Chapter 9

  Ballet of Assassins

  A rapid, knocking awakens Scott from his deep sleep. He clumsily reaches to the nightstand looking for his phone, knocking over paper, a cologne bottle that’s more for show at this point, until he finally grabs it. He looks at the time.

  6:45 AM Monday

  Maybe they’ll go away.

  He closes his eyes again.

  The knocking turns to pounding. “Scott! Wake Up! You promised!”

  That sounds like Aaron…if he’s here to steal one of my donuts, too bad, I ate them all to help lick my wounds.

  Scott drags himself out of bed and opens the front door. Aaron stands there, a little wild-eyed, like he’s already had 4 shots of espresso.

  “Finally–whoa. What happened to your face?”

  “Oh. Yeah. That. Had a run in with a group of muggers, I managed to take three of em down, but the last one got a lucky sucker punch in.” He points at his black eye .”If you think this looks bad, you should see them. I mean–actually, I didn’t get a good look.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry, man. I should’ve taken you home. Listen, I’m sorry I came to ask about the presentation, but I think you need to rest up.

  Scott shrugs. “Nah man, it looks worse than it feels, trust me. I got you, let’s go.”

  The truth is, every part of him aches. But saying that out loud? That would mean admitting it’s real.

  Aaron studies him. “Honestly, I totally understand if you’re not up to it. I can handle it.”

  Scott waves him off. “Look, you asked for help. I said I’d be there. Who knows, maybe they’ll pity me and cut us a break.”

  Aaron tits his head. “Or scare them off.”

  Scott smirks. “Low blow Aaron. Too soon.”

  Later, they’re sitting together on a crowded subway as Aaron frantically runs through the notes of the pitch with Scott.

  “...and that’s when you say ‘It’s what my mama used to make me’ in your best southern impression. Let me hear it.”

  Scott raises an eyebrow and scoffs.

  “It’s what my mama used to make me.”

  Aaron shakes his head. “Why do you sound Jamaican? I said southern!”

  “First of all, that accent would win an Oscar. Secondly, this is a terrible pitch.”

  Aaron is frantically sorting through papers. “Well it’s the best we got, so we’ll drop the accent and just try to tug at some heart strings. You know, how mac and cheese got us through college, we would use it to soothe our souls kind of thing.”

  Scott looks down at Aaron’s promotion hopes sitting on his lap.

  “I still think we should have gone with my idea.”

  Aaron hands stop and he looks Scott in the eye.

  “We’re not doing a dance number.”

  They exit the subway and immediately see the building. It’s a large white building, glass windows on every side, it looks at least 50 stories high.

  They squint up at the towering building.

  “Next stop: my hell,” Aaron says, walking toward the street.

  “They better have coffee…and an ice pack.” Scott follows behind.

  The inside of the boardroom is unnaturally clean. Leather chairs line a long, marble table. An assortment of water bottles, each brand more pretentious than the last, sits dead-center. The kind of room where small talk, and dreams, go to die.

  Aaron plants his hands on Scott's shoulders, with a frantic look in his eyes. “Okay. Okay. We got this, don’t panic.”

  “Yeah, we got this. But you don’t panic, we’ve been through the presentation. We have it down, and worst case scenario, we speak from the heart, these bigwigs respect stuff like that. Plus we have our golden ticket.” He points at his bruised eye.

  Aaron drops his hands from his shoulders.

  “I should’ve left you at home.”

  Scott puts his hands on Aarons shoulders.

  “Hey, look at me. You and I. We got this. I’ve got you.”

  Aaron takes a deep breath and gives a small smile.

  “Thanks, man. I was kidding, I’m really glad you’re here–with or without the shiner.”

  The door swings open suddenly and an assortment of businessmen and women enter. All stone faces, all business.

  After they all take a seat, another man enters. Raven hair. Green eyes with a faint, unnatural glow. Charcoal suit. Perfect teeth. He exudes confidence, charm, and danger. He doesn’t walk in; he practically glides past them like he owns the whole building.

  He flashes a perfect smile and says under his breath, just loud enough for Scott to here in a low mocking tone:

  “Looks like someone had a rough weekend…” Then he continues on like nothing happened, taking a seat near the back.

  No, it was great actually, just out fighting crime.

  Aaron takes an audible gulp. “Is it getting hot in here?” He whispers to Scott.

  A moment later, a woman enters the room. The temperature shifts again; it’s cooler. She has her hair in a perfect bun, not a single hair out of place. She walks with her head high and deliberate, as if assessing everyone and anyone. A storm held in check. Her suit is white, but it feels more surgical than business. She gives them both a curt nod. Her eyes study Scott’s face for a second, as she makes her way to her seat. She makes eye contact with the man across from her. For a second, she has a knowing look in her face. The man gives a small smirk and waves his fingers. The woman shows no reaction. The air tightens. No one seems to notice, but there’s a definite energy shift.

  Scott’s stomach gurgles.

  The woman sits up quickly and addresses the room.

  “Thank you, everyone for attending. I think I can do a quick round of introductions for our presenters.” She turns her attention to Scot and Aaron, eyes unblinking.

  “Hello. My name is Evelyn Virell, CEO and founder of Otherworld Inc. Across from me is Lucien Moreau.” – The man gives the woman a smirk and a wink – she glares at him. “What he does isn't important.” The man's jaw goes slack for a second – the smirk returns like a reflex. “The rest of the group are representatives and note takers for various other parts of our company that are interested in your product. Please. Enlighten us.” She gestures towards them as she floats onto her seat.

  Scott’s eyes bounce between the two.

  He swallows.

  Oh, they would’ve enjoyed the dance number.

  “Thank you. Ms. Virell, it’s a pleasure to meet you and Mr. Moreau. We at Ma’s Mac pride ourselves in our taste –”

  The door clicks open.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Cal!?

  Cal walks in without a word. His eyes sweep the room, landing on each person like he’s cataloging threats – or targets.

  Then they land on Scott.

  A flicker. A half-second flinch–barely visible, but there.

  His expression resets almost immediately.

  A smile, small and polite.

  Aaron and Scott stare, dumbfounded. Cal makes his way to the last remaining seat – directly besides Scott. The temperature in the room doesn’t change, but the air feels heavier.

  Across the table, Evelyn’s eye twitches slightly.

  Lucien's grin widens – not friendly, but wide and toothy.

  A wolf baring its fangs.

  A heavy silence fills the room. A challenge for anyone to speak up.

  Aaron clears his throat. “As I was saying, we at Ma’s Mac pride ourselves in our taste, and quality. We believe that there is an untapped market, untapped potential.”

  The screen comes to life, and a picture of macaroni and cheese with mixed fruits appears. “People want something new. Exciting. Something to post about. And we believe, our newest Mac line hits all those marks.”

  “Who doesn’t love some salt with their sweet. Hell, I sometimes like to dip my French fries in my milkshakes.” Scott chimes in.

  Aaron’s eyes go wide, and his head slowly turns towards Scott.

  Lucien lets out a soft chuckle–surprisngly genuine.

  Aaron relaxes a little, and he continues.

  “We have tested this in a few different regions.” The slide switches to graphs and charts.

  Evelyn is playing with a pen, turning it slowly in her fingers. A notebook drops beside Scott. No one reacts. He bends to grab it. Under the table, Cal crosses his legs. His shoe mere inches from Scott’s face.

  POP

  You really gotta watch those joints, man.

  As Scott returns to his seat, there’s a soft clink, like plastic on wood. Cal bends down and retrieves a pen from the floor.

  “I believe you dropped this.” He slides the pen across the table back to Evelyn.

  “Thank you.” She says curtly, with no attempt to retrieve the pen. Its tip crushed, as if it slammed into a wall.

  “...And as you can see here on slide 3. We have done our due diligence to in the market, there was a similar attempt at this idea back in the 1960’s labeled…”

  “Never send an amateur to do a real man's job.”

  Evelyn shoots Lucien a look. He has a smug look as he stares at her across the table.

  “Watch. And. Learn.”

  “Scott, do you mind grabbing the sample boxes?” Aaron looks over at Scott nervously.

  Scott seems caught off guard. He gets up and walks over to boxes of Mac and Cheese’d Cake.

  He bends down and suddenly feels a warm drip hit his upper lip.

  He wipes his nose on his sleeve.

  Blood.

  He blinks. Then suddenly, the edge of his vision starts to go dark. The room tilts a little. A high-pitched ring pierces his ears.

  What the hell–?

  More blood runs down his nose. His legs feel light. He hears his heartbeat in his skull.

  It feels like his soul is trying to escape his body.

  Then–

  A hand enters his vision.

  A black handkerchief.

  Cal.

  Calm, unwavering. Like he prepared for this.

  “Clean yourself up, Murphey. Now.”

  Scott grabs the handkerchief and shoves a corner in each nostril. It’s instantly cool and warm, like an Icy Hot patch for his soul.

  Scott stands upright with the samples and returns to the front. Face full of black handkerchief like the world’s worst mustache.

  Back at the table:

  Evelyn narrows her eyes at Lucien. “Really? A bloody nose?”

  Lucien watches Cal with amusement and curiosity. “No. That wasn’t just a nosebleed. And that handkerchief?”

  He chuckles, but it feels like a shield.

  “It was more than just a handkerchief.”

  Scott sniffs.

  Is that…cilantro?

  Evelyn leans forward slightly. “I thought you didn’t want him dead?”

  Lucien smiles. “Oh, I don’t. That wouldn’t have killed him.

  He shrugs.

  “But it would have been hilarious.”

  “Scott and I grew up on Mac and Cheese. It got us through college. We think this could really click with students looking for something different. Right, Scott?

  Scott nods solemnly. “Yeah. Mac and cheese…it brings people together.”

  He pauses, eyes unfocused.

  “My mom would scrimp and save just to make our grandma’s recipe.” His voice softens. “She’d cook it any time I had a bad day. Any time I felt like life wasn’t fair.”

  He glances down at the samples in his hands.

  “That bowl, meant something. That even when the world felt cold and hollow…there was still some warmth. Some good, left.”

  A beat of silence.

  Evenlyn tilts her head, a single strand of hair unravels from her perfect bun.

  Lucien watches her now, brows slightly raised – not mocking this time but genuine curiosity.

  Another beat, almost as if everyone is still absorbing what Scott just said.

  Evelyn straightens in her seat.

  “Well one thing is clear…”

  She meets Scott’s eyes.

  “You care. And that’s more than I can say about most.”

  She turns to Aaron.

  She nods. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Lucien just smirks. Cal quietly stands, eyes Scott, and exits the room.

  Meeting adjourned.

  Aaron and Scott exit into the bright sunlight both a little dazed.

  “Well, that went better than terrible.” Aaron says with a sigh.

  “I think I almost bled out internally.” Scott mutters, wiping at the dried blood crusting around his nostrils.

  Aaron eyes him. “Yeah, what happened back there?”

  “I have no idea. One second I’m grabbing our samples, next thing I know, my dear Aunt Sally decides to drop by.”

  Aaron squints. “You mean Aunt Flow. and that’s disgusting.”

  Aaron walks ahead.

  WHAM

  Scott is violently thrown sideways, crashing onto his back with a grunt.

  “Yep. I think I heard something crack that time.”

  Cal is standing over him, stone still, eyes locked on the top of the building.

  CRASH

  A pane of reinforced glass slams into the concrete a mere foot from where Scott stood.

  “What the hell was that?” Aaron stares at the smashed glass.

  Scott shakily gets up.

  “I appreciate the save. Really. But I’m getting tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll.” He coughs, brushing dust off his shirt.“You’re always at the right place at the right time, huh?”

  Cal looks Scott in the eye, a small glint in his cat-like eyes.

  “No, not always.”

  He turns and walks off. Not a second glance back.

  Just the sound of his footsteps receding, and the soft crunch of glass underfoot.

  Scott and Aaron don’t move.

  They both stare up at the top floor. One window missing.

  The wind picks up, like the city is exhaling a breath it had been holding.