Silas Robb: Of Saints and Sinners

Chapter 1-2

Silas looked around the corner of the sandwich shop. People that had been sitting at an outside table were standing and looking at the gaping hole in the side of the apartment. Several passerbys had stopped and were looking. In the distance he could hear sirens. Somebody had called the police, so much for that famous New York ambivalence.

He could hear the bystanders talking. One had thought it was an explosion, perhaps a gas main igniting. Another thought it was a failed suicide attempt because he had seen somebody hanging from the edge of the window, but was dragged back in by an incredibly fat and ugly woman. Of course another thought it was a terrorist related incident, some bastard cooking up a dirty bomb. That made the bystanders nervous and they began moving away.

Silas knew that most of them will have forgotten the details of what had happened by dinner time. The few who had actually seen him dangling from the window wouldn’t be able to describe him accurately. They would even forget that he yelled. The details would fade to a large man hanging from the windowsill. The gas main exploding would most likely be the explanation that stuck in their heads.

That was the way it was when most mortals brushed against something from beyond the Pale. Most mortals were completely oblivious of the danger growing around them day by day. But then again, that just meant job security to Silas.

After decapitating the five hundred pound Fey, he had slipped down the back set of stairs. Although slipped might be the wrong word, perhaps stumbling, limping, half falling down the stairs would be better, he had made it to the ground floor as fast as he could. He found a back door to the alley behind the apartment and he had looped around to the sandwich shop. Moving was painful, but so would be hanging around for the cops to arrive. Every bone in his body ached and many cuts and bruises adorned his fierce face. He was definitely not his hell born fury self.

Mort sat calmly at the table, tapping away at his laptop. Silas slipped up to him and sat in the chair. He reached out and slammed the laptop shut. Mort pulled his fingers away just in time.

“It was not a fairy,” Silas said quietly.

“The report said it was thought to be a fairy. Maybe if you had read it you might have picked up some detail that would have warned you.”

For the second time that day he really thought he could kill Mort, maybe take his ears for a souvenir, his skull would make a snazzy candle holder.

“Why did you want me to check out the surrounding buildings?” Mort asked

Silas pulled himself from a fantasy about ripping off Mort’s arms and then beating him to death with them. If he just wasn’t so God damn tired.

“Did you find anything?” Silas asked.

“Yeah, it looks like the same development company bought up a few of these buildings. They’re trying to renovate the area, like this sandwich shop. The owner of this building was the last holdout.”

“The owner was no hold out. I think he wanted to sell as fast as he could. I think he knew somebody or knew enough himself to call up some fairies to drive off the tenants who had long term or even permanent leases.”

“He was buying the co-ops in the building over the last couple of years. But I thought you said it wasn’t a fairy?”

“Well I think Mrs. Willamet might have been a little in the know herself when it came to the supernatural. My guess is the fairies didn’t bother her so he had to call in the big guns and made a deal with the Fey. Which is only a little bit better than a deal with the devil.”

His eyes flickered over to Mort’s

“Or the Vatican,” he continued. “Somebody played a cruel trick on him though if they gave him a red cap.”

Mort let out a little gasp, “A red cap?”

“Yep, he has been the one killing mortals out in these parts, to feed. I’m sure the landlord didn’t know what he had unleashed.”

Mort had opened his laptop again and was typing away. Probably updating another report, Silas thought. He pulled out another cigar from the folds of his jacket.

“So the woman is dead,” Mort said, he didn’t mean it as a question.

“Oh no, she is still alive,” Silas said around the cigar. “She’s chained to the bed and severely dehydrated and malnourished, but alive. At least she was a few minutes ago.”

“The old lady is still alive and you didn’t help her?” Mort asked, his voice rising.

“Hell no, I was tired. Besides the police are coming. Mortals can take care of their own.”

Speaking of which, a couple of patrol cars were pulling up, sirens blaring. Time to go. Silas didn’t fear the cops, but he didn’t like them. They could be very annoying when he was trying to do his job. He stood and made his way to the motorcycle. He sucked up the pain and hid the limp, no use drawing attention to himself with the boys in blue nearby. Mort shut the laptop and grabbed his bag to hurry after.

“Silas, we need more time to debrief,” Mort said.

“Debrief? What are we? In the CIA? You’re watching way too much TV,” Silas said.

He swung his leg over the bike and fired up the engine. It roared to life and instantly Silas felt a little better, a little more relaxed. He sighed in pleasure.

“Just have the funds transferred into my account, Mort,” Silas said loud enough to be heard over the exhaust.

Mort opened his laptop, supporting it with the palm of one hand and ran his fingers over the keys with the other.

“Of course, after we deduct a fee for the damages I will be happy to transfer the money, if any is left, to your account.”

“Fee? For damages? I almost got killed back there,” Silas said. “What was I supposed to do? That thing threw me through the windows and walls.”

“Nothing proper planning might have avoided. As per section 741 subsection J sub paragraph three of the Infernal Binding Contract, or IBC, we may deduct damages and expenses above and beyond…”

Silas didn’t hear the rest, his demon spirit raged and he revved the engine to drown out the sound. Christ he hated priests. There was no bargaining with Mort, he followed the Vatican’s rules to the letter and those old codgers could give a rats f*****g ass about what Silas went through. What the f**k had he been thinking when he agreed to that summoning and signed that contract? But he knew what he was thinking, he was thinking about the world above, the world beyond hell. He was thinking about the lusts, the passions, the drinks, the air, the meaning, and the life of this world. It was the most seductive of drugs and he was an addict.

With a grunt he throttled the bike, leaving rubber on the asphalt and exhaust billowing around Mort as he tried to yell at Silas over the sound. In his rear view mirror he saw that Mort had inhaled some exhaust and was coughing.

That, at least, made him feel a little better.