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Like every evening Michael had woken up, taken a shower and brushed his teeth. Two-beds apartment was a decorated decently with postmodern arts on top of wine-red wallpaper. His kitchen hadn’t seen any use in decades, not since he found out in a nasty way there were vampires in the world. Windows were covered with heavy curtains to not even accidentally let out sunlight. Nowadays there were no mirrors but television screen and a web camera if he wanted to look at himself; Ages ago he had used a copper surface to quickly glance that the outfit was alright. It hadn’t lasted long and he had trusted his tailors that the suits did fit.
This evening he had gotten a text message in his phone. Another customer asking for meeting, and Michael replying with an address of one of them restaurants that knew the Fourth Face. While he never ordered food nor drinks, he worked for dangerous men. These men did pay for their silence and did threaten with some horrible business losses if their lips would open to wrong persons. Naturally, during the years the meeting places had to change. Restaurant keepers grew older but Franklin Maccellan and his gang didn’t. Neither did their Four Faces.
Michael liked the fact that some customers feared him. But he did dislike the fact that it was due to his employers, not from himself. Not that he himself, with extra weight around the belly and his enormous lips, was a frightening sight, but still. Fear out of respect was what he lacked. He did take tad more dramatic suite – Wine red jacket with black bow tie, with with fedora and trousers to complete the imposing and threatening look. Hopefully it made an influence to the customer.
Michael Boras had been awake for few hours and sitting at the restaurant; it was dark enough to walk around the town and it was time for the dark side of the town to wake up and start working. Friday night; weekend was at hand with many to celebrate the ending work week. Masses were already on the move despite the promise of rain on the sky. Michael enjoyed the masses and the Friday nights. When there was some free time, he'd gladly join them at the one of them jazz clubs. Listening music, trying one's luck with the ladies, gambling, feeding with unlucky chums at dark alley... Small joys of the life when there wasn't any work coming. Pity this wasn’t one of those nights.
Someone with a minute off from the agreed meeting time sat in his table opposite from the Fourth Face. A woman. But not any kind of woman, she was a thrall. Fourth Face saw this by her lack of humanity and stench of another vampire’s blood within. Someone wanted to order this job anonymously, Michael thought. He straightened his wine red suit and tightened his black bow tie. “Good evening. I understood you, or your client require our assistance.” Michael started. Revealing his smarts to the thrall right away.
No answer. Disappointed that his costume nor his cleverness made an impact, the Fourth Face straightened his posture half an inch and continued “In the message I got, you hadn’t specified what the... Nature of the business would be.”
No answer, but now the woman had started to move. She revealed an envelope with relaxed, almost robotic movements and laid it down on the table. Without any extra movements nor saying anything she rose and walked away. The customer really wanted to work in mysterious ways. It could be a trap also, so Michael took the envelope and exited to the restaurant’s toilet. He knew there weren’t any mirrors there, just a wide window that was slightly open in case he needed an escape. He locked the door and inspected the received letter.
A Blood Pact to be sealed with a drop of blood. He worried for a moment that this pact was going to overlap with the pact of his “supervisors”. But then again… Franklin had told the Fourth Face to lay low after the last case (Smuggling stolen goods) and the message had come straight to him, not through Franklin nor his three hands. So he could keep this information from them. It wasn't straight opposing of Franklin's power.
Hence… He bit a corner from his thumb open, offered a drop of blood and finally opened the envelope.
Saturday, September 10th. 2016. Midnight. Charleston Harbor. Dock 15 Warehouse.
For those seeking advancement.
Those four last words had been promising so much. Definitely something Michael had been thinking the night before Saturday. He had gained some power with Franklin, but he didn’t prefer to stay as his lapdog for all eternity. But he couldn’t oppose them and break the blood pack either. This meeting could risk the pack being broken and that would ensue his death. And even if he did gain power and advancement and minions and whatever the letter’s vague description promised, and it didn’t, he would still be under the command of the Mobster with Three Hands.
However, if this was a promising offer that would rise the mobster ring to new heights, perhaps this was going to give him some more power in Franklin’s eyes. Perhaps he’d be almost even to Jonathan. Not a likely outcome, but at least they could trust him more if he showed loyalty to the mobster ring. So he could take this chance for one reason or another.
But this could also be a trap. Franklin Maccellan wasn’t the only shady player in town, and there was slight competition from customers and areas. This could be a setup to get to the mobster boss. Hence the Fourth Face had taken less flashy costume. Long black jacket with black bowler. He had fed with some blood just in case- an unlucky mobster knocked unconscious would wake up with anemia- and, one last time coming to the conclusion that the risk was worth it, he had left towards Dock 15.
Night was beautiful indeed, but Michael didn’t take the time to enjoy the scenery. He inspected the surroundings at the docks before coming closer to the warehouse in question. There were two people waiting. The thrall from yesterday, and another man. If it was only them, he could probably escape if this meeting turned out to be a trap. Warehouse itself didn’t look threatening and in Michael's mind easy to escape from. He made a final look around before straightening his jacket and entering the warehouse.
Woman stood by idly, but the man was happy to announce that he had came to the right place. Michael tipped his hat. “Good midnight to you too. Pleasant to be here.” He was instructed inside and wait with the others before starting, to which Michael nodded. “Gladly. Thank you for assistance.” And without further words, he entered further in.
Room was empty expect a conference table and seats around it. Room had windows that to Michael's delight didn’t reflect too much. And around the table there were already several people waiting, no doubt they also were offered promises of advancement. At the look of the lot, he started to guess none of them weren't humans.
A hooded man with sickened pale skin on his fingers. And claws. A hitman or an enforcer, possibly.
Some pretty boy with a messy hair, looking like trying to own the place.
A woman with dark curly hair that was a tad anxious. She perhaps didn’t know what for she was here. Unlike Michael.
A woman with dead eyes. Young and pale in every way imagined. Annoyed. Like a teenager. Nothing of interest.
Something of interest was the beautiful blonde woman. The makeup was a finishing touch to make Michael hope for enough money to have her as an escort to one of them fancy clubs.
There was another man that peaked his interest. Michael didn’t know if it was the thick hair or dark, rough and short beard or what in this man's appearance or existence.
There was also a woman that was even shorter than him. A frightened creature looking like someone his gang used to tease in school. Someone that he could, perhaps, manipulate.
Peter Reed was, to Michael's surprise, also summoned. The detective leaned forward with hands on table, like ready to spring in action. Two looked at one another, Peter intensively and Michael with surprise. Michael cursed in his mind. He had made a nasty trick to Peter last and only time they had done business, so this would be troublesome.
Michael however couldn't let the concerns show any further, so he calmed himself. Peter neither made further actions, just leaned back in his chair. “Good midnight” Michael said with half a smile and small nod to the people. He took another place from the conference table, putting his bowler in front of him. Waiting eagerly why they were summoned here…
This evening he had gotten a text message in his phone. Another customer asking for meeting, and Michael replying with an address of one of them restaurants that knew the Fourth Face. While he never ordered food nor drinks, he worked for dangerous men. These men did pay for their silence and did threaten with some horrible business losses if their lips would open to wrong persons. Naturally, during the years the meeting places had to change. Restaurant keepers grew older but Franklin Maccellan and his gang didn’t. Neither did their Four Faces.
Michael liked the fact that some customers feared him. But he did dislike the fact that it was due to his employers, not from himself. Not that he himself, with extra weight around the belly and his enormous lips, was a frightening sight, but still. Fear out of respect was what he lacked. He did take tad more dramatic suite – Wine red jacket with black bow tie, with with fedora and trousers to complete the imposing and threatening look. Hopefully it made an influence to the customer.
Michael Boras had been awake for few hours and sitting at the restaurant; it was dark enough to walk around the town and it was time for the dark side of the town to wake up and start working. Friday night; weekend was at hand with many to celebrate the ending work week. Masses were already on the move despite the promise of rain on the sky. Michael enjoyed the masses and the Friday nights. When there was some free time, he'd gladly join them at the one of them jazz clubs. Listening music, trying one's luck with the ladies, gambling, feeding with unlucky chums at dark alley... Small joys of the life when there wasn't any work coming. Pity this wasn’t one of those nights.
Someone with a minute off from the agreed meeting time sat in his table opposite from the Fourth Face. A woman. But not any kind of woman, she was a thrall. Fourth Face saw this by her lack of humanity and stench of another vampire’s blood within. Someone wanted to order this job anonymously, Michael thought. He straightened his wine red suit and tightened his black bow tie. “Good evening. I understood you, or your client require our assistance.” Michael started. Revealing his smarts to the thrall right away.
No answer. Disappointed that his costume nor his cleverness made an impact, the Fourth Face straightened his posture half an inch and continued “In the message I got, you hadn’t specified what the... Nature of the business would be.”
No answer, but now the woman had started to move. She revealed an envelope with relaxed, almost robotic movements and laid it down on the table. Without any extra movements nor saying anything she rose and walked away. The customer really wanted to work in mysterious ways. It could be a trap also, so Michael took the envelope and exited to the restaurant’s toilet. He knew there weren’t any mirrors there, just a wide window that was slightly open in case he needed an escape. He locked the door and inspected the received letter.
A Blood Pact to be sealed with a drop of blood. He worried for a moment that this pact was going to overlap with the pact of his “supervisors”. But then again… Franklin had told the Fourth Face to lay low after the last case (Smuggling stolen goods) and the message had come straight to him, not through Franklin nor his three hands. So he could keep this information from them. It wasn't straight opposing of Franklin's power.
Hence… He bit a corner from his thumb open, offered a drop of blood and finally opened the envelope.
Saturday, September 10th. 2016. Midnight. Charleston Harbor. Dock 15 Warehouse.
For those seeking advancement.
Those four last words had been promising so much. Definitely something Michael had been thinking the night before Saturday. He had gained some power with Franklin, but he didn’t prefer to stay as his lapdog for all eternity. But he couldn’t oppose them and break the blood pack either. This meeting could risk the pack being broken and that would ensue his death. And even if he did gain power and advancement and minions and whatever the letter’s vague description promised, and it didn’t, he would still be under the command of the Mobster with Three Hands.
However, if this was a promising offer that would rise the mobster ring to new heights, perhaps this was going to give him some more power in Franklin’s eyes. Perhaps he’d be almost even to Jonathan. Not a likely outcome, but at least they could trust him more if he showed loyalty to the mobster ring. So he could take this chance for one reason or another.
But this could also be a trap. Franklin Maccellan wasn’t the only shady player in town, and there was slight competition from customers and areas. This could be a setup to get to the mobster boss. Hence the Fourth Face had taken less flashy costume. Long black jacket with black bowler. He had fed with some blood just in case- an unlucky mobster knocked unconscious would wake up with anemia- and, one last time coming to the conclusion that the risk was worth it, he had left towards Dock 15.
Night was beautiful indeed, but Michael didn’t take the time to enjoy the scenery. He inspected the surroundings at the docks before coming closer to the warehouse in question. There were two people waiting. The thrall from yesterday, and another man. If it was only them, he could probably escape if this meeting turned out to be a trap. Warehouse itself didn’t look threatening and in Michael's mind easy to escape from. He made a final look around before straightening his jacket and entering the warehouse.
Woman stood by idly, but the man was happy to announce that he had came to the right place. Michael tipped his hat. “Good midnight to you too. Pleasant to be here.” He was instructed inside and wait with the others before starting, to which Michael nodded. “Gladly. Thank you for assistance.” And without further words, he entered further in.
Room was empty expect a conference table and seats around it. Room had windows that to Michael's delight didn’t reflect too much. And around the table there were already several people waiting, no doubt they also were offered promises of advancement. At the look of the lot, he started to guess none of them weren't humans.
A hooded man with sickened pale skin on his fingers. And claws. A hitman or an enforcer, possibly.
Some pretty boy with a messy hair, looking like trying to own the place.
A woman with dark curly hair that was a tad anxious. She perhaps didn’t know what for she was here. Unlike Michael.
A woman with dead eyes. Young and pale in every way imagined. Annoyed. Like a teenager. Nothing of interest.
Something of interest was the beautiful blonde woman. The makeup was a finishing touch to make Michael hope for enough money to have her as an escort to one of them fancy clubs.
There was another man that peaked his interest. Michael didn’t know if it was the thick hair or dark, rough and short beard or what in this man's appearance or existence.
There was also a woman that was even shorter than him. A frightened creature looking like someone his gang used to tease in school. Someone that he could, perhaps, manipulate.
Peter Reed was, to Michael's surprise, also summoned. The detective leaned forward with hands on table, like ready to spring in action. Two looked at one another, Peter intensively and Michael with surprise. Michael cursed in his mind. He had made a nasty trick to Peter last and only time they had done business, so this would be troublesome.
Michael however couldn't let the concerns show any further, so he calmed himself. Peter neither made further actions, just leaned back in his chair. “Good midnight” Michael said with half a smile and small nod to the people. He took another place from the conference table, putting his bowler in front of him. Waiting eagerly why they were summoned here…