Silas Robb: Hell Hath No Fury

1 "Fairies again?" Silas Robb asked. He looked at Mort's pasty white face and saw the screen reflected in his glasses, lit by his ever-present laptop. Mort didn't meet his eyes, but Silas didn't blame him; it was hard to stare down a demon. Yep, this will be the mission where I finally kill him. They sat in Silas’ limousine. The black and wood trim interior had recently been outfitted with the latest in mobile surveillance technology, and the added hardware made the already cramped space worse for his six-foot-five, two hundred seventy pounds. He found himself once again longing for the freedom of his motorcycle. "Well, this time is a little different. You don't have to fight the fairies; you’re here to rescue them." "From who? Captain Hook? Look Mort, who in their right mind wants to rescue fairies? They’re annoying, petty creatures." "Father Moreales wants them rescued." Well, of course Moreales wants them rescued. Silas wouldn't be here if this wasn't an assignment from the Inquisition Project, the secret Vatican group run by Moreales that had summoned Silas from the pits of Hell to work for them. They bound him with one of the most convoluted binding contracts he had ever seen, which is saying a lot since Hell is known for its loopholes and fine-print-ridden contracts. Now he was forced to work for them until he had paid off his account. Silas’ work generally involved protecting ignorant humans from the forces of the supernatural that seeped into the world from the Pale, though his ultimate goal was to stave off Armageddon and the end of the world. Frankly, Silas would rather be singing rock and roll in a bar. Silas fixed his eyes on Mortimer, who was his Vatican liaison and tech guy. "Why the hell would the Project care about a few fairies? They’re a dime a dozen." "It’s not the fairies themselves that are the issue; it’s how they’re being used." "Being used, huh? I didn't think they were good for anything," Silas said. "They’re like annoying bugs, only too big to swat at." "Well, I'll tell you if you give me a chance. If you think fairies are annoying, you should try dealing with demons," Mort said. Silas growled. "Okay Mort, I'll listen, but just remember what happened the last time you sent me after fairies. I ended up fighting a vicious Fey Red Cap dressed up like a three hundred pound black woman." Silas leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. Mort sighed and tapped at his keyboard. "Xavier Haldan is a relatively unknown, yet wildly successful stock trader. He is the Chairman of the Haldan Corporation, which is really just a holding company with quite a few subsidiaries," Mort said. Silas opened a cabinet by the bar and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. If Mort was going to be this boring, he was going to have to hurry up and get drunk. He found that excessive drinking helped him better tolerate humans, especially ones that droned on and on about companies, subsidiaries, and stocks. "His company grew exponentially almost overnight, and he came out of nowhere living the life of a rich playboy. But there’s a problem. Until recently, he couldn't trade a stock successfully to save his life; our research suggests that he has never gone to business school, although he does have fake credentials which include an MBA from Harvard." Silas took a long pull from the bottle then said, “Bet his name isn't even Xavier. Who the hell names a kid Xavier?" "Well, actually his name is Xavier, but his real last name is Dunkleclerk," Mort said and then quickly leaned over his laptop to protect it. Silas sprayed bourbon from his mouth in a futile attempt to keep from laughing. "Holly s**t Mort, his parents must have hated him. Poor guy." "Well don't let the name fool you," Mort said as he wiped alcohol from the back of his laptop and glasses. "He killed both his parents while he was still in high school when they found out he was selling drugs to underclassmen." "Ah ha... justice," Silas said and raised his bottle in a toast. "And that was just the beginning. He dropped out and started a life of petty crime, robbing convenience stores, mugging people, stuff like that. It would have stayed petty, but somewhere along the line he met up with a magician." "Who?" Silas leaned forward; now things were getting interesting. Either that, or he was getting a buzz from the liquor. He glanced down at the bottle; it was half empty. Mort shrugged. "We don't know for sure. In the reports we can pull together there is only mention of a shadowy figure, somebody draped in night that is always by his side. But about the time this person showed up Dunkleclerk..." Silas’ chuckle even prompted Mort to giggle. "Dunkleclerk's luck changed. He went from being a petty, two-bit criminal to running a criminal organization. Within a year he started getting the attention, then respect of other crime families. He had his finger in a lot of things, but their primary industry seemed to be drug dealing. By the time his front company emerged as a legit business, he had upped the ante and was manufacturing a new drug. It’s a derivative of cocaine." Silas' ears perked up. "A new drug? Got a sample by any chance?" "No Silas, I don't have a sample." "This is all great. Poor boy comes from nothing and makes a good life. It would make a great movie, but why does the Inquisition care, and what does all this have to do with fairies? I'm going to be late for band practice." "You guys practice?" Mort said, and raised an eyebrow. Silas glared. Mort quickly went on, it was hard to stare down a glaring demon. "We obtained a sample of this new drug, and after analysis it seems to be common cocaine cut with fairy dust. The dust is alchemically altered, but still…its origin is fairy dust." "Gives whole new meaning to the phrase getting high. Hey this is great, fairy dust is made from, well fairy dust," Silas laughed. "Is it good s**t?" "No, it is not good s**t. It is incredibly potent and addictive; the average life expectancy of an addict is less than a year. Not only that, but there are side effects." "Like what? People flying off to Neverland?" "On some it is lifting the Veil of the Pale, and they are able to see the supernatural world. Most addicts think it is just part of the hallucination, but eventually they’re going to find out how real it is." That was a problem. If too many humans learned of the supernatural world that existed all around them, it would be the first step in the rapture and the end of the world. At least that was the theory. "Are there other side effects?" "Yes, some even more problematic than the Veil lifting. One report is that a man spontaneously changed sexes. Another thought he was Superman and picked up a car and threw it. Unfortunately, he tried it again and, though he managed to get the car over his head, he was crushed. Broke his back in the process. This is bad Silas. It’s only a matter of time before enough people notice these 'miracles', and the Veil comes tumbling down, bringing on full scale Armageddon." Silas took the last swig out of the bottle. "So what's the rundown? He's got some fairies locked up somewhere? You guys want me to beat the crap out of this Dunkleclerk?" "No. Direct confrontation could potentially be bad. He has an army of thug soldiers around him at all times and this magician, whoever it is, is very strong. Strong enough to evade all our attempts to figure out who it is. Besides, over the past hour I’ve seen several people entering the building. I believe he’s having some sort of meeting with other individuals in the narcotics trade today. No, Moreales thinks the best thing here is to quietly remove the source of his supply of dust, then regroup with a second plan to take out his operation one step at a time. If he loses the fairies, he will be weakened at least financially. It’s all in the report I sent you a few days ago." Silas gave him a blank stare. Mort sighed. "You need to check your email, Silas. How many times do I tell you that? It discussed the whole mission. How his operation is on the seventy third floor of this building on our right, the Hockmeyer building. But we can't take a direct approach, so you will go through the basement of the building on the other side of the street. The buildings are connected by an access tunnel under the street. Then it’s up the loading elevator to floor sixty-three, then a series of ventilation shafts and... You really didn't read any of this did you?" "Nope. Besides, it sounds complicated. You have access to the security cameras, right? And the elevator mains?" "Well sure, of course I tapped their security, at least up to the seventieth floor, and I can access any floor with the elevator. But you can't just take the direct elevator. His men would be on you in an instant, and I have no visibility on the upper floors. There could be two people up there or two hundred. It would be crazy and suicidal to just walk in." "Yeah, but also quick, and then I could get to my band practice. And f**k that regrouping and take out his operation one step at a time s**t. Sounds boring and time consuming. I'll just f**k his s**t up now and be done with it. Besides, how bad can a human magician be? What's this one worth to old Moreales?" "Fifty thousand." "Man you guys just keep throwing peanuts at me don't you?" "So you don't want the job?" Mort asked. "I'll take it, piece of cake." Silas knocked on the privacy window and it immediately lowered. "Yeah boss?" Steve asked from the driver seat. "I'm going into that building; when I come out I might be in a hurry…or perhaps on fire." "Explosions, screaming, flaming rubble... the usual?" "Probably, so keep circling the block. I'm not really sure where I’ll come out." Silas opened the door and stepped out onto the street. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and the tip glowed red as he brought it to his mouth. A demon never needed a match. Mort rolled down the window. "You’re going through with it, aren't you? You’re going to ignore my carefully outlined plan and just walk in there." "No, I'm not ignoring it. I am sure it was well thought out and impressive. I’m just going to refer to it as plan B." "Well, at least take the ear piece so we can communicate and I can report your screams of pain and suffering back to the Vatican." Silas shrugged and put the ear piece on. And without another word, he strode toward the Hockmeyer building, an impressive steel and glass structure stretching to the clouds. Large metal doors glided open as he pushed through. It wasn't a new building, but it had been recently remodeled. Inside the lobby two large men in suits sat behind an imposing reception desk. As Silas entered one stood, the other reached for something beneath the desk. "Can we help you sir?" The standing one asked. He was large; larger than Silas, as if that really mattered. It was the other one that concerned Silas. Was he reaching for an alarm, perhaps? Silas didn't blame him; it wasn't every day a large guy wearing jeans, t-shirt and a biker jacket wandered into an upscale high rise shortly after two in the morning. "Do you guys work for Haldan directly?" Silas asked. The Inquisition had this annoying rule to not kill civilians. He had to find out how far up they were on the chain of command before he could make a judgment call. The two men looked at each other and their faces darkened; that was all the confirmation Silas needed. The night guards were working directly for Dunkleclerk. Made sense, they would look the other way from these late night meetings and other criminal activity like good pets.