Chapter 9

"So...you ready to talk?"

Fyewackett was sweating bullets. He'd had to deal with some seriously hard nuts to crack before, but Danny-boy (or Mandus, or whatever) was really putting up hell of a fight. The Sinner's entire body was covered in Fyewackett's 'specials', sticking out from every limb like some cruel parody of a porcupine.

The smell of burning flesh didn't really help things...but that was really besides the point. Fye was starting to gag.

What he didn't expect was an actual response.

"What do you think you're gonna get out of this, kid?"

The Imp could only grin. Another nut cracked, though to himself.

"Information, obviously.", Fye answered. "Nothing more, nothing less."

The lumpy Sinner coughed out a laugh through his lacerated throat. "Come on, kid. You're obviously not stupid. You know this trade as well as I do…"

A line of yellow drool slowly dripped off from his lower lip, forming a small greasy puddle on the floor. "You know this torturing shit barely fucking works for interrogation."

Fye shook his head. "You're right. I do know this trade, and I know that the number one rule of this 'torturing shit' can be summed up in three words: trust, but verify."

The Imp snuck up close to the Sinner's face, their noses nearly touching. "Bottom line, I know enough to know when you're lying, flesh bag."

That made the Sinner chortle through is bleeding neck.

"Little one, there is so much you do not know. The knowledge that his Highness in Yellow has bestowed upon me and my brothers? It would make your little red head implode from the mere notions that our Flaxen Majesty has blessed me with."

Danny-body grinned. "You want me to talk to your boss? Fine. I'll talk. But just know this, kid…"

The grin grew wider.

"We've already won. God is dead, and the King in Yellow has killed him."

Lester stared at the text.

:| Brother? |:

His fingers trembled. He could feel a rising pressure in his chest, like a rat trying to claw its way out of a hole. He could barely hold the hellphone in his grasp without dropping it on the mattress.

Should he reply?

He had to be calm. Think rationally. Devices like this were susceptible to scams all of the time, especially in a place like Hell.

Could it be...what was it that Vaggie called it...a 'fishing' scam?

No, Phishing, with a 'ph', he could hear her say in his mind.

:| Lester? Are you there? It's so dark. |:

His throat dried. He began to hyperventilate. Sweat began to bead on his forehead.

His shaky thumbs slowly tapped out a message.

"Ella? Sis?"

He waited.

And waited.

A few minutes felt like an hour. An hour felt like eternity.

Bing

"It's literally just your name rearranged, Gish."

"At least The Sigh actually sounds menacing, unlike you who just called yourself 'bone', Miss Creative Genius."

Chay and Gishram's arguing had pretty much sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. Any concerns about her dropping a possible assassination plot against Lucius had long since been swallowed up by arguments over nicknames.

Vaggie looked over at Charlie. "So...are we gonna…"

The Princess nervously looked over at Viola, who was gently rubbing Lucius's shoulder. "Nah, just let them get it out of their system. This tends to happen a lot."

"But why? This seems so...juvenile."

"Well…", Charlie interjected, "Sometimes, two people are just such opposites that they can't really get along. At least, that's what I'm guessing here. I haven't known Chay long, but she seems to be kind of withdrawn and soft-spoken most of the time, while this Gishram girl is-"

"-Not?", Vaggie finished for her.

"Yes! That! Also...should we be concerned about what she just told us?"

Viola looked over at Lucius, who seemed to have completely shut down.

"...Maybe a little. ", Viola answered.

"I'd say I'm used to it by now…", Lucius meekly interjected. "But I'm not. Not really."

He reached into her sweater and pulled out his sunglasses, sliding them on his face before taking a deep breath.

"Comrade Gishram. Comrade Chay Ong.That is enough.", his voice boomed.

The entire table's worth of people instantly turned towards the Imp. A small dish could be heard crashing on the floor.

Gish turned around, her knife nearly at Chay's throat. Her left eye twitched irritably. She grunted and slowly lowered her weapon.

"Comrade Gishram, you claim to have information.", Lucius said coldly. "Please state it now before you make a further spectacle of yourself."

The Imp woman sneered as she sat back down into her seat.

"Comrade General Secretary.", she answered. "Exactly 32 hours ago, information was obtained through my informants that someone within our organization has hired an assassin in order to neutralize you, and to then attempt a coup of the Front, in violation of our rules on Democratic Centralism, open debate and our ongoing campaign against counter-revolutionary subterfuge."

"Do you trust this information, comrade?", Lucius asked.

Gish nodded. "I have also verified its accuracy to the best of my abilities."

"Very well.", the older Imp answered. "Your dedication and courage in bringing us this information has been duly noted. Have you acquired any shelter or means of travel for the next 48 hours?"

Gishram's eyes narrowed. "You can't possibly be suggesting that I-"

"Comrade.", Lucius interrupted. "I will negotiate with Her Highness for the proper accommodations. Understood?"

The Imp woman growled. "Are you seriously-"

"Comrade."

He pulled down his shades to reveal his glowing, smoldering eyes.

"Am. I. Understood?", he asked again with an icy tone.

She angrily looked down at the floor, her hair falling over her eyes.

"Understood, comrade.", she replied with a hushed voice, sinking into her chair.

A pregnant and awkward silence filled the room. Only the sounds of chewing and scraping cutlery could be heard.

Viola spooned more Miso into her mouth. "Well...at least now we can eat in peace."

"Well now, this is exciting!"

Alastor, as if on cue, entered the dining room through one of his custom green portals, rattling the china on the table.

"Who knew that housing noisy Bolsheviks could be so entertaining? So entertaining that it would interrupt my lunch."

"...Aaand it's gone.", Viola mumbled.

"He leaves for five minutes just to do this shit all over again.", Vaggie muttered irritably underneath her breath.

"Silence was never an option, my dear Imp lass.", he remarked. "But I am curious.…"

He casually strolled over to Gishram. "That is a very interesting dagger you have there, Miss Gishram. A custom piece?"

"None of your fuckin' business.", the Imp snapped back at him.

"Not telling, eh? So it's not related to Miss Ong's revolver?"

"Pffft!", Gishram snorted. "Fuck, no! I found Jude through my own actions. Bonebag had hers handed to her."

"It was a gift, comrade Gishram.", Lucius responded. "Comrade Chay was going into territory she wasn't familiar with, and I equipped her accordingly."

"I equipped her accordingly.", Viola interjected. "You were keeping it in a shiny frame in your office."

"Yes. I know.", he replied through gritted teeth. "We still need to talk about your unauthorized usage of my computer…"

"Yes yes, well in any case…", Alastor interrupted. "Could I perhaps have a look at it?"

Thunk!

The dagger planted itself next to Alastor's head on the wall behind him.

"Wow, she's fast!" Niffty squee'd from under the table.

Gishram said nothing, only giving a smug grin.

"Hmm, charming."

Alastor plucked the knife from the wall and gently palmed it, adjusting his monocle. He hummed to himself as he rubbed his finger across the scales.

A small red eye slowly opened up and stared at him.

Well now, this is interesting...

His eyes flitted between the knife and the Imp.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Nice craftsmanship, but otherwise unremarkable." He carefully palmed the knife back to Gish, who snatched it from his hand.

"Now, about that revolver..."

Chay reached down and slowly pulled the Apache out of the holster. She handed it to him, her hand gripping it by the barrel. Alastor wrapped his fingers around the knuckle-duster grip and turned it every which a way in his hand. He flicked his wrist, popping out the cylinder and rotating it with his finger.

"Ah, now this is an interesting piece. This used to belong to Mr. Flynn, yes?"

"Spoils of war.", Viola answered. "One of the things we recovered from the rubble of his sex club."

Husk's ears perked up. "Wait...that's how you got that thing? What the fuck was Flynn doing running a sex club in Imp City?"

"Trying to hone in on Val's business.", Chay answered. "That's how I got roped into that whole mess in the first place."

"Hmmm…", Alastor remarked. "That would explain how he could afford something like this. Miss Ong, may I direct your gaze to this cylinder here…"

He pointed to a small spot next to one of the chambers.

"Do you see this little indentation here?"

Chay leaned over to the table, her eyes narrowing.

"...It looks like two capital C's next to each oth-"

Her eyes shot wide with realization.

"Carmilla Carmine."

She fell back into her chair, shaking her head.

"It's a fucking Carmine original. That's why the blade has a Blessing tip. I'd suspected it but I had figured it was just a bootleg."

"You wouldn't be wrong to make such a guess, my dear.", Alastor said as he slapped the cylinder back into place. "Carmilla does have issues with fakes and imitators trying to take her business."

He palmed the gun back to her. "But I've known Carmilla for many years now, and I can guarantee that this is her handiwork."

Chay eyed her weapon. "What's odd is that Carmine typically advertises her brand all over her products, and yet for whatever reason Flynn didn't want it to show any trace of her work."

She slipped it back into her holster. "Which means he didn't want to draw any attention to himself…"

"You know…", Alastor said as he slowly made his away around the table. "This is a golden opportunity. You've said that you need to make inroads with the Vox issue, yes? Well, I just happen to be an Overlord myself. I could introduce you to her, and in turn..."

Chay raised a curious eyebrow. "That seems kind of overly complicated."

"Anything involving Overlords is complicated, my dear. You of all people should know that."

"But you just said that you were an Overlord. Can't you just speak with Vox himself?"

….

That was answered with a moment of stunned silence.

Followed by the entire table filling with howling, cackling laughter.

Striker chomped down on the cheap hot dog he'd bought from the vendor down the street. He was pretty sure he could taste something gamey, probably roadkill.

But what the fuck was he gonna do, ask for his money back?

Among these scumbags? No chance.

He tipped up his hat to look up the road.

There it was, the Happy Hotel. Just up the street.

Just out in the open.

He reached down to secure his weapon, his finger closing over the grip. His trigger finger was itching.

He walked over to a nearby bench, and laid down on his back. He moved his hat off of his head and draped it over his face.

He just had to lay down...and wait.

The noon sun was high, and sky a dark red.

CHAPTER 9 END