[ 19 ]

IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST, you were never alone. No, you could be surrounded by darkness, but you were never alone -- in that darkness, there could be god-knows-what -- a circle of gunmen, a bottle of the finest wine on a checkered-cloth table, or maybe even a hoarde of pretty girls on a particularly good day. But now, there was nothing could that Pax Killdow could find even half-good; this greasy, insane kid sat opposite him was not cutting it, and Pax knew that if he tried to send him away, take him out or whatever else, once twitch of deep-fried Harry Potter's fingers and he'd be dead on the floor.

That was the problem with dealing with people like Rex Corvus -- there was too much time and effort wasted. It was usually a pointless task, anyway, given that they snapped halfway through and supplied Pax with nothing but a sour taste in his mouth. But today, it was different. Not because it was a great deal or there was a lot of money to be made, which tended to be his motive for most things, but rather, because there was a level of fun and drama missing from his life -- and that was exactly what helping Rex Corvus promised him. 

Also, a heavy dose of Crux's weaponry, but that was only a sideshow compared to the complete chaos unfolding in Semper City, of which Pax was happy to watch with a glass of pinot grigio in one hand and a loaded gun in the other, piano music playing in the background. At the moment, he was doing exactly that, the smell of alcohol sweeping up into his nose as he took a gulp from his glass. On the other side of the table, the loony tunes kid was stabbing repeatedly at his steak with a butter knife, having not been trusted with anything sharper. 

If Pax Killdow was to go down, it would be magnificent. He would be a bomb, taking everything down with him. 

"You done with that?" he broke the silence with a half-hazard nod at the boy's plate, where his steak lay in a pool of beige sauce, completely untouched spare the occasional jab of his butter knife.

"That's not what we're here to discuss today, are we, Mr Killdow?" Rex spoke slowly, drawing out each syllable as if it were a hiss. Pax couldn't help thinking that he sounded like he hadn't spoken in a very long time, only amplified by his cracked lips and dead eyes.

To put it simply, Rex Corvus looked like he'd been dug straight out of a grave -- and Pax wouldn't have been surprised if he, in fact, had been. Tucking a napkin into the collar of his tailored burgundy shirt, Killdow sat back in the upholstery of his seat, focusing the dull throb of his gun pressing against his ribs rather than the kid's gaze, burning into his skin as if it were a trail of hot coals. 

"We're here to talk business, aren't we?" Pax thumbed the edge of the tablecloth, the classical music blasting from the speakers on the stage drowning out his hasty breathing as Corvus struggled against his handcuffs. The spotlight above them plunged them into near-blinding light as the rest of the club was swathed in darkness, Killdow's men standing in a circle around the two of them with machine guns in their arms. Metal gleamed dully against the smooth black of their suits, tattoos snaking up their collars and grazing their jawbones.

"Semper City is more than business. I'm not a businessman, Killdow. I'm a kill monger, me. Warlord, if you like." A snakeish smirk made its way to Rex's lips as he went limp, arms and legs spread out on the chair with only his head down to look at Pax.

"And this is war?" 

Rex pursed his lips, greasy black hair covering his eyes. He sat there for a long moment, until he suddenly sat up, stiff as a doll. A manic grin engulfed his features. "Of course."

The music faded away till it was just piano, but the keys weren't right. It sounded as if someone were just banging on the notes, leaving descant chords that echoed all around the room. A shiver went down Pax's spine, and he slammed his fist on the table with an angry shout.

"Turn it off!"

Carmine, a bald bruiser with arms like tree trunks, stomped over to the jukebox, fiddling with the disk inside before closing it with a loud snap. "It's off, boss."

The music continued.

"Do I look like tech support, knucklehead? I said, turn it off!"

With a dejected sag of his shoulders, Carmine returned to the circle of men around Pax, a scowl on his face. 

"I own Semper City, but you can't turn off the goddamn jukebox? Keep disappointin' me, knucklehead. Take him away, boys." 

Pax sighed, thumbs stroking his temples as he put his head in his hands. A golden ring was around one of his stubby fingers, reflecting all the light that flickered across the lounge. He didn't raise his head as two guys, build like nothing short of mountains, seized Carmine by the arms, dragging him away before he could even think to take his gun out from around his belt. 

Dragging his elbows along the tabletops, Pax took out his own gun, firing two shots into the jukebox in quick succession. His head spun slightly at the sudden noise, but he ignored it -- he wouldn't dare admit that he was getting old, despite the cracks of his joints and the loud sounds that made him jump. He knew that his prime had passed, and now was the time to pass over his crown, but he couldn't find it within himself to do it.

"You're paranoid, old man." Rex shook his head, eyes flashing dangerously in the spotlight. "Paranoia's bad, ain't ya hear? Paranoia gets you hunted, don't it?" he cocked his head -- Pax could only think of the click of a gun, scorching metal burning against his skin, click click click you're dead, click click bang bang, no pulse. Mother Semper was many things, but above all, she was no longer kind. Ruin had bled the kindness and morality right from her, leaving a cracked shell, filled with only the hollow sounds of gunshots (bangbangbang) and hidden daggers (slashslashlash). 

Old men were fragile things, and Pax Killdow knew it the best.

"You're in chains, kid." 

Pax set his jaw and squared his shoulders, no longer letting a greasy, insane kid torture him emotionally. 

"Mean you're scared of what I can do, Killdow. Ain't that the truth?"

Pax took a sip of champagne, threading his thumb through the belt loop on his trousers mindlessly. "There was a few accidents, weren't there? Don't want that happenin', not now. We're not in the West, anyhow. No-one to judge us, huh?"

Rex began to hum under his breath, along to the piano music that Pax only realised now, was still playing. Squinting across the musty lounge, his heart stopped for a moment as he realised there was a figure sitting at the Baby Grand, a beautiful thing that had once belonged to his father. A shadowed face looked at him from the darkness, and he could've sworn that they weren't human -- those eyes, glowing orbs in the dim light, were more cat-like than anything else. 

Instinctively, Pax's men pointed their guns at the figure, but he dismissed with the shake of his head. As he turned back to look at Rex, the boy pouted mockingly, his bottom lip imitating that of an ill-tempered child.

"You can't have expected me to come alone? I thought we were allies, me and you." Rex tutted, meeting Pax's eyes with a hint of amusement in his own gaze.

Pax decided to let it slide -- he was too tired to argue. 

"Your cousin. How long d'you think it will take her to find you?"

"Cissie? Too fast. She'll stop at nothing, too, thanks to that goddamn Johnson. Seems he's reignited her heroic side."

"You talk like you know her," Pax commented, but the boy only laughed.

"I don't. Haven't spoken to her since we were, like, five. Before I went all crazy and that," Rex announced flatly, as if he were talking about the weather and not his own sanity. A dark grin crossed his face. "But I know someone who does. The very person that broke me out, actually. Well, I broke myself out. But they helped me. Got rid of witnesses. They're very helpful, and Cissie trusts them with her life. I almost feel bad."

Pax frowned, but before he could say anything, Rex burst out laughing, an awful noise that sounded more like nails on a chalkboard than a teenage boy's laugh.

"I'm kidding. Kill the bitch, do whatever you want."

"Our arrangement still stands?" Pax took a long sip of champagne. The room grew silent with the absence of the piano music. "Crux headquarters are mine, and therefore the West Side, if I help you. Ain't it?"

"You remembered, Killdow. Good job."

Had there not been so much offered, Pax would've broken the kid's arms a long time ago. But, alas, he was a man fuelled by greed -- and he had learnt that the moment he'd stepped into Semper City, with golden streets that promised money and power. Like most country fools, he'd been lulled into believing the street vendors when they spoke their stories of riches and greatness, houses made of marble and rivers of diamonds.

"I always remember, kid."

Visions of screaming women, men in pools of their own blood, crying children, filled his mind. Click -- bang. Smoking guns, crooked smiles, manic laughter. Broken wine glasses, red stains on a crisp white tablecloth. Bullet holes and band-aids, blood -- so much blood. 

No, he didn't want to remember.

 But he did.

"They're heading outta Semper right now. Nakamura got some sorta..." Pax lowered his voice, "business."

"Nakamura - how thrilling. So, tell me your plan, Killdow. I'm not here to waste time," Rex snapped suddenly, rocking backwards and forwards. Praising his past self that he'd been smart enough to bolt the chair to the floor, Pax tucked his own chair closer to the table. 

"All in due time, Corvus. All in due time. It's time to go, kid."

At this, two men from the circle around them, Giovanni and Carl, made their way to Rex's seat, unshackling him and smiling demurely at Pax. The door opened with a small scrape of the lock, but Pax spared it no attention.

Raising his glass of champagne, he toasted silently before draining the flute. 

He was supposed to be the King of Semper, but it felt more like he were some kind of imposter.

It was pathetic.

[ end ]