes to PCP from what Smoke had discovered through Neil. And not to mention he had enough power to take someone out while sitting comfortably at home and playing records for his niece. The guy had a ridiculous amount of clout and an unforeseeable amount of hands at his disposal with which to do his dirty work without him having to do it himself.
But his largest offence to date it seemed wasn't murder or modern slavery, instead the government seemed to have had it with his blatant uncouth tax evasion and on top of that word had been going around that he'd threatened to expose the names of some well-known, very high profile narcotic pushers.
Apparently, the list contained some widely respectable figures in the world. Could be anybody from Oprah Winfrey to the Pope for all Smoke knew but either way the government had labelled him a problem. Smoke was the answer to that problem.
That night Smoke was forewarned that Antonio would be attending a meeting with another very low key but apparently uber-rich man. The type you don't see too often in the real world. The type that builds his own world around himself and lives inside of that instead. He went by the name of J. or something of the sort. Of him Smoke knew nothing.
He had no idea of the nature of their dealings with each other either. Only that by the end of the night, one of them would not be leaving alive, and that man was Antonio.
So Smoke got clad in uniform at 9:30pm and prepared for service at 10.
It was at least 100 degrees in the kitchens.
Smoke, although suitably nicknamed, was suffering slightly as fire floated on pans making the air thick and heavy and staff bustled in and out of the kitchens. He smoothed his hands over his apron and walked out into the noisy murmur of guests that filled the grand and very extortionate, private restaurant. Smoke had gleaned the menu prices which started at around $1000 upward.
Definitely not the average restaurant for your average birthday party.
Smoke had scoped things out and offered appetisers to table number 34 all whilst keeping eyes on table 62.
It was Antonio. No doubt.
He exuded stature and power, his hair was luscious and scooped backward in an obedient swoop. He clearly hadn't bothered to shave his eyebrows into separation. Or perhaps unibrows were attractive where he came from.
Clad in a fitted navy blue suit and red shirt, he snapped is fingers and made pressing demands to a waiter who had apparently done something wrong. His face was stern and brutish. That, Smoke knew, was the look of a man with the world in his hands and everyone up to and including the government at his mercy.
Beside him sat a plump fuck who, conversely, seemed happy enough to quietly indulge in any and everything set before him and so when Antonio wouldn't take the roast pork that the frazzled waiter had placed on the table, he'd had no issue gobbling it willingly on his behalf.
Observing the fact that Antonio would spout aggressively at the waiters causing a scene and purposely inviting the attention of surrounding tables in to view his performance, when faced with the fat man beside him he engaged him with a remorseful look and a kind semi smile.
This could only be Solomon.
After indulging in a jiggly chuckle Smoke watched the large man heave himself up and excuse himself from the table.
Likewise, Smoke arose from his bent position as he served and with good timing he followed the flustered waiter who'd finally gained reprieve and made an escape back into the kitchen.
"Is there a problem on table 62?" Smoke had inquired innocently.
"They want everything! Stuff that I've never even heard of before. I tried to tell him that we don't serve smoked whale fin but he just keeps shouting."
"Alright don't worry, I'll help you." Smoke offered quickly placing his plate down. The waiter looked immensely relieved.
"Thank you." the waiter rushed off and grabbed another tray of food. "Please serve them this, I'm going to go and talk to the chef." Smoke stopped in dismay and rolled his eyes.
This wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind when he offered to help. He wasn't there to serve up entrées, he was there to get his hands on Antonio's drink.
Still he took the roasted clams and swindled out of the door. Upon closer inspection however he caught sight of something that begged for his attention. In the middle of the selection of sea shells writhed a steaming snakes tail. Still alive and still fighting death by the looks of it.
That must have been the sorry screaming morsel that one of the junior chefs was wrestling to get into a boiling pot of water just minutes earlier. In his intensely focused state he'd mistaken if for a portion of spaghetti.
Smoke almost dropped the damn thing on the spot as the sight instantly freaked him out.
A beefy figure bumped into him but his sharp reflexes saved the tray from flying onto the nearest unsuspecting dinner table.
He paused to take in the large figure but it'd already passed him, seemingly without even realising Smoke was standing there. Or not caring, one of the two.
Smoke might have turned and glimpsed the man properly if it wasn't for the sudden and very incessant snapping of Antonio's finger tips ahead of him. He marched on with as much grace as he could muster.
"Your...main's sir..." Smoke placed the tray in front of him. Antonio wasted no time digging into the barely edible selection with a judgmental fork.
"Are these well done?" he started.
Here we go, Smoke thought.
"You people make me sick." He began raising his voice. "I don't know if you are all deaf or just dumb?"
"Not to your liking sir-?" Smoke began.
"Oh just take it! And get out of my sight. With all of those empty piercing holes in your ears I doubt you'd be able to hear my order properly anyway." Smoke straightened, his grip tightening on the tray and made to leave the table.
Christ, I can't wait to fucking end this guy, he fumed.
All he had to do was extract the peculiar green pill from his apron and finish the job he came to do. He just had to drop off the drink, make sure Antonio took a sip and then disappear like a puff of smoke.
"I'm so glad your back! Here's the wine for the table, I'll take out the other mains!" the pedantic waiter gushed then hurried back the way he came. Smoke laid eyes on the thick blood red drink as his chest arose. This was his chance.
He had to be quick.
He took the glasses and dropped the small green pill into the one closest to him. As Smoke approached the table, he immediately began pouring wine in over the tablet.
He'd dealt with such lethal drugs that the government had provided before. They were pretty instant in their disintegration when mixed with liquids and left no residue. Colourless, odourless killers.
"A drink for you sir, compliments of the chef."
"Finally, you people have done something right." Antonio brooded miserably and readily drew the tainted glass closer to himself.
Smoke, his hands trembling slightly now, continued to serve the table.
He thought it was a predicament of national concern when he felt the floor suddenly tremble beneath his feet as mammoth steps were taken not too far behind and a hefty presence appeared soon after.
No earthquake, just a man, Smoke noted.
"Pardon me sir..." Smoke had courteously moved aside to let the fat guy Solomon through but when Solomon greeted him with a ghostly glance, looking much like a perturbed gerbil, Smoke felt a shiver go down his spine and his intuition begged him to take heed.
He quickly looked away and as swiftly as he could, made his way down to the other end of the table when he noticed Solomon slowly lean over and lower the untouched glass in Antonio's hand, bending into his ear to whisper secretively.
Smoke slowly straightened as the entire table tuned in to witness Antonio's blood red glass, much like a magic trick, strip itself of colour and evolve into a translucent liquid meanwhile every other glass at the table remained red.
Smoke slowly backed away from the table, hoping to recede into the moving bodies around the restaurant. Hoping to fade away. Praying that he could somehow disappear because that's the only way he'd be able to escape this.
It had been a dud...
The goddamn pill had been a dud!
He felt faint on his feet.
A momentarily confused Antonio quickly began to shake and his skin turned burgundy with brewing fury.
Code Red. Abort.
Without a moment to think, Smoke took a wild flip under the nearest table, all whilst Antonio's people stood up and bullets began to ring out in the air.
People inside the restaurant began to scream and took to the ground to scurry like rats much to Smoke's advantage. Smoke crawled with them trying to stay among the crowds and to not be seen. He himself had no weapon and had to rely solely on safety by numbers. Finally he got his break just as the men were closing in on his location and he ducked out through the doors of the restaurant. Down the steps and out the front door.
Running.
Racing.
The doors burst open behind him and bullets sprayed the air not too far behind. He took a sharp left and didn't stop pumping his quads until he was sure he'd lost them.
What the fuck.
He'd thoughts as he sat inside the filthy sealed dumpster he'd climbed in to avoid being seen.
The whole time a thought flashed up in his mind over and over.
Somebody set me up.
M
There was a knock on the door of his presidential hotel suite in Turkey. Michael didn't bother to answer out of sheer exhaustion having just performed a 2 hour show.
His hair was tied back into a tight bun and his makeup had been removed. That meant he was in for the night and it also meant no visitors.
Whoever it was knocked again.
"Michael, it's me." Evander called. Michael rolled his eyes and scoffed beneath his breath before he swanned off to the bathroom to fetch some more makeup wipes for his chest.
Intent on ignoring Evander completely Michael pretended not to hear the third knock that followed, or the fourth one...or the fifth one...
He sat insolently on his bed and wiped away at his chest with one hand, loosening the millions of buckles on his boots so that he could finally slip them off. He wasn't prepared when the lock on the door clicked by itself and the door opened. He froze instantly and Evander strolled casually into his room closing the door behind him with a stony look in his eye.
"Didn't you hear me knocking?" he finally spoke.
"You're not allowed to just walk in here." Evander gave a smug smile despite Michael's curt words.
"I was concerned, I mean anything could have happened to you in here by yourself. You could have slipped and bumped your head for all I know. In the grand scheme of things, I guess it's a good thing I have this spare key, isn't it?" His eyes glowered with a knowingness that sent shivers down Michael spine.
He knew in that moment that this forced intrusion had been a subtle payback for Michael changing the locks at Neverland. Neither of them let on that they were onto the other. Both remained in a weird state of ignorance. "So, you sold out the entire arena tonight...well done." He continued in his patronising tone. Probably believing that Michael was genuinely encouraged by his words.
Michael simply side eyed him in silent disgust. "You are going to be out of debt very soon if you continue on like this superstar." Evander winked and Michael could have sworn there was absolutely nothing behind his eyes. No guilt, no remorse, no soul even. This man had been working him like a dog and yet he still had the brazen nerve to walk into his presence and boast about the matter.
Michael said nothing feeling his patience quickly wearing thin. "Speaking of debt, I have something I've been needing to discuss with you." Evander turned and locked the door behind him. That's when Michael stopped cleaning his chest and sat up attentively. A certain nervousness presented itself now that they were in an enclosed environment. But Evander didn't just stop there, he went around the room and pulled every open curtain shut. Michael watched him anxiously.
"What are you doing." He finally sprung up as fear began to set in. Evander turned back to the bed and waved his hands downward to indicate that Michael was overreacting.
"Sit, I just want to talk." He went to the opposite side of Michael's king-sized bed and perched on the edge in his black and white business suit. His jet-black hair was scooped back.
With hesitation Michael descended once again and perched uncomfortably on the opposing edge of the mattress.
Maybe he wants to give my power of attorney back to me, he thought wishfully knowing that it was probably a pipe dream.
"Your efforts have attracted a lot of people's attention these past few months." Evander began, he pulled at his collar indicating that he was hot. The room was somewhat sweltering, even despite it being night. "I'm not sure you understand this Michael but your brand image is a force to be reckoned with. A lot of hard to reach people would pay an unfathomable amount to invest in what you have built. But we don't want just anyone investing in you. We want the right person and Michael I have somebody interested in you that could pay off your entire debt and purchase Neverland cash with just the spare change he has in his back pocket. I'm talking ultra-wealthy Michael and he wants to sponsor you."
Michael controlled the eye-roll this time and instead he just sighed impatiently. "Oh yeah? And who might that be..." He sarcastically toyed with Evander's ridiculous proposal not for a moment taking him seriously. Always sceptical of the grandiose and often glittering proposals that people bought to him in an attempt to marvellously propel him to a new level in his career. Those same opportunities almost always turned out to be glitter coated shit in the end.
"Luca Scalisi." Evander finally said.
Slowly the amused smile slipped from Michael's face. His eyes slowly arose to meet Evander's and saw no hint of joking in them.
Michael had made it more than half of his life without ever even hearing that name pass his ears. But he began to notice some point after seeing massive success and once his estate had surpassed the threshold of about 250 million dollars that his outer world stated to change. Suddenly an entirely new breed of people who were much wealthier than him started to filter in around him and he started getting invites to have dinner with the 1 percent.
He'd only been to a few events to save appearing rude, being the shy individual he was and not necessarily into the whole elite shoulder rubbing thing he still went and ate with presidents, broke bread with the princes and princesses of wealthy countries and conversed with people who were sure to go down in the history books for their massive impacts on the world. Stranger still Michael discovered that he was equally a person of interest to these people and they were queuing up to meet him.
He was often quite mute at those events, out of place even, and usually always eager to go home and write music but even whilst partially tuned out to the goings on around him, usually while tucking into some of the best food he had ever tasted in his life, he still started to notice that whenever he would dine with these people, this name would keep cropping up in conversation.
Scalisi.
Any talk of that family always felt like the telling of an ancient myth and people treated their name as if it were some sacred passage. Weirder still was the fact that nobody had ever claimed to have met or even seen one of these so called revolutionary investors personally and Michael never recalled being informed that one of them was ever as those special events.
In the midst of all the speculation it had gone over Michaels head. It puzzled him to think that there were people whom others deemed "above themselves" and deserving of such obsessive conversation and excessive thought. He thought the whole thing was nonsense. Who wanted to waste time talking about all the riches of some family that nobody seemed sure even existed when they could be writing music. At home. Alone. In silence.
It seemed like a mini party game at the table to debate exactly what and how much the Scalisi family owned in their portfolio. Banks, prisons, private islands (like not listed on the global map private), transportation systems, airports, space constellations, royal families, meteorites and even a small slice of the ocean were all cited to all be a part of their financial portfolio and under their exclusive ownership. They held the sort of fame and notoriety that made your average celebrity feel like small fish on a big hook, gasping for air, praying to be thrown back out to sea in an area they could dominate.
Perhaps that was why Michael felt so uncomfortable hearing about them. People made them out to be so big that he almost felt small with his little old "biggest music artist in the world" status.
But more than anything they were largely known for investing in unorthodox things, including people. It was this fact that prevented Michael from calling bullshit straight away. Still he imagined you'd have to be a pretty big deal to garner the attention of the so-called Scalisi family as an investment. Seemed like a large feat, even by Michael's standards.
On top of that was the whole invisibility thing. From what Michael had gathered, they didn't seem like the type of people you'd just bump into at your local grocery store, no they were apparently heavily shut away with lock and key, living only god knows where doing god knows what.
This idea in the end is what served to fuel Michael's sense of entertainment.
"Scalisi? You mean that imaginary family that nobody's ever seen in real life?" He said with deliberately large patronizing eyes and childlike wonderment.
"Oh yeah." Evander said challenging Michael with his seriousness.
"...and let me guess, you had a good ol' talk with them and they told you that they want to pay all my bills for me?" Michael concluded with heavy sarcasm. "Right, sure, I think I'll pass on that investment." He said. Evander held an assertive half smile and pressed his fingertips firmly together.
"With all due respect Michael, you don't know who I am...you have no idea the kinds of people I have access to."
Michael raised a brow at his loathsome cockiness but simultaneously felt the hairs over his whole body raise at Evander's words. Evander was still, his eyes burning Michael's face, his smile was gone and he was resoundingly serious now.
"Tell me, what happened to society Michael? Why are there people at the top and people at the bottom? And just like a pyramid, the pond remains small at the top and large at the bottom." Evander threw out there. Michael wandered if it was a trick question.
"I guess some just work harder than others."
"No. The people at the very top don't work at all." Evander rebounded. That made Michael pause in thought. It was no secret that there were wealthy people that had never worked a day in their entire life.
"Listen, you're a big deal Michael but you're in a massive amount of debt, and I would be doing you a disservice if I didn't let you in on the fact that...there is an entire world out there that you don't even know about yet. Your life could be enriched beyond your wildest dreams, you could be above the law, above taxes, above the possibility of ever going broke...but you have to let me help you." Evander spoke softly. In that friendly way that had first gotten Michael's attention.
That same voice that had swindled him out of possession of his own estate, wormed its way into his heart and gotten him to open up to him and then crushed him like a bug.
But Michael was wiser now. He knew that Evander was not to be trusted.
He felt a certain uneasiness in his stomach as Evander continued on. The concept sounded like one that shouldn't exist but he felt in his stomach that it really might. He was being propositioned for something dark and hidden, he could feel it in his bones.
"Just think about it Michael. If you could ensure happiness for you and your family for generations to come, would you do it?" Michael didn't so much as move, unwilling to give anything away. "Of course, you would." Evander answered for him.
"And there are people out there that live this way Michael. You could be worth billions with the right backing. And you like kids right, you could have entire schools in your name, cities renamed after you, you can build up an entire legacy to leave behind for your family. You can have whatever you want in this world Michael, in your name, do you know that means? It means immortality." He almost drooled.
Michael noticed how Evander's eyes seemed to stare more through him than at him as if he wasn't a person at all but a mere object. He clasped the open halves of his shirt together feeling a sudden chill despite the hot room.
"All of that?" Michael tried to bring Evander back down to earth. "In exchange for what I can only imagine..." He felt his heart thudding in fear.
"You..." Evander stopped suddenly blinking and seeming to come back to reality from whatever fantasy had been playing in his head. "Y-Your promise to help others that are in the know so to speak." he slowly arose from Michael's bed finally and stepped back. "but I'll let you get to sleep. You must be tired after that show and we're flying home bright and early tomorrow morning so rest up." He swaggered toward the door.
After swinging the door open he paused a while before looking over his shoulder.
"Just remember what we talked about." He nodded and finally wandered out. The door closed and was re-locked from the outside. Michael felt a deadening thud in his stomach. He couldn't help but get that tight gut feeling that told him something wasn't right.
He already knew that a lot wasn't right. So far, he hadn't managed to get Evander's nose out of his affairs and ever since he gave him that initial slither of access, he'd flipped everything around to his advantage. But the thing that loomed around the most in Michael's brain had been Evander's chilling words.
You don't know who I am
Michael couldn't shake the feeling they presented him with because in truth he did not really know who Evander was in this world. He was only just beginning to learn what kind of person he was.
The fact that he'd fooled Michael so well. The fact that he was even sitting in a hot hotel room in Turkey right now, contrary to where he really wanted to be which was safely at his home in Neverland, instead he was here working away just to not get sued by breaching the terms of whatever contracts Evander had him bound up in proved an unbelievable degree of cunning that Evander held inside of him which Michael never would have dreamed existed there.
He'd masterfully swooped in, secured himself a position both as his manager and as the spokesman for his entire estate all within the space of a few months of courting Michael into believing they were friends. He was manipulative, opportunistic and had clearly preyed on Michael's vulnerabilities, all whilst encouraging him to kick his drug habit.
Why do all that just to get access to Michael's assets? He may as well have let him continue on as an inebriated mess with no clue where his money was going and who was trying to control him.
Michael carried with him the eerie sense of being groomed. Especially after their talk tonight. Michael had pretended not to know what Evander was talking about but he'd been exposed to talks of things such as secret societies before and he'd heard of all the immense benefits under the sun.
He'd also heard a sleuth of not so decent stories regarding what those same people in secret societies got up to. He never saw himself as a part of that life, it took sheer blood sweat hard work and tears to get to where he was. Of course, recently he'd put himself in jeopardy by making poor financial decisions but still he'd come up and down off his own back and not on the coattails of anyone else.
He didn't owe favours to anybody, and that freedom meant the world to Michael.
What Evander presented just didn't appeal to him.
None the less he felt something horrible coming his way if he didn't get this man out of his life soon.