Darkness Girl: Trickster God

Chapter Three: A Worm's Tears

It was approaching midnight when Regan and Kessler drove into the city. Regan looked out the window as they passed gaudy nightclubs with long queues and late night hawkers selling greasy pizza that would turn a rat's stomach. They stopped at a set of traffic lights and Regan watched a disjointed group of people drift purposelessly past them like leaves floating on a current. Kessler avoided a pair of drunk men who staggered out onto the road after the lights changed and turned off the street to park the car in an alleyway behind some dumpsters.

Broken glass crunched under Regan's feet as she stepped out of the car. She wrinkled her nose. The alley smelled strongly of rotting food and urine. She followed Kessler to the back of the alley. There was a stairwell half hidden in shadow that led down below street level to a heavy looking door. Kessler knocked and it was opened by a heavy set man with a goatee beard. He was wearing a black band t-shirt that was too tight for him. Regan could see the material bunched under his armpits soaking up the sweat. He looked them up and down then stepped back from the door to let them through.

The red-lit room beyond was a small office at the back of one of the nightclubs. The dull thump of music reverberated down through the walls and up into the soles of Regan's shoes.

The doorman closed the door behind them and leaned on it. He chewed some gum and stared at the floor in a bored, incurious way.

The room was sparse and functional. There were copper and plastic pipes running from floor to ceiling in the back corner and a set of stairs which, Regan guessed, led up to the club. The plastic piping was leaking and had left a dull stain on the exposed concrete floor.

The client was a grey-suited businessman named Sommerfield. He was sitting behind a desk at the back of the room on the only chair. A man and a woman in flak jackets stood on either side of him. He shifted as Regan and Kessler came in as if he wasn't able to find a comfortable position. There was a sheen of sweat on his face that had soaked into the roots of his thinning brown hair and exposed the grey beneath. His fear saturated the air and made Regan's skin tingle.

'You've hired protectors, Sommerfield,' Kessler observed. 'Are you afraid I'm going to turn on you?'

'Is this some sort of joke?' he said angrily.

He pushed a piece of paper towards Kessler across the desk. Regan stepped in closer to see. A red circle with three vertical slashes running through it had been painted on it. The words we're coming for you were hastily scrawled underneath. The slashes looked like bloody sword cuts.

'How pretty,' said Kessler in a bored voice.

'It's written in blood!' said Sommerfield. 'Someone knows! They know what I hired you to do, and now they're going to come after me. You told me no one would ever know!'

'They don't know anything,' said Kessler. 'It's a tired old tactic to get you to give up information. They're trying to make you think they know more than they actually do to scare you.'

'It's working! I found it in my study on my desk at home. Do you understand what that means? They were in my house!'

Sommerfield had risen out of his chair, and even under the red light Regan could see that his face was flushed.

'Settle down, old man,' she said. 'You'll burst a heart valve if you keep shouting like that.'

He turned to glare at her, but baulked as he met her gaze. He sank back into the chair like a balloon slowly deflating.

'I need you to protect me,' he said, rubbing his eyes. 'This was your screw up; it's your responsibility.'

'I refuse,' said Kessler flatly.

'What?' Sommerfield's expression showed that he hadn't even countenanced the possibility of a refusal.

'We're silencers, not protectors. Our job ended with the target's life. My visit tonight was a courtesy. Nothing more.'

'But what are you going to do about this?' Sommerfield whined, pointing to the bloody letter.

'Nothing,' said Kessler. 'It's your problem, not mine.'

She turned to leave. Regan watched the play of emotions across Sommerfield's face.

'You can't leave me!' he screamed. 'I won't let you leave me!'

Everything happened in an instant. One second Kessler had her back to Sommerfield. In the next, the table was flying through the air and he was hurled backwards onto the floor with her boot on his chest and her sword at his throat. The table hit the floor with a crash as the two protectors started forwards. Regan snarled and half drew her sword. They hesitated.

'The next person to move gets a sword through the neck,' she hissed.

They stepped back like rabbits staring into the face of a viper.

'I don't owe you anything,' Kessler said to Sommerfield. 'And I don't give a rat's shit if someone wants to take you out.'

She pressed the sharp blade into his throat until a thin line of red appeared. A pearl of blood grew at the edge of the cut and swelled for a second before it rolled down the side of Sommerfield's neck.

'If I ever see you again,' said Kessler. 'I'll cut your throat like the fat pig you are.'

She stepped back and sheathed her sword. Sommerfield's hands flew to the cut at his throat. He rolled onto his side and let out a long moan. It filled the room until it drowned out the sound of the music above.

Regan watched impassively as the man who'd hired her to kill curled into a ball and lay crying on the filthy floor.

'Have a nice life, Sommerfield,' said Kessler, turning towards the door. 'Whatever's left of it.'

They walked out of the office. The doorman in his too-small shirt stood aside to let them go.

Outside, the sound of passing cars was dulled by the brick walls of the alleyway. A couple, giggling in the darkness behind the car, saw them exit and decided to quietly leave. Regan looked back at the door.

'Pathetic,' she said. 'He'll face his death grovelling on the floor like a worm.'

'The only demons coming for him are the ones he creates in his head,' said Kessler. 'That letter wasn't for him. It was for us.'