Ebb Tide Ch. 03

"Who was the target, or were they both the focus of the assassination attempt?" Sycorax inquired nervously. She relished in her luxury and perversions; anyone rocking her pleasure craft was aiming below the waterline.

"I can answer that," Jareth snorted with amusement.

"Or, I can have our friend here tell us what is going on," he chuckled. He yanked the prisoner's hood off. He had an extra blindfold on underneath the hood, cotton stuffed in his ears and duct tape over his mouth. His nose was flaring with terror.

Jareth waited for permission from the other Vice Lords to 'expose' them to an outsider. One by one they nodded, essentially agreeing that this man was to be questioned then disposed of. The tape, cotton and blindfold were removed. The guy was overweight and showed signs of substance abuse.

He was a balding black man, his body dank with sweat and his breathes came in ragged gulps. As his eyes attempted to adjust to the low light, his head turned this way and that, like a cornered rat.

"Let me introduce Phillip Boswell, private investigator ... and former Detective Sgt. of the LVMPD's Organized Crime task force."

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it," the man gulped.

"I know you," Archimago murmured. "You were always shaking down small time rackets and off-track betting operations until one day you were caught shaking down an out-of-towner big-shot's son."

"It wasn't me. I didn't ..." Phil got out before one of Jareth's guardians smacked him on the back of the head.

"Phil here received and made a few interesting calls today," Jareth continued. "One he received remarkably close to the address of a one of the people being shot at - a Dabney Curtiss. A former constituent of Circe whose 'far more'-former pimp seems to have gone missing last Monday night - around the same time Vegas Fantasies blew up."

The other Vice Lords looked her way. Circe didn't feel the need to respond to what was clearly an internal matter of hers.

"Who would send twenty people to kill one hooker?" Sycorax huffed. "She must be one hell of a fuck. Circe, was Reagan there to reel her back in?"

"Not quite," Circe replied. "She was there to balance some financial accounts that were disrupted when Ms. Curtiss left my employment." That was her polite way of saying 'I'm not going to tell you what she was doing there'.

"They weren't there to kill the hooker ... or your ex-wife, Baphomet, or your favorite pet assassin, Thulsa Doom," Jareth played out the suspense. "Those twenty-one men were sent to kill - one escaped - I have him too -a Vance 'V' Vardanyan."

"The hero from Wednesday's shootout?" Sycorax's breath perked up. "He's yummy. Circe, is he with you?"

"That has yet to be determined," Circe remarked while shooting a steady gaze Baphomet's way.

"So, Phillip ... do you mind if I call you Phil, Phil?" Sycorax cooed. "Who hired you, of all people, to murder Mr. Vardanyan?"

"Don't kill me," Phil waited. "I'll tell you everything I know?"

"It was Hathaway," Baphomet preempted the revelation.

"I sent him to tidy up some business and he went far beyond his mandate. I'm in the process of dealing with him as we speak."

"I hope you don't mind if I don't take your word for it," Thulsa Doom threatened.

{The Lord of Wrath}

He had been born Barabbas Raman; half-Congolese and half-Mexican and 100% pure ruthlessness. He'd grown up the product of rape, trying to shield his immigrant mother with the only tools he had at his disposal - a natural talent for violence and the ability to use it without conscience. By the time he was 16, he had become an enforcer in Houston, Texas for a succession of Mexican Cartels' 'fronts'.

He'd never spent a day in any official military, but he'd pushed himself mentally and physically to be the most lethal killer in a bloody, dangerous business. One night, several gangsters caught his mother coming home from her job, brutalized then murdered her. They'd even urinated on her dying body.

So, he hunted them down. All of them and their bosses too. When the men south of the border got angry, Barabbas crossed into Mexico. He left scores of widows and orphans in his wake. His one man vendetta against the Zeta Cartel (his last employer) found him washed up, bleeding and battered in a Las Vegas dive. He fully expected the next knock on his door to be the fatal harbinger of his doom.

A different man got to him first. He came calling with a proposition. For aid against the Sinaloa Cartel in the Southwestern United States, this man's backers would give him safe haven and bank-roll his efforts. He was partnered up with another newcomer with a past she didn't talk about - Jo.

Together they murdered nearly 500 people before the Sinaloa Cartel cried 'uncle' and agreed to get out of the arms and murder-for-hire business in theVice Lord's domain. On that day, he and Jo were introduced to their mutual benefactor, Thulsa Doom - the second man to bear that title. He and Jo began directly working for the most powerful gun trafficker in the Southwest.

It was good work, yet dangerous. Five years ago, one of Thulsa Doom's other lieutenants murdered the man and attempted to take the top spot. Barabbas was not a sentimental man, but the previous Thulsa Doom had taken care of him and kept him alive, so he and Jo buried 13 people out in the Arizona desert, including the rebellious lieutenant.

A few days later, Circe and Jareth invited him to a very public lunch where he was offeredThulsa Doom's spot at the Vice Lords's table. He asked for 24 hours during which he asked Jo for her opinion. To Jo, the location and perks didn't matter. Safety mattered. She asked Barabbas if he felt this was the safest option.

The next night he met with Xaltotun, swore himself to secrecy and received his dead mentor's Book of Secrets. That leger allowed the new Thulsa Doom to pick up the pieces of the old order and forge his own network. It also let the other Vice Lords get a good measure who they were messing with. None had dared to cross him since - until today.

{No more excuses}

"Mr. Vardanyan has chosen to interfere with my business. Then he decided to wage war on this city's infrastructure. Hathaway was told to separate Vardanyan from my interests. It is clear he couldn't interpret my intentions as well as I might have liked," Baphomet explained to the gathering. There was a moment of silence as each member contemplated the news.

"Oh my God," Sycorax laughed. "What kind of bozos did you send to kill a former SEAL corpsman? Don't you have access to a fucking sniper?" Sycorax was the ultimate evil party girl, but that didn't mean she was stupid. Far from it as her imagination kept her profits soaring.

"Stop using designer drug cocktails as eye-drops,"Baphomet sneered, "and listen for once. It was Hathaway. I sent him to deal with 'one' man, former Special Forces yet hardly a superman."

"Let's not forget he is also your 'former' pool boy, Lloyd," Circe purred. He glared hate back.

"Phil, can you verify for us that it was Mr. Hathaway who hired you to murder Mr. Vardanyan with extreme prejudice?" Thulsa Doom asked the PI former-cop. He walked over to Phil.

"I'll tell you everything," he sobbed. "Just let me live ... I can help you find Hathaway ... I can point you at the other people responsible ..." he sobbed some more.

"For every correct, useful answer," Thulsa Doom offered, "we'll take you down one story. Lie, we throw you off whatever floor we are on. The same goes for 'I don't know'. We are currently on the 38th floor. Okay?"

"Ummm ... okay," he blubbered.

"What possessed you to assemble that group of losers to go after a professional killer?"

"What ..." Phil gulped, "I mean against Vardanyan? I had some guys with military experience. It was a rush job. Hathaway said it had to be done by sunset."

"Why didn't you hire some people who knew what they were doing?" Thulsa Doom rumbled. "You know, people who work for me."

"He wanted it to be low profile ..." he mumbled. Jareth guffawed. Sycorax was less constrained. Her laughter rang out musically, reminding the rest that she'd gotten her start in Vegas as semi-successful performer.

"Baphomet, who hired this idiot? You are responsible for the carnage at the Hilton, not this moron," Archimagoturned on his fellow Vice Lords.

"I'll take care of it," Baphomet shot back defensively. "I have Rogers working on that right now. It will be resolved by Sunday - all nice and quiet."

"No you won't," Circe shook her head. "You shot at my daughter ..."

"And my Summa (lieutenant)," Thulsa Doom snarled. Baphomet couldn't dodge responsibility by hiding behind Hathaway's incompetence. That wasn't how the Vice Lords worked. Your domain was yours, but you were responsible for you're the actions of your minions.

The colossal screw up by Hathaway was a downturn he didn't need. Baphomet had to bite back his bile and mend fences while tacking on even more insults he'd payback with interest. Circe had always made it a point to stay out of his way. He and Thulsa Doom had worked well together.

What had mattered most to Lloyd was that both Circe and Thulsa Doom had shown no inclination to take over the top spot. He'd never mistaken that for weakness though. They were people of limited ambition. Jareth and Archimago were the opposite and despite Rogers best efforts, Jareth had remained annoyingly untouchable.

Archimago was less cautious, so when the time came ...

"Oh, you screwed the pooch on this one, Baphomet," Sycorax mocked him. Lloyd considered the Gluttonous Bitch more of a persistent thorn in his side that a threat to his rise to power.

They had bad blood dating back before either one was a Vice Lord - an issue of her being stupidly trusting of a righteous scumbag. He'd helped that third party rake her over the coals for that both financially and physically.

"I always thought your true sexual predilections went toward bestiality. Lord Knows, you don't want a partner that talks back," she denigrated him.

Sycorax ... Baphomet wanted to kill her personally. She mirrored his hatred and loathing. He contemplated forgoing his normal level of detachment and caution and being there as she begged for her life.

"Is Vardanyan your responsibility from this point forth?" Baphomet pressured the Lady of Lust. Circe balked at the commitment, just like he thought she would.

"I think we can agree that the resourceful Mr. Vardanyan is none of our responsibilities yet. I think we can also agree that he is no longer your concern, Lloyd," Jareth sounded conciliatory while twisting the dagger in Lloyd's guts.

"We are going to back down because of one man?" Baphomet countered. "Jareth, it is not your place to dictate the actions of any of us outside the purview of our domains."

"We are allowed to protect the foundation of theRetiariian Forum (the Vice Lords' underworld's presence ~ The Vice Lords were just legends after all)," Sycorax sneered. "I think twenty dead bodies in a public venue qualify as being 'bad for business' and suggests we are not doing our jobs."

"Then we should use extreme censor on the cause of the problem, Mr. Vardanyan. We never take the cause of an outsider over one of our own," Baphomet reminded his colleagues.

"Making something mysteriously fatal happen to Mr. Vardanyan would be the height of folly at this juncture," Sycorax purred. "Perhaps I can distract him for the weekend. Give him something else besides mass murder to occupy his time?"

"Are you promising to take him under your wing?" Jareth requested clarification.

"I'm sure with the help of Reagan, something can be arranged, right Circe?" the Lady of Gluttony turned to her 'sister in sin'.

"You might want to consider that he is a man of his own mind and manipulating him in one of your games might not turn out the way you have planned, Sycorax, Circe responded. "I know you have some vicious, sadistic creatures under your command. I don't believe you have someone that can deal with 'V' ~ his nickname ~ if he becomes irate."

"If Sycorax is willing to 'guard' this troublemaker until something besides more ham-handed tactics can be worked out, I suggest we go with her proposal," Jareth was maneuvering the meeting to a conclusion ... and a vote. Lloyd ground his teeth, but held his rage in check.

The reality was that there was no way for him to cancel out Vardanyan with the man's current notoriety and the others watching him for such a mishap. No, Lloyd had to reposition himself for the next round. The Press would meander to another target of opportunity, the fool would fade into the background and then there would be a reckoning on Baphomet terms.

"Anyone opposed?"

No one spoke up so the motion carried.

"I will keep an interest in this matter, London," Barabbas warned Sycorax aka London Villiers aka Rachel Stone, retired super-racy porn star.

"You are welcome to come along?" she tried to entice the man she knew she needed in order to either rise to the top spot, or deny it to Lloyd ... the relative priority of which changed with her moods. The Lord of Wrath glowered. "Very well," she ran a fingernail under his chin.

"Sandra (Cho aka Circe), any suggestions?" she graced the Lust Queen with her own sultry smile.

"Try something new for you, London. Tell him the truth," Circe smirked at the transparent ploy. "Lying to him has led to all kinds of disappointment up until this point."

"Truth?" London toyed with the word. "I may do just that," London allowed. This Vardanyan character probably considered himself some pure warrior of the American Way. It had been a while since she played the mature, burned out woman, trapped with a past she couldn't shed and desperate for one last touch of purity. That would do nicely.

"This meeting is adjourned," Baphomet proclaimed. He motioned to his assistant and two bodyguards who stood well away on this gutted building level.

"What ... what about me? Can I go?" Phil whimpered. Jareth looked to Barabbas who nodded.

"Okay Phil," Jareth assured the PI. "Don't leave town. I may have need of you before this matter blows over." Phil sighed with relief. "Wrap him up," he motioned to one of his loyal Morlocks ~ his own, private militia few knew anything about. Morlocks usually went without weapons, mastering a variety of martial arts instead.

This allowed Jareth to kill from unexpected angles. Each Morlock he'd personally saved, physically or spiritually and all he demanded was undying loyalty in return. He was fair that way. The man and woman reapplied Phil's blindfold, gag and cotton balls in the ears. Lastly the hood went on.

All of that made the final stage sinfully easy. The two Morlocks walked Phil right off the edge of the level and watched him plummet to the large construction dumpster at the bottom. They were good marksmen at this sort of thing. This way scrubbing out the remains would be easy. No one said a thing. Phil wasn't their problem.

{Epilogue Two}

(Costa Real Suites, Caracas Venezuela)

"Hathaway, this place is beautiful," Portia Prior, twirled around the room on bare feet, her silky, transparent sarong floating in the night breeze. Her breasts were a small 30 C. Hathaway had been meaning to have her augmented. "I thought we'd never take a vacation."

"Yeah ... whatever," Hathaway murmured. The second he saw the bad news on the television, he knew he had to activate his exit strategy. Portia had been a nice diversion to calm his nerves. Once the heat cooled down ... he'd change her in for some teenage, uneducated local girl. Portia was racing toward 20 already and he was rapidly working his way through her innocence.

Still, a good fuck tonight and another in the morning. She handled his morning wood so easily. He gulped down his second gin & tonic.

"Portia, make me another," he commanded as he looked over the white waves crash over the darkened beach. He wanted another drink to drive off the chill.

Hathaway thought tropical Venezuela would be warmer.

"I think you've had enough," Portia's voice was titillating happy. Anger flushed his body over the lack of her immediate compliance.

"I'll decide when I've had enough," he turned and barked at her. The look on her face was ... different.

"Oh, I think you've had enough poison," her grin grew downright evil. "It is 85 F degrees yet you are shivering, Hathaway. I bet your extremities are starting to feel numb." He voice had lost all its giggly, vapid qualities and became down right condescending and hate-filled.

"What?" he babbled. His glass slipped out of his numb hands. Portia walked over to him from the mini-bar. "No ..." he tried to back away. She grabbed his elbow and steered him toward the king-sized bed. She laid him out, face up then made a call.

"He's ready, Mr. Rogers," he heard her say. A heavy jolt of fear allowed him to prop himself up on his elbows.

"Wait ..." he gasped. "Don't do this ... I can pay you."

"So I can end up just like you, Hathaway?" she snorted. "I don't think so."

"Working for Rogers has normally been fulfilling work. I must admit, pretending to be your live-in 'barely 18' slut has been fairly odious. I'm sure my next assignment will make up for it," she gleefully informed him. She went out to the balcony while Hathaway slumped back on the bed.

The door opening was one last reprieve from his crippling fear and toxic paralysis. He was able to twist his head to see Mr. Rogers, and some cruel looking, stocky local walk into the bedroom.

"Will there be anything else, Sir?" Portia came in from the cooling outdoor breeze.

"No. You've done yet another exceptional job. There is a medium blue Mercedes C-Class Sedan. I'll be there soon enough. Hathaway and I have one final piece of business to discuss."

"Yes sir," she nodded. Rogers handed her some car keys before she picked up her tote bag and exited the room.

"Officer, please wait in the hallway. I'll let you know when Mr. Cord has unfortunately expired from natural causes," Rogers told the local man.

The man must have been a local police investigator paid to cover up his true cause of death.

Hathaway would disappear and Mr. Cord would remain an unknown body filling some pauper's grave in some Venezuelan Potter's field. Rogers handed the man a thick envelope. The man sneered at Hathaway and then left the room, humming a happy tune.